The first week passed without too much incident. Sometimes, when we came back to our cabin, we would discover dirt and food scattered on our floor, and our clothes strewn all over the room, but we blamed the boys in the next cabin. Silly 14-year-olds who though that having a year on us meant they could trash our place whenever they wanted.

On the first night of week two, I awoke in the middle of the night really needing to relieve myself. I dreaded the 100-foot walk up the hill, but the potential of embarrassment in front of my fellow campers lured me upwards. As I walked, humming very softly under my breath, I heard a voice. I turned, but the moon was obscured by trees. It was 3 a.m., well past lights out; but I figured it was one of the cabins, still up playing card games.

My bathroom trip was uneventful, but when I stepped out of the shack, I saw a soft light glowing out of the corner of my eye. I turned and saw a tall white man astride a horse, holding a candle aloft. He was squinting at something right through me, and suddenly his horse reared and started to charge at me. I stood frozen, my mouth dry and my brain screaming at my body to move out of the way.

Then the horse passed right through me and I felt light-headed.

I was quiet in the mess hall the next morning, poking listlessly at my food with a fork. My cabin leader asked if I was sick, and I told her I’d not gotten much sleep the night before, but that I’d be fine. She frowned, but walked away, and when I turned to watch her go, my eye was caught by something out of the window.

I sucked in my breath sharply.

An entire family of slaves dangled from the giant tree in the center of our camp. Their heads were twisted at funny angles, and their toes and fingers were swollen. All at once, they opened their eyes and pointed in perfect unison at our cabin. I squeezed my eyes shut and blinked them open again, terror making my heart race. They were gone.

I excused myself and slipped out of the mess hall, returning to the cabin, my feet pounding in time with my heart. I pawed through the closets, opened the doors, peered under the beds, but found nothing unusual.

Still, the slaves’ empty faces haunted me. I found the camp director’s office and tapped on the door. She looked up from her desk. “Yes?”

“I’m in cabin 105,” I told her.

Her face whitened, but she nodded, trying to maintain her smile.

“Is there anything underneath it?”

“No, of course not. Just the usual mess of wires, plumbing, that sort of…” Her voice trailed off as she studied my face. “You know what’s going on, don’t you?”

I gulped.

She sighed. “You can’t spread this. The camp will be closed.”

I nodded.

“About a hundred and fifty years ago, a family of slaves were hung for trying to run away. Their bodies were thrown in a ditch, where that cabin is now built.”

I came into the room and perched on the edge of the visitor’s seat, leaning forward so far I almost fell on my face.

The camp director rubbed her face with her hands. “Until a few years ago, that cabin suffered many fires and electric explosions. Every time we try to introduce something new, the slaves become angry that we’re disturbing their final resting place. Many people have died trying to live there.”

Suddenly, her eyes became hard. “You can’t know this.”

“But I — ”

“You’re gone. I’m sending you home.” She loomed over me and snarled softly, “Don’t you dare tell anyone about this.”

I nodded numbly. Being sent home was a welcome respite. I never went back to camp again.

source from: ghoststories

My first dream with her in it started when I was eleven, but she didn’t really bother me much because she was a ‘background’ character in my dreams. But since then she has been coming more and more apparent in my life. The first full on dream/vision I have had of her went like this: I was just sitting on my bed reading and I think that I hear my doorbell going. So I go downstairs but it isn’t my downstairs anymore. Sure it looks similar but it looks older and darker, the oak banisters now look more like some sort of dark wood and there is this huge cupboard by the stairs. There are no carpets or anything and I feel like I have just stepped into a totally different world, but another thing I notice is how still everything is. I hear this shrill scream from outside, so I crawl under this cupboard because I feel terrified. I can actually feel my heart racing away in my chest, threatening to explode. My front door swings open and the woman — who looks quite alive at this point — runs through the door and slams it behind her. She then runs up the stairs next to me whilst leaving a trail of water behind her from the rain outside. I can hear her breath coming out in ragged gasps; I was staring after her as well as I could from under this cupboard. My adrenaline is pumping around by body like crazy at this point and I start to crawl out from under the cupboard, but something stops me and I somehow know that I should get back under the cupboard, so I do so. I hear the doorknob rattle, like someone is trying to get in from the outside, something heavy whacks against the door and it bursts open. There is a figure in a deep reddish black trench coat, but is carrying and old fashioned gun. It looks like the butt and trigger of a musket but its barrel is shaped more like the end of a trumpet, I can’t remember the name properly, I think it is called a blunderbuss or something.

