Ghost stories

I have been scaring the crap out of myself reading ghost stories online. I love how these things start to crop up around Halloween, just in time to ruin a whole a summer of blissfully ignoring my overactive imagination. I start out reading like a normal person, but I end up squatting awkwardly on the couch, in an effort to thwart any cold grey things that are about to grab my ankles. By the time I’m ready for bed, I can’t turn the lights off.

I am too freaked out right now to even google “Robert the doll,” so I can’t share with you this incredibly creepy story that the Chucky movies were apparently based on. No matter, I’ve collected some other “true” Halloween stories that will scare the pants off you.

scull2I stumbled upon this one last year:

Creepy Corner Real Life Zombie Edition – XO Jane

Just go read it, real life zombies are terrifying. There’s a possible explanation of the phenomenon in the comments, but its not any less weird.

While we’re talking about real life zombies, have you ever heard of Wade Davis? I’m surprised there has been only one (shitty) movie made about this guy. He’s a real life Indiana Jones, and I don’t throw this term around lightly. (I will totally throw that term around lightly.)

This vice essay is creepy and beautiful. The unexplained here has more to do with how scary people can be than anything supernatural:

Grandma the Poisoner – Vice

This eerie story is fine:

Ghosts of My Youth – The Hairpin

But the best part is in the comments, posted by debatingthisusername:

…The scariest experience, however ‘unscary’ it might seem, was when I drove home one night. Wisconsin’s pretty spaced out, so driving through unincorporated towns is necessary. Passing by an intersection in the middle of cornfields, I spotted a man, woman and child figure standing next to the road. Faceless and dressed in 1880-1900 clothing, my stomach seized up and I began convulsively sobbing. My entire body turned to ice, which has never once happened in my entire life of spotting spirits.

I’ve been followed by an Underground Railroad spirit, ‘escorted’ by a Tamworthian man, seen my dead grandmother, had dreams of my late stepmother, had my coat tugged in a concentration camp, smelled my grandfather’s house in a packed dormitory, and been disapproved of by the ‘lady of the house’, but the faceless pioneers threw my brain off for days.


What about that is un-scary? That’s freaking terrifying. I simultaneously want to know so much more, and really, really don’t.

Jezebel also did a commenter round-up of some amazingly creepy stories that I would not suggest reading if you want to sleep tonight. Round two is up today and I don’t know if I can do it, I couldn’t get the goat man out of my head last night.

catWhat about me? Do I have any creepy true stories of my own to share? Well I’m glad I asked.  Of course I do, tonnes! Didn’t I just say that I have this imagination thing and a tendency to love scary things too much for my own good?

Home Alone

The house where I grew up in Alberta was built on the coldest, windiest stretch from Edmonton to Olds. It was on this gravel road that wound down to a dead end in a swamp at the bottom of a coolee, and it just happened to boast the highest elevation and the longest recorded winters over a big chunk of the windy Alberta prairies. It was a beautiful house, sturdily built by my parent’s own four hands, and every time the imaginative child that I was thought up scary stories, the kinds about dead things that used to live there, I had to remind myself that this was a brand new house made just for our family, built on a isolated piece of land. Where would ghosts even come from?

Still, you had to admit that there was something strange about that road. Maybe it could be explained by those long, bitter winters. It was always just a bit colder there than anywhere nearby. There weren’t many houses on my road, maybe five. Five houses, five families, almost every one split by divorce by the time we left that windy spot.

Our house was sheltered from certain directions of blowing wind and snow by a thick copse of poplar trees. We were also further isolated from our neighbors by those same trees. My dad cut a sort of hidden path through the the woods, a path we couldn’t see from the house or the road, a path we did not use but he always maintained. He told us that if anything ever happened and he wasn’t there, we should grab the dog and run along that path to the neighbor’s house, about a ten minute trek. I only ever used the secret escape path once.

It was a long time ago, so I don’t remember why I was home alone with a friend. This didn’t happen often. I think my brother was at a friend’s and my parents were enjoying a rare night out. We lived so far from town that it was a really special treat for me to have someone over. We must have been so giddy it was weird that we heard anything at all. We did though and this is the part of the story that I remember clearly. All of a sudden my dog started barking and growling ferociously at the door of the vestibule. That must have been what made us run to the front of the house in the first place. Of course we were terrified, but we were even more so when the banging started.

We had a largish vestibule between the outside and the boot room that accessed the door to the front porch and the garage door. The door to the vestibule was always closed and it was a good, heavy door. That door was closed when we came running to see what was wrong with the dog. As soon as we got there the door started vibrating with these incredibly loud bangs, about one every couple of seconds. I still can’t imagine what it was unless someone was standing on the other side with a battering ram. It was a really heavy door and these bangs were just shaking it on its hinges. One thing was certain, whatever it was was already inside the house. Weirder still, the moment the banging started, the dog stopped barking and just calmed right down. We didn’t though, we stared at the door half of a frozen second, and then we grabbed Sparky and ran.

We rushed along the snow-covered path that whispered through the trees. Once out of the house we couldn’t hear a thing, the cold air was crisp and quiet around us. After making our way through the secret path, we were briefly stopped at the fence between the properties. Our neighbors kept horses and had an electric fence. It wasn’t always on but I had gotten on the wrong side of it before. We were too scared to wait long so we went ahead and climbed over it, no shocks.

After hopping the fence we encountered a different problem, deep drifts of snow covered the field we had to walk through to the house next door, and it wasn’t like we’d had time to put on our snow pants.

The snow crystals shivered in the big light over our neighbor’s quonset. The lights were on in their kitchen too, but nobody was home. Nobody was home in the next closest house either, up the long drive to the road, and then just up the hill. We were getting cold and more and more scared. Where was everybody the one time I needed neighbors?

I had run out of people I knew on our street. Look, when your houses are as spaced out as ours, you don’t have many excuses to be neighborly. We decided to try the first neighbors again, and this time they were home. By then we were feeling more silly than scared so our story lacked a certain conviction. When my parents finally came home everything was back to normal, and nobody really believed our ramblings. Maybe it was the wind. But it couldn’t have been the wind. A few years later my parents got divorced too.


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