Halloween isn't far away, so let's hear some creepy stories that somehow involve you.

 

For me, I guess one that always sticks out in my mind took place when I was in elementary school (cue the "you're still in elementary school" jokes). Anyway, I was about 9 or 10 and a friend was having a birthday party for about 8 or 10 friends. His parents weren't the most responsible in the world, so they didn't care that we were playing with a Ouija board. We asked the Ouija board a bunch of questions, and to make sure one of the users wasn't forcing the answers, we asked it for "proof" that this was really a spirit we were talking to. About 15 minutes later, the birthday boy's mom leaves to go get us some pizza, but she comes back in the house quickly. She lets us know that all 4 of the tires on her car were flat. Sure enough, we go outside to look & all 4 tires are flatter than pancakes. :eek:

 

Suffice it to say, we took that as a legit sign. And suffice it to say, we stopped playing with the Ouija board. :lol2:

 

Let's hear yours.

This isn’t much of a “ghost story,” per se, but it fits the theme and I think some may get a laugh out of it. Plus, I had it typed up already so I just had to find it and paste it. :lol2:

 

Back in high school it became popular to go on these adventures to “haunted” places. A group of about thirty of us would wait until after dark and carpool to some abandoned house or something we found on various lists of haunted places in the area. I don’t know why it became a thing, but people were into it.

 

At some point, a friend of mine who was several years older than me told me about a place that fit the bill for us. His parents’ home backed up to a huge farm and he and his friends used to hang out on it years, maybe a decade, before. They would fish there or help the guy who owned with chores. The owner, apparently a very religious man (a priest or pastor maybe), had owned the farm and a small house on the property. The story went that the owner had been locked up for murder and died in prison, leaving the farm to whomever and it wasn’t kept up.

 

After they heard the guy died, they decided to go into the house. The windows had been busted out and they opened a door and walked in. He described them fooling around and trying to scare one another, I guess because a now dead murderer had lived there. He said he decided to walk up the stairs and when he made it to the second floor he saw a coffin in the main, open room. The way he had explained it to me was that he didn’t know what it was immediately and sort of sauntered over to check it out only to have the sudden flash of realization that this was a coffin in an abandoned house. Of course, he told this part of the story much better, peppering in more details about the man who owned the property that gave the story that mythical, supernatural sort of feel. I remember being intrigued by his delivery and sincerity, though he’d probably rehearsed the story enough to make it good.

 

At any rate, it sounded perfect. Abandoned, creepy house? Check. Creepy story behind it? Check. We just needed to make sure it was still there. I told one of my adventurous cohorts the story and we thought it would be a good idea to investigate it. I knew where this farm would be. It backed up to a residential street, so we assumed we could simply walk behind one of the suburban homes, find the farm and then find the farmhouse. We had a grand plan to bring the whole group out on the weekend, but we weren’t sure if we were being told a tale, or even if true whether this place was still there, so we wanted to scope it out first.

 

We drove out there one day and there was definitely a farm. We decided to go ahead and sneak through someone’s yard and onto the farm to see if the house was there. Once we made it through the manicured, suburban yard and through the brush separating the farm we were knee deep in an overgrown field. We sort of hacked our way through a bit, and sure enough, as we made it to the edge of a hill the house was only a hundred or so yards away.

 

Since we had made it that far so we decided to go in and investigate. As we approached this house, there was a huge, black crow perched on its roof. Once we were within twenty feet of the house, the crow flew and perched on a tree adjacent to the house. Being a bit nervous, we began questioning why the bird had made such an odd move, but thought better of making a big deal about it. Now, this house is the prototypical haunted house. It was an old farmhouse that hadn’t been maintained in decades. It had that quant, historic look to it, with the broken windows, eerie shadows, and sort of ominous stature one associates with a haunted house. There was even a grave marker in the front yard. So, again, we were getting a little nervous as we approached this house.