I can’t see too much because it is no lighter outside than it is in the dark house. He had a broad-brimmed hat that that covered his face in black shadow, but his presence sent every hair on my body on edge. He gently shut the door behind him then started towards the stairs. I was biting my lips to stop myself from screaming and giving myself away because I had a feeling that this was not just a dream. I could hear his feet padding softly up the stairs and his breath coming out calmly and slowly, in contrast to the breathing I heard that sounded like someone had just run the marathon. I assumed that was the woman at the top of the stairs or somewhere else close by, I heard her pleading cries then I heard a single shot. Something was falling down the stairs, and then I saw the woman at the bottom of the stairs facing me. It was obvious she was dead, her eyes had this glazed look and blood was coming out her mouth, I could see a dark patch flowering over her dress as blood soaked the jet black material. Footsteps stomped down the steps and I saw the man stand over the body and laugh. It was a chilling laugh, there was no soul in it and it had no remorse. He then proceeded to open the door and leave; I looked back to the woman’s body, and my heart was racing. I felt like her eyes were burning into me, blaming me for not helping her. What could I have done? I looked away from those haunting eyes, into the blackness behind me. Next thing I know, my sister is shouting that dinner is ready and my heart is still in my mouth and threatening to run away.

A few weeks later this dream/vision or whatever is still very fresh in my mind (even to this day it gives me chills) but I just pass it off to myself as no more than a dream. Anyway, during this week I get the ‘sequel’ to the dream. It is the same house, dark and old-fashioned with the same enormous cupboard in the hallway. I hear the rain outside the door and see a flash of light and ear-splitting boom of thunder so I guess that there is a storm outside; there is part of me that wants to go outside because I get the feeling that it is safer in the wild storm than it is in the dead, dark house. But I can’t move. It is when I hear footsteps coming closer to the door that I seemed to mobilise myself and squeeze under the trusty cupboard once again. I knew that this was not going to be a good experience. Sure enough the handle goes down and the door swings open easily to reveal the same figure in the trench coat and gun. I see the hat turning from side to side as the figure inspects the surroundings he has entered while walking forwards. He turns and closes the door, but in the corner of my eye I see something move on the stairs by the banisters. It is gone before he turns back around and heads for the stairs.

I want to stop him from going but again I am immobilised and I can’t cry out. I hear the beginning of a scream which is cut short and I hear a thump of something falling to the floor. I then see something sliding down the stairs; a black shadow makes its way to the bottom of the stairs before it grows taller and becomes the dead woman. She only seems formed from the knees upwards, so she looks like a swooping shadowy dress from my angle under the cupboard. She swoops past until I can see her swish around the corner to elsewhere; I took my chances and slid out from under the cupboard and headed for the door. However I stop in my tracks and turn towards the stairs. For some reason I am suddenly upstairs next to the trench coat man’s body. I still can’t see his face so I go to remove his hat until I hear slithering near the bottom of the stairs. I run into the closest bedroom which looks like my older brother’s old room (my room now) and scramble under the bed, I can see outside the door and the feet and legs of the man in the trench coat.

The shadow slides next to the body’s feet then seems to pause, then I get the feeling that it is staring at me. The woman materializes from it lying on her front staring at me with those cold, dead eyes. I close my own eyes and I feel coldness enveloping me head to foot. I woke up shivering that night, despite my blankets. Since then I think that I catch small glimpses of her, it doesn’t seem to matter whether I am awake, asleep or in-between. I feel like she is always watching me.

The last glimpse I had of her was when I was trying to get some sleep, which wasn’t really working. My room was really dark with only a little light from the streetlamp outside, then I saw a tall dark shadow with a pale face in front of my wardrobe; she was looking at me with what I can only describe as murderous rage. I saw her slowly gliding towards me so I did what most people would do, and scrunched my eyes tightly closed and tensed every muscle in my body preparing for…I don’t know…something bad to happen, I guess. I felt the same ice cold feeling grip my body and I felt like something was stopping me from breathing. Or someone. My eyes opened fully and I saw her face in every detail about an inch from mine. The black irises and pupils that made her eyes seem like black, dead holes; sunken cheeks and sallow, pale skin. She didn’t seem to breathe but her long ebony hair felt like the breath of death as it touched my face; her pale lips seemed almost blue in the darkness and they were tightly drawn into a grimace of hatred. If she had stayed longer I would have screamed, but she shot backwards through my closed door with that look still on her face.

I try to get as much sleep as I can nowadays, but I am always aware of this malevolent presence in my dreams and when I am awake. She hasn’t been that close to me since and for that I am glad, but even now I can be walking from my room to the bathroom and see her white, evil face glaring at me from the stairs. She seems to be attached to me somehow; I literally can’t escape from her. She can be anywhere at any time and it scares me. Sometimes I think of getting help but who would believe this?! I would sound like a total nutcase. By writing this down I feel a little better for some reason. It is like why some people write lists to help get some order into their lives, I write what I have seen and it makes me feel a little more in control. That probably sounds silly, but then again read the story above, I saw these images/visions/dreams or whatever you want to call them, and I feel like…I don’t know…almost like I am losing it. I don’t know what to think anymore.

Update #1: 08/09/11

I have started seeing this thing outside my house; I have seen it on my way home twice. This dream is always the same and always comes in two halves or as one long dream. I don’t get much sleep at the moment. I hate this.

source from: ghoststories

Gramps had taken me to several car shows and bought me muscle car models for my birthday. He was my best buddy. He would comfort me when my dad or uncle would tell me, “Girls don’t play with cars, they play with dolls.” Gramps would hug me and say, “It’s O.K., Princess, you just be who you are.”

One very late night, when I was 16, Michelle and I awoke to Gramps holding our hands.

Michelle asked, “Are you O.K., Gramps?”

He responded, “I just want to make sure you girls both know that I love you very much, and that you will ALWAYS be my little princesses.”

I replied, “We love you, too, Gramps, and you will ALWAYS be my best buddy.”

Afterward, he turned and went back to bed.

The next morning, Mom, Dad, and Grams were all very sad, so I asked what was wrong. Grams fought hard through her tears to tell us, “Girls, your Gramps passed away last night.”

We both got instant chills when she told us that. Michelle and I talked later in the day and wondered if Gramps had known he was about to pass, or if he already had when he visited us that night and stopped to say goodbye.

It was a very sad time for all of us. In the following weeks, I would catch a glimpse out of the corner of my eye of Gramps sitting in his chair at the dinner table, or, when we were in the family room, I would swear that I saw him in his favorite chair and it would start rocking. I could always feel his presence at these times, but any time I looked directly at where I thought I saw him, the rocking would stop, or he would simply not be there.

A couple years later, I began dating a man named Arnold. After a few weeks of seeing Arnold, I felt Gramps’ presence again. This time, though, it was not a comforting feeling — it seemed more stern and protective. I just chalked it up to the old thought that no one is EVER good enough for someone’s granddaughter.

About two months later, I found out why Gramps had seemed so protective. Arnold took a swing at me for saying he was wrong. Things went from bad to worse the next six months, but I was still determined to try to make it work.

Then I discovered I was pregnant. When I told Arnold, he accused me of cheating and beat me so badly that he caused me to have a miscarriage and spend a week in the hospital.

On the third night at the hospital, after Mom, Dad and Grams went home for the evening, I started crying pretty hard and exclaimed, “I’m so sorry that I didn’t listen to you, Gramps!”