 

The door was jammed shut, but the window had been completely removed, so we played rock-paper-scissor for who would climb through first. I had the luxury of going in second, but did so quickly as being on the porch by myself was just as unsettling. The inside of the house had not been touched. Besides weather damage, most everything was intact. There were pictures and decorations still up and the original furniture was still in there. It was very eerie. Of course, we were fearful of trekking upstairs, afraid to find something we didn’t want to find. Anyway, we squeamishly crept up the stairs only to find an empty space. At least that part of the story had been embellished, we thought.

 

At this point, we became at ease with walking around the house, laughing off the “ghost story” mystique. As we looked through the main floor again, I noticed that there was a tiny door in the kitchen. It was about knee high. Undauntedly, we flung it open only to reveal a dark, stone stairwell that a person could only get down by crawling. Its presence alone was frightening, for some reason, but it had a landing about halfway down, with the stairs turning a different direction and out of our site. However, perched on the landing and partly concealed by the walls to the other part of the stairwell was a fairly large, rectangular, wooden box in the distinct shape of an old coffin.

 

I would imagine the sight of us pale faced, with a cartoonish hair-on-neck shocked expressions trying to both squeeze out of a window at the same time would have been quite comical. Not to mention the both of us were in a dead sprint heading away from this house through waist high weeds. I still laugh thinking about both of us running like that. Anyhow, we turned to look back about halfway to the end of the farm just in time to see that massive crow fly back from the tree and onto the house. We probably made double-time from that point on. The crow was possibly the creepiest part of it all, but I can’t really describe why. It just seemed like it “knew.” My friend and I attributed it to some sort of supernatural power, so at the very least we had a better reason to run like children.

Whoa. :lol2::eek:

the first house I bought was haunted. 100% positive. Actually "haunted" sounds a little rough. It really just had a fun loving spirit. Knocked pictures over on tables and off of walls. Walked around and played bells upstairs. Biggest thing was one night when my wife double bolted the back door (she is a lock freak - I call her the "warden") and then ten minutes later asked me if I had gone outside. I hadn't. the deadbolt was unlocked and the door was ajar. Stuff like that happen often at that house; never at the one we live in now.

This isn’t much of a “ghost story,” per se, but it fits the theme and I think some may get a laugh out of it. Plus, I had it typed up already so I just had to find it and paste it. :lol2:

 

Back in high school it became popular to go on these adventures to “haunted” places. A group of about thirty of us would wait until after dark and carpool to some abandoned house or something we found on various lists of haunted places in the area. I don’t know why it became a thing, but people were into it.

 

At some point, a friend of mine who was several years older than me told me about a place that fit the bill for us. His parents’ home backed up to a huge farm and he and his friends used to hang out on it years, maybe a decade, before. They would fish there or help the guy who owned with chores. The owner, apparently a very religious man (a priest or pastor maybe), had owned the farm and a small house on the property. The story went that the owner had been locked up for murder and died in prison, leaving the farm to whomever and it wasn’t kept up.

 

After they heard the guy died, they decided to go into the house. The windows had been busted out and they opened a door and walked in. He described them fooling around and trying to scare one another, I guess because a now dead murderer had lived there. He said he decided to walk up the stairs and when he made it to the second floor he saw a coffin in the main, open room. The way he had explained it to me was that he didn’t know what it was immediately and sort of sauntered over to check it out only to have the sudden flash of realization that this was a coffin in an abandoned house. Of course, he told this part of the story much better, peppering in more details about the man who owned the property that gave the story that mythical, supernatural sort of feel. I remember being intrigued by his delivery and sincerity, though he’d probably rehearsed the story enough to make it good.

 

At any rate, it sounded perfect. Abandoned, creepy house? Check. Creepy story behind it? Check. We just needed to make sure it was still there. I told one of my adventurous cohorts the story and we thought it would be a good idea to investigate it. I knew where this farm would be. It backed up to a residential street, so we assumed we could simply walk behind one of the suburban homes, find the farm and then find the farmhouse. We had a grand plan to bring the whole group out on the weekend, but we weren’t sure if we were being told a tale, or even if true whether this place was still there, so we wanted to scope it out first.

 

We drove out there one day and there was definitely a farm. We decided to go ahead and sneak through someone’s yard and onto the farm to see if the house was there. Once we made it through the manicured, suburban yard and through the brush separating the farm we were knee deep in an overgrown field. We sort of hacked our way through a bit, and sure enough, as we made it to the edge of a hill the house was only a hundred or so yards away.