I could almost instantly feel his presence, as if he was holding my hand, and I could hear his voice in my mind telling me, “It’s O.K., Princess, everything will be fine.”

Two and a half years later, after Steve and I had been seeing each other for nearly two months, I once again felt Gramps’s presence. This time, he felt more comforting and reassuring. It was as if he were telling me, “I told you everything would be fine.”

As Steve and I continued to date, and eventually live together, I decided it was time to tell him the story. Afterwards, I asked him if he thought I was crazy. He said, “NO, absolutely not! I think it is a wonderful thing to have such a strong connection like that!”

As our wedding day approached, I got another visit from Gramps. He seemed to be calm and happy and wanting to wish his “Little Princess” the best of luck in the future.

Over the years, I have felt Gramps’s presence many times, including one visit apparently to scold me for starting an argument with Steve over something stupid. I still get visits from Gramps, especially when Steve is out of town and I am feeling sad and missing him very much. Gramps can always comfort me. The only difficult part of feeling him there is when Ol’ Blue, our dog, starts going bananas and thinks that he needs to protect me.

All I can do is hope that someday soon, he will realize Gramps is not there to cause problems, he only looks in to see how life is going.

source from: ghoststories

On that day, my dad and I set off to the cemetery to visit hers’ and other passed family members’ graves at around midday. We arrived at her grave just before 12:30, bearing in the mind this was the time of her passing, and had a few moments silence. It had just began to rain, in the middle of a cold, yet sunny day. No sooner had it started, it abruptly finished 30 seconds later, leaving us a rainbow in the distance, over the hospital in which she died. This rainbow lasted for about a minute, and disappeared just as suddenly as it had arrived. We believe it was the minute in which my mum would have passed away.

Whether this was a sign from her or not, I believe it was too much of a coincidence to have happened by chance, and it has strengthened my belief in some form of life after death. I am overjoyed by this experience, as I believe it has proven my mum is happy in heaven, waiting for us to join her one-day.

source from: ghoststories

One evening, I turned off my lights and crawled into bed. I had been lying there less than a minute, when I felt something jump up onto my bed. I thought it was my cat. I sat up and, because it was so dark, I began using my arms, waving them around, searching all over my bed. But there was no sign of kitty. “Hmmm”, I thought. I felt kitty come up on my bed, and yet I never felt him jump off. Strange. So I just laid back down trying to figure out what just happened.

At that moment, I felt “IT”. I felt, well, I felt SOMETHING. I felt SOMETHING sit right beside me and crawl into my bed. I felt “ITS” arms and rear end get on first. Then I felt “ITS” legs plop down on my bed. And I could feel the pillow and sheets move toward “IT” as “IT” completely laid down RIGHT BESIDE ME! I didn’t know what to do! The light switch, of course, was on “IT’S” side of the bed. There was no way I was going to reach across “IT” to turn the light on! Then “IT” began to breathe. I could hear “ITS” breath. It took long, hard, deep breaths, as it laid next to me. I could feel my mattress move along with it. I was paralyzed with fear. I never did move. I had to fall asleep next to “IT”.

After that night, my cat would sometimes wake me up, circling me, hissing, growling, like he was protecting me from something. The hair on his back and tail was raised at whatever “IT” was. I knew what he was hissing at – but then again, I never figured out what “IT” actually was.

source from: ghoststories

“It’s one night with my friends! You’re trying to put the blame for our financial ruin on me?”

I sighed and put my face in my hands. I hated hearing my parents fight, and tonight was the last time I planned to sit around and listen. Kicking at every rock in my path, I speed-walked down the driveway and into the neighborhood. I was able to relax a little once I left my house behind, but depression sank in. Home wasn’t safe and secure anymore. I had to hide from my parents’ wrath, though they never directed it at me, and money was making our household crumble.

Suddenly, I pulled my mind back into the present, my skin starting to crawl. The world around me was silent; even the cricket song was gone. I started walking faster. My ears caught the gentle clink of footsteps. Whirling around, I scanned the darkness, but there was nothing there, not even a stray cat.

“It’s nothing,” I whispered into the silence. “It’s just my imagination.”

I turned around and nearly screamed. A boy stood in front of me, his hand extended. There was a funny expression on his face — not a smile, not a frown, just a knowing sadness.

“I’m Jason Paige,” he said.

I managed to blurt out my name, then, “How did you — ”

“Can we walk?” He gestured towards the road.

Too stunned to do anything else, I nodded agreement and we strolled deeper into the neighborhood. As we talked, I lost my fear and enjoyed conversing with him. Hours passed; we walked into the next neighborhood, and I barely noticed.

Until my watch lit up with the time: 2 a.m. “Shoot! It’s so late. I have to head home, Jason.”

“I’ll walk you back,” he said.

We were quiet on the way back, until we reached the end of my driveway. He stopped, looked me deep in the eyes, and whispered, “Never wander the streets alone at night.”

I blinked at him, confused, but he was already walking away. I gasped.

The back of his shirt was covered with still-dripping blood. He was leaving a morbid Hansel-and-Gretel trail of red drops behind him. I opened my mouth to call him back, but my mother’s voice interrupted me.

“Get inside, young lady! Where have you been? What have you been doing?”

I had no explanation, and slunk up the stairs to bed, where it took me an hour to fall asleep.

The next morning, I joined my parents for breakfast, scraping my chair loudly against the floor to face a bowl of soggy cereal. My father shook his newspaper, frowning.

“Do you know some guy named Jason? He was about your age. Lived around here.”

My spoon froze halfway to my mouth, and a cold shiver sped up my spine.

“He was murdered last night,” my father continued. His frown deepened. “Some bullies along the YM street. About ten thirty, it says here.”

It was him. It was Jason. The blood, the whispered warning, the sadness in his eyes… I had met the murdered boy just hours after his death. I quickly faced my cereal to hide my tears.

source from: ghoststories

The story goes that one night, 101 years ago, Alice was praying in the chapel. She was 13, and went to my school at the time. Alice lived on campus, in the dorms that existed back then. She was about to leave when a boy from a neighboring all-boys school walked in. The boy’s name was Henry, and he was in love with Alice. Though he was not allowed to be there, the two started conversing.

All of a sudden, a nun named Sister Jane heard the commotion. It was way past 7:30, the girls’ curfew, and the curious nun went into the chapel to find the pair kissing. This nun had extreme anger issues; she took a candle holder and brought it down upon Henry’s head. The impact immediately split his skull open, and he was dead in a matter of minutes.

Sister Jane, also infuriated at Alice, was about to kill her as well when Alice shoved her. The nun toppled backwards and fell right into a pew. She rose angrily and took a lit candle. She lit Alice’s hair and uniform on fire, turned, and ran out of the chapel. Turning, she shut the large doors of the chapel, locked them, adjusted her habit, folded her hands, and smiled smugly at the barely audible sound of the girl screaming. She walked off away without looking back.

The next morning, the church was discovered to be half burned to the ground. When the other sisters called for Sister Jane, she was not found. Almost a year later, they found a skeleton in a nearby forest. The chapel was rebuilt over the same spot as the old one.

In present day, I was walking through the hallway of my school to French class when I decided to light a candle for my aunt, who was having surgery that day. As I turned down to the chapel, my friends Mary Grace, Katherine, Emily, and Kaity followed me, since we had another five minutes before class.

As I picked up some matches, someone smacked them out of my hand. I turned to my friend Mary Grace who was standing next to me at the time and was about to yell at her for smacking the matches out of my hand when, all of a sudden, Kaity gripped her head as if someone had bashed it open. Then Katherine started screaming and pulling at her hair and tearing at her uniform. Emily toppled into the pew, as if someone had pushed her, and I followed her seconds after.

I screamed as all of the candles toppled out of their holders, instantly going out. Then, the door slammed shut, and we heard a loud click as it locked. We saw a nun’s habit outside through the windows, and then Mary Grace fainted.