 

Since we had made it that far so we decided to go in and investigate. As we approached this house, there was a huge, black crow perched on its roof. Once we were within twenty feet of the house, the crow flew and perched on a tree adjacent to the house. Being a bit nervous, we began questioning why the bird had made such an odd move, but thought better of making a big deal about it. Now, this house is the prototypical haunted house. It was an old farmhouse that hadn’t been maintained in decades. It had that quant, historic look to it, with the broken windows, eerie shadows, and sort of ominous stature one associates with a haunted house. There was even a grave marker in the front yard. So, again, we were getting a little nervous as we approached this house.

 

The door was jammed shut, but the window had been completely removed, so we played rock-paper-scissor for who would climb through first. I had the luxury of going in second, but did so quickly as being on the porch by myself was just as unsettling. The inside of the house had not been touched. Besides weather damage, most everything was intact. There were pictures and decorations still up and the original furniture was still in there. It was very eerie. Of course, we were fearful of trekking upstairs, afraid to find something we didn’t want to find. Anyway, we squeamishly crept up the stairs only to find an empty space. At least that part of the story had been embellished, we thought.

 

At this point, we became at ease with walking around the house, laughing off the “ghost story” mystique. As we looked through the main floor again, I noticed that there was a tiny door in the kitchen. It was about knee high. Undauntedly, we flung it open only to reveal a dark, stone stairwell that a person could only get down by crawling. Its presence alone was frightening, for some reason, but it had a landing about halfway down, with the stairs turning a different direction and out of our site. However, perched on the landing and partly concealed by the walls to the other part of the stairwell was a fairly large, rectangular, wooden box in the distinct shape of an old coffin.

 

I would imagine the sight of us pale faced, with a cartoonish hair-on-neck shocked expressions trying to both squeeze out of a window at the same time would have been quite comical. Not to mention the both of us were in a dead sprint heading away from this house through waist high weeds. I still laugh thinking about both of us running like that. Anyhow, we turned to look back about halfway to the end of the farm just in time to see that massive crow fly back from the tree and onto the house. We probably made double-time from that point on. The crow was possibly the creepiest part of it all, but I can’t really describe why. It just seemed like it “knew.” My friend and I attributed it to some sort of supernatural power, so at the very least we had a better reason to run like children.

Dude

I'm looking at you right now.

This isn’t much of a “ghost story,” per se, but it fits the theme and I think some may get a laugh out of it. Plus, I had it typed up already so I just had to find it and paste it. :lol2:

 

Back in high school it became popular to go on these adventures to “haunted” places. A group of about thirty of us would wait until after dark and carpool to some abandoned house or something we found on various lists of haunted places in the area. I don’t know why it became a thing, but people were into it.

 

At some point, a friend of mine who was several years older than me told me about a place that fit the bill for us. His parents’ home backed up to a huge farm and he and his friends used to hang out on it years, maybe a decade, before. They would fish there or help the guy who owned with chores. The owner, apparently a very religious man (a priest or pastor maybe), had owned the farm and a small house on the property. The story went that the owner had been locked up for murder and died in prison, leaving the farm to whomever and it wasn’t kept up.

 

After they heard the guy died, they decided to go into the house. The windows had been busted out and they opened a door and walked in. He described them fooling around and trying to scare one another, I guess because a now dead murderer had lived there. He said he decided to walk up the stairs and when he made it to the second floor he saw a coffin in the main, open room. The way he had explained it to me was that he didn’t know what it was immediately and sort of sauntered over to check it out only to have the sudden flash of realization that this was a coffin in an abandoned house. Of course, he told this part of the story much better, peppering in more details about the man who owned the property that gave the story that mythical, supernatural sort of feel. I remember being intrigued by his delivery and sincerity, though he’d probably rehearsed the story enough to make it good.