I remembered waking up at home the next morning, thinking it was a dream, but Kaity wasn’t in school for a week. We found out later that she had “fallen” and her head had broken open.

I don’t go into the chapel anymore, and I hardly look at it. There have not been any further encounters since then, but other girls have reported seeing a boy and a girl kissing, looking left and right, then disappearing.

Could it be Alice and Henry?

source from: ghoststories

The story I’m about to tell is strange and I have no simple explanation for the facts to which I will swear here and now. I have never believed in ghosts but always enjoyed going on ghost hunts with my friends from high school. We still occasionally go on a hunt even though we are several years out of high school. It’s still fun and we have a great time.

One night in early June, a few years ago, my girlfriend, another couple and I were in route to a location that was reported to be haunted by the ghost of a young girl who died of a bee sting, some fifty years before. Dying of a bee sting seems unlikely enough to those of us who are not allergic, but the rest of this story is even stranger.

The full moon was high in the night sky when we arrived at the abandoned house where the ghost was supposed to reside. The house was at that time located in the middle of a thirty-acre pasture adjacent to an old roadbed, which had been the main thoroughfare connecting this area of the county with the main county road leading to town. We had parked our car at the closest spot possible on the road and walked the considerable distance toward the lonesome figure of a dwelling, clearly visible in the open terrain.

The story that brought us to this place, as told by the couple with us, goes like this:

The young girl who lived in this house, loved the smell of honeysuckle and would pick a bouquet every day. She would bring it to the house where her mother would place it in a vase for everyone to enjoy. One day the mother had put the honeysuckle in the vase and placed it on a table in the living room. The young girl was gently brushing her nose against the blooms and was stung by a bee hidden among the flowers. Unknown to either of them, the little girl was allergic to bee stings. She suffered briefly and died that same day. She was rumored to be buried very near the house in a small family graveyard. The story is, that, when the honeysuckle is in bloom, the ghost of the little girl can be seen standing in the door of the house. That’s spooky enough, but what happened to us that night was even more disturbing and differs substantially from that version of the story.

We all joked about the story and naturally us guys began pretending to see things, trying to scare the girls with our fake sightings. The first thing we seriously noticed was the obvious outline of three grave markers silhouetted against the open pasture by the bright blue-silver moonlight. That fit the story that was told and pretty much changed the mood from a joke to something else. Things weren’t quite so funny after that. We noted that the old house was in poor condition as we walked around it looking through the windows, none of which retained even a single pane of glass. There was no front door, only a deep, black opening. One of the girls remarked that the house looked like a face with the windows resembling dark eyes on either side of the open door, which could easily be imagined to be a mouth. Once you noticed it, it was an eerie sight.

This old house was one of those that had never seen a drop of paint and was topped by a rusty tin roof. The chimney at one end of the house was made of fieldstone stacked with great care and it’s builders had used no mortar, typical of houses of that era. The house sat on a hillside with the downhill side elevated on pillars of stacked fieldstones. The front door was at a height of about three feet from the ground, where it had opened toward what had been the front yard. Blackberry briars guarded the doorways, effectively deterring any attempt to enter. The house didn’t have a front porch and the steps at the front door had collapsed years ago. We stood discussing the fact that we were just outside what we believed to be the living room where the bee had stung the little girl. About then, one of the girls mentioned that she smelled the scent of honeysuckle. With a deep breath, we all smelled it. It got very quiet, with only the far away sound of a whippoorwill and then, from inside the house, there was the very definite sound of footsteps. Clearly the footsteps were coming toward the front door. We all backed away several steps as a knee-jerk reaction to a sound that wasn’t supposed to be there.