 

At any rate, it sounded perfect. Abandoned, creepy house? Check. Creepy story behind it? Check. We just needed to make sure it was still there. I told one of my adventurous cohorts the story and we thought it would be a good idea to investigate it. I knew where this farm would be. It backed up to a residential street, so we assumed we could simply walk behind one of the suburban homes, find the farm and then find the farmhouse. We had a grand plan to bring the whole group out on the weekend, but we weren’t sure if we were being told a tale, or even if true whether this place was still there, so we wanted to scope it out first.

 

We drove out there one day and there was definitely a farm. We decided to go ahead and sneak through someone’s yard and onto the farm to see if the house was there. Once we made it through the manicured, suburban yard and through the brush separating the farm we were knee deep in an overgrown field. We sort of hacked our way through a bit, and sure enough, as we made it to the edge of a hill the house was only a hundred or so yards away.

 

Since we had made it that far so we decided to go in and investigate. As we approached this house, there was a huge, black crow perched on its roof. Once we were within twenty feet of the house, the crow flew and perched on a tree adjacent to the house. Being a bit nervous, we began questioning why the bird had made such an odd move, but thought better of making a big deal about it. Now, this house is the prototypical haunted house. It was an old farmhouse that hadn’t been maintained in decades. It had that quant, historic look to it, with the broken windows, eerie shadows, and sort of ominous stature one associates with a haunted house. There was even a grave marker in the front yard. So, again, we were getting a little nervous as we approached this house.

 

The door was jammed shut, but the window had been completely removed, so we played rock-paper-scissor for who would climb through first. I had the luxury of going in second, but did so quickly as being on the porch by myself was just as unsettling. The inside of the house had not been touched. Besides weather damage, most everything was intact. There were pictures and decorations still up and the original furniture was still in there. It was very eerie. Of course, we were fearful of trekking upstairs, afraid to find something we didn’t want to find. Anyway, we squeamishly crept up the stairs only to find an empty space. At least that part of the story had been embellished, we thought.

 

At this point, we became at ease with walking around the house, laughing off the “ghost story” mystique. As we looked through the main floor again, I noticed that there was a tiny door in the kitchen. It was about knee high. Undauntedly, we flung it open only to reveal a dark, stone stairwell that a person could only get down by crawling. Its presence alone was frightening, for some reason, but it had a landing about halfway down, with the stairs turning a different direction and out of our site. However, perched on the landing and partly concealed by the walls to the other part of the stairwell was a fairly large, rectangular, wooden box in the distinct shape of an old coffin.

 

I would imagine the sight of us pale faced, with a cartoonish hair-on-neck shocked expressions trying to both squeeze out of a window at the same time would have been quite comical. Not to mention the both of us were in a dead sprint heading away from this house through waist high weeds. I still laugh thinking about both of us running like that. Anyhow, we turned to look back about halfway to the end of the farm just in time to see that massive crow fly back from the tree and onto the house. We probably made double-time from that point on. The crow was possibly the creepiest part of it all, but I can’t really describe why. It just seemed like it “knew.” My friend and I attributed it to some sort of supernatural power, so at the very least we had a better reason to run like children.

 

How about the Cliffnotes version, B-Ball-fan. :lol2:

How about the Cliffnotes version, B-Ball-fan. :lol2:

 

TLDR: We went into an old farmhouse. There was a bird on it.

TLDR: We went into an old farmhouse. There was a bird on it.

 

:lol2:

Halloween isn't far away, so let's hear some creepy stories that somehow involve you.

 

For me, I guess one that always sticks out in my mind took place when I was in elementary school (cue the "you're still in elementary school" jokes). Anyway, I was about 9 or 10 and a friend was having a birthday party for about 8 or 10 friends. His parents weren't the most responsible in the world, so they didn't care that we were playing with a Ouija board. We asked the Ouija board a bunch of questions, and to make sure one of the users wasn't forcing the answers, we asked it for "proof" that this was really a spirit we were talking to. About 15 minutes later, the birthday boy's mom leaves to go get us some pizza, but she comes back in the house quickly. She lets us know that all 4 of the tires on her car were flat. Sure enough, we go outside to look & all 4 tires are flatter than pancakes. :eek:

 

Suffice it to say, we took that as a legit sign. And suffice it to say, we stopped playing with the Ouija board. :lol2:

 

Let's hear yours.