We stared in disbelief as the moonlight illuminated the figure of a grown woman in a long dress and a light colored apron standing at the front door. She was holding what appeared to be a vase of flowers. The moonlight was bright enough that we could see the expression on her face was that of a very unhappy woman. Both the girls screamed and I came pretty close myself. The figure paid no attention to the screams of the girls or our presence at her front door. We watched as the woman threw the vase out into the yard. I saw the vase flying through the very bright moonlight and expected to hear the crash when it broke against the rocky ground. That sound never occurred and before my eyes the woman faded into the thick, warm, night air. With numbed amazement, I looked back at the spot where the vase should have landed and could see nothing that resembled it. That odd feeling of the hair standing on the back of my neck and a weird paralysis in my legs held me fast in place. My brain was screaming “run”, my feet were refusing to move and I actually felt as though I was losing my balance. At this point, the heavy scent of honeysuckle, again, filled the air. We all looked at each other and I am sure we were all thinking the same thing. The girls echoed in unison, “Let’s go”. I think all four of us completely agreed with that sentiment, thus we moved, with some haste, toward where the car was parked.

It was about two hundred yards to where the car was parked, on the side of a dirt road, but that walk (actually, more of a run) seemed much, much longer. We spooked a few cows in our hurried flight and quickly let ourselves through the pasture gate, to where the car waited. In the car, we had a loud and vigorous discussion about what had just happened as we hurriedly drove away. We all agreed that what we had seen had to be the little girl’s mother throwing out the flowers, which concealed the bee, which had killed her little girl. The woman’s apparition had every right to appear unhappy and it was very evident that her spirit was yet unquiet and had been so for all the years since the girl’s death. She had likely reenacted this same futile act of throwing out the flowers, countless times… every year… when the honeysuckle is in bloom.

Now, every time I smell honeysuckle, I relive that night, when I looked into the face of a very real and troubled spirit that was trapped in a fruitless cycle between the peace of the grave and the torment of living with the loss a child. May she, one day, find peace.

source from: ghoststories

It all began when I moved into an old Villa, built in the early 1900′s. I was 7 years old. My brother (who was only 5 at the time) and I were so excited. My father renovated the house shortly after we moved in. He extended my room, (which we called the sun room, as it was at the far end of the house where the sun shone in all day), and put in a new kitchen, bathrooms, and built a large deck in the backyard with a fish pond at the far end.

We also welcomed a new dog into our family. A big fluffy German Shepard, called Norman.

It wasn’t long after we moved in that we started experiencing strange phenomena. The first recollections of these happenings are ones I can’t remember, but ones that my mother had informed me about later in life. Whilst my bedroom was being renovated, I shared a room with my brother. One night, Mum awoke to the sound of us having a conversation. Assuming we had stayed up past our bed time, she came into the room and told us to go to sleep. Instead of responding, we continued to talk, and at that moment she said realized we were sleep-talking. “There he is!” I said “He’s coming!” My brother then began to say “The man is here!” My mother thought this was strange, so she woke us up, saying we’d had a bad dream.

The next instance occurred, again, to my mother. She awoke to footsteps walking around her bed. When we opened her eyes, she saw a short black shadow with glowing green eyes starring back at her. She hit out at the ‘thing’ in fear, which resulted in my father waking up, confused. He insisted that she must have been dreaming, as he didn’t believe in anything paranormal. The bizarre thing was, that 5 minutes after she had seen this glowing eyed creature, my brother ran into her bedroom saying he had just seen ‘E.T’ standing by his bed.

I remember my first encounter with a ghost. I would have been about 10 years old. It was after Dad had finished renovating my new bedroom. It was a still night, and no moon in the sky, so my bedroom was pitch black. Like my mother, I awoke to footsteps slowly walking into my room and around my bed. I opened my eyes, and to my horror, a blonde haired boy with blue eyes, knelt beside my bed. He just starred at me, smiling. A white glow surrounded him, it was so bright it hurt my eyes. I remember being so terrified. I couldn’t move. I felt frozen, my heart was racing. I got the courage to pull the blanket up over my head, and lay there in the darkness hoping he had gone away. After a few minutes, he had.

Our dog Norman was also subject to seeing something paranormal in the house. He used to sit in front of the old fireplace, starring at the mantle piece as if something was there. Waving my hand in front of his eyes didn’t deter him. I always wondered if he could see something we couldn’t.

My mother saw many other entities, including a tall man wearing a top hat, a girl with abnormally big eyes and long brown hair, and small children playing on her window seat.

The most terrifying experience I had, was something I could not see, but could only hear. I had just hopped into bed and turned off the light, when I noticed a noise that sounded like somebody breathing heavily. I listened for a while. It got louder and louder. It was the scariest thing I’ve ever heard in my life. I was actually convinced someone HAD to be in the room, under my bed or in the closet. Too frightened to move, I called out to my parents. Dad came into the room and asked me what was wrong. After informing him of the breathing, he sat with me in silence to see if he could hear what I’d been telling him about. We sat quietly for a couple of minutes, and NOTHING could be heard. It had completely stopped. He said it could have been the water pipes, told me not to worry, and tucked me into bed. I felt comforted, especially now that the breathing had gone. But seconds after he left the room, it started again. It was a deep breathing. Almost like whoever it was, was struggling to breathe. I can’t describe how terrifying it was to hear such a thing.

Even when I invited friends over to the house, they were too scared to come back after their visit. On one occasion, I had 3 friends over. We were playing in the garden at dusk, and I ran inside to grab everyone a drink. When I came back, the three smiling faces had now turned to ones of fear. They told me that while I was gone, they heard someone say ‘Hello!” When I asked them to describe the voice, they could only tell me that it sounded like a very small child, coming from behind the plants and shrubs next to the pond.

I also witnessed some poltergeist activity in the old Villa. One evening, while I was sitting by the fire with Mum, we heard a noise coming from the kitchen. We both glanced in the direction of where the sound had come from, and to our surprise, a plastic water jug was hovering above the bench in mid air for a good 3 seconds. Suddenly, it fell to the floor, making us jump. Nothing was said, we both just looked at each other, with concerned faces. It was like we were so used to things like that happening.

The final happening that I can recall before we moved out, was something beyond bizarre. I would have been about 16 at the time. My brother and I decided to go outside with our sleeping bags and look at the stars for a while. It was a good clear night for it. We noticed that the moon looked strange that night, it had a glow about it that we’d never seen before. After a few minutes of starring at it, the glow got stronger and the top of it began to ripple and flicker, like a ball of fire. In complete amazement, we sat there watching. What we thought was the moon, then zoomed off and disappeared into the night sky, so fast, it was hard to comprehend what had just happened. To this day, we still don’t know what it was. We were so sure it was the moon.

Over the space of 11 years in the house, my family and I experienced some terrifying things. In the end, we had to move out because my parents decided to split. A week after they announced this, my Dog died of cancer, and my cat was found dead in the garden. It was like the end of an era.

We sold the house to a nice couple, with two children and a small baby. I still drive past the house regularly, and wonder if they experience paranormal activity. I guess I’ll never know.

source from: ghoststories

For some reason it’s been very difficult to find any history on the Alameda Insane Asylum, as for an actual date of construction I can only give the estimate that this site is easily over 100 years old. It was used as a hospital for the insane until it closed down for reasons unknown.

The site has been abandoned for many years and even the current owner seems almost impossible to find. Guards patrol the site on a regular basis to stop trespassers entering the building.

I apologize for not being able to provide a more accurate history. If you know of any historical information on this site then please send me a message in the contact area. Thank you.

Hauntings

The ghost stories on this site are massive, it’s said that when the hospital was open, the patients were treated very poorly. Stories include patients being tortured, murdered, beaten, abused, the list goes on. Suicides also seem to be a common occurrence at this site, with the basement being a favourite area to commit suicide by hanging.

Ghost stories include hearing loud screams from distant rooms within the hospital, the feeling of someone standing behind you and of being watched.

Ghostly faces appearing in windows, blinds and curtains opening and closing by themselves, the apparition of a young boy running through the corridors, and a huge amount of other sightings of ghosts of all different types of appearance.

It would seem that from the stories this site is one of the most haunted places in California, the building is completely abandoned and has been for some time, maybe the secrecy of its past and the area being paroled by guards has something to do with this?

source from: hauntedhovel