 

I heard getslow was outside your window last night. That doesn't creep me out, but it should you.:scared:

TLDR: We went into an old farmhouse. There was a bird on it. And I pooped my pants.

 

Left out some. I fixed it for you.:thumb:

1. When my mom was a little girl. (WWII Germany) Her father had been made to serve, and her mom was trying to get her and her brothers and sister away from the Russia/Poland side to family in Hamburg. They had boarded a boat that was supposed to take them close enough to walk to her aunt's.

 

At the last minute her mom pulled them off the boat. Said she had a bad feeling and would rather try to walk.

 

They actually saw the boat blow up after it had left.

 

2. When I was a kid. I had begged my mom to let me spend the night at a friend's house with another friend also. My mom had agreed and I was going to go. That night she changed her mind and said I couldn't. She wanted me to stay at home.

 

The next day, when she opened the paper, she turned white and fell to her knees. The two boys I was supposed to stay with had died in a house fire. The people had an old player piano in an attic room. They were playing with it and some how it caused an electrical fire. There were no windows and they got trapped.

 

3. I once worked at a restaurant up in Ohio called The Stone House.

 

It was originally a house that had been built in the early 1800s. It had been documented as one time being part of the Underground Railroad during the Civil War. The basement was more like a catacomb with little store rooms.

 

Everyone that ever worked there swore it was haunted. Things were always getting moved around to different places. Nothing that would scare you, but it happened enough times that I believed it.

 

We had a psychic come in one time. She said it was a young woman 15 or so when she died. She had been given a locket by her mother when she was snuck out. She never saw her mother again.

 

She had the locket when she got to the house but couldn't find it when it was time to leave. Her spirit was looking for the locket, that's why things kept getting moved.

It's not terribly involved, but it was sure creepy.

 

Both of my older brothers are architects. The older of the two has a specific architectural expertise in historic restoration. Back in 2001, he was paid by the Underground Railroad Freedom Center to go down to Mason County to an old farm in Germantown and to reassemble an old slave pen that was lying in pieces inside of a 100 year old tobacco barn that sat far out in a rolling field . The slave pen had been used as a sub-structure to build the barn around, but both the pen and the barn were literally falling apart by 2002.

 

So the slave pen. It dated back to the 1820s when the farm was owned by John W. Anderson, a riverboat captain and one of the primary slavetraders in the area. Anderson built the pen on his farm, not too far from the Ohio River, and used to to house slaves he was holding prior to their sale. It was built with 16" thick hand-hewn timbers, with heavy iron rings embedded in the timbers to shackle the slaves to.

 

My brother had paid me during the process to go with him and help sort through the various remaining pieces of the pen, as many of them had fallen away from the structure and had been piled up inside of it. We had to measure each piece, cataloging and drawing them each individually before hefting them back into place to draw the whole structure architecturally so it could be dismantled, shipped off, fumigated, and reassembled in the museum.

 

The particularly creepy part of the process was the fact that we spend hours way out in a quiet abandoned field in the fall/winter of 2001 with the cold wind blowing across the hills and making all sorts of howling and creeking noises as they blew through the rickety old barn. Seeing the old shackle rings, and the various letters, numbers and symbols that had been scratched into the timbers of the slave pen by its former inhabitants as they sat their awaiting their sale as slaves was a very, VERY creepy feeling. What made it all the creepier was the fact that after a few weeks of working there, and having used a small stand of trees nearby as an outhouse, my brother pointed out to me that he had discovered a fallen headstone there...belonging to none other than "John W. Anderson - Ship Captain". After dying in a riding accident while chasing an escaped slave, Anderson had died and was buried less than 200 yards from the pen he had built to hold his slaves.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A group of friends and I went to see one of the Final Destination movies in theaters. When we came outside after the movie, my buddy had a flat tire.

 

Freaked us out. :lol2:

Son was out on a "Ghost hunting" trip one night and they had a recorder recording audio as they were nearing an old haunted cemetery and when they played the recording back later they could hear a female voice say "Stupid kids" in the background...kinda creepy sounding.