Our Little Paranormal Thread

[Lamb]

I made this one... (BTW this isn't me, but technically it is since i had a weird experience)
Yeah... I'm a hacker.. So what? I hack games on permission. About a year ago i was playing a hacked game. Well i thought i loved this site so i signed up. I did and i soon regretted it. Somehow i got someones profile.. Her name was Abby Harrell And she lived in My hometown. I looked up her in my towns history of people and it said Abby died in 2005. Well, the "last logged on" thing said she got on 2 months ago before i did. I checked the signature and it said.. "go to the bathroom" Out of curiosity... I checked but i still had my laptop in my hands. I went in and the mirror, in blood said bad choice.. The door behind me slammed and the lights went dead. That's why I'm typing thi-

xD that sounds somewhat like something that could happen to me if the protagonist was a male character..

[IsAmy]

Yet another one.. Scared the hell out of me
When I was a kid my parents would sometimes bring me down to my aunt and uncle's place to stay for the weekend. Mainly I'd spend the time playing with my two cousins, who were around the same age as me. They lived on a small farm with plenty of open space, and we could run around doing pretty much whatever we wanted.

If we thought we could get away with it, the three of us would sometimes cross over to the neighboring farm about half a mile away. It had been abandoned for decades, with a scattering of derelict buildings and other structures still standing on the property, just begging to be explored. This was, of course, a goldmine for three adventurous young boys such as ourselves, especially after my cousins told me stories about how the place was haunted. It was pretty classic fare – man goes crazy, axe murders his entire family, hangs himself, returns every night as an angry spirit looking for new victims. Good, grisly stuff. Even at that age I knew they were probably making it up, or at least embellishing old rumors. But seeing as how the setting lent itself so well to such tales, I allowed myself to buy into it.

One afternoon we decided to play hide-and-seek. When it was my turn to hide, I ran off for a flimsy brown barn that had living quarters on top, and climbed the stairs looking for a good spot. There was still furniture inside, musty and rotting, and personal belongings lay scattered across the floor. I maneuvered over broken dishes, tattered clothes, and crumbling books, eventually coming to a small bedroom with a closet. Jackpot. There were even long black dresses still hanging on the rod that I could hide behind.

I stepped inside and managed to force shut the folding door. My only illumination was a slit of sunlight that shone through the crack in the door from a nearby window. I crouched down with knees tucked into chest and waited. Some time passed, and there was still no sign of my seekers. I waited some more, debating if and when I should give myself up. After nearly an hour, this was starting to get boring. My head drooped.

I awoke with a jerk. It was pitch-black. Drowsy and confused, I forgot for a minute where I was or what I'd been doing. As it slowly came back to me, the realization that it was now night, and that I had been abandoned here, filled me with a sinking dread in the pit of my stomach. I tried to get up but a sudden cramp in my calf kept me grounded. I squirmed about, waiting for it to pass when I heard a door slamming shut downstairs, and instantly froze. One of my cousins? There was a brief period of silence, then footsteps at the bottom of the stairs. But not just footsteps. A thud too, after every other step.

These weren't the footfalls of a child. They were slow, heavy, deliberate. I held my breath, praying they would go away. They did not. The noises continued to ascend.

Step...step...thud

Step...step...thud

They reached the top of the staircase. After another moment of silence the walking resumed, this time along with a steady scraping sound, like something heavy being dragged across the floorboards. The footsteps made their way through the debris and wandered aimlessly through various rooms. I thought I could smell something faintly putrid. The constant scraaape sent cold shivers coursing down my arms and back.

My worst fears were realized when the steps reached the bedroom doorway.

They got closer and closer, and finally stopped directly in front of the closet door. I couldn't see a thing. After an agonizing pause they continued on, over to the other side of the room and out the doorway again. They faded away down the hallway.

Scraaaaaaape

I waited for what seemed like an eternity. There were no more sounds now, and I was trying to build up enough courage to open the door and flee. Three things happened simultaneously just then: I was bombarded with a smell I can only describe as fresh roadkill. I heard raspy breathing behind me in the dark closet. And I felt hot breath against the nape of my neck.

That was enough for me to hurtle myself out of the confines of that nightmare space, relying on memory and scant moonlight to navigate through the darkened house. All the while I heard footsteps chasing behind me, closing in with terrifying speed.

Step-step, step-step, stepstepstepstep

It was a clumsy, tortuous escape, full of trips and bumps and blind stumbling.

I never looked back, at least not until I had burst out the front door and into the country night. And when I did turn around, I saw – absolutely nothing. There were no more footsteps, and nobody was chasing me. That didn't stop me from running though, all the way back to my aunt and uncle's house.

There was a police car in the driveway when I got back. My parents were there too, worried sick. Everybody demanded to know where I'd been. Apparently, when my cousins still hadn't found me by evening, they'd returned home to tell their parents. Eventually the police were called in, and informed me they had already scoured every building on the farm. The insinuation that I was lying about my whereabouts didn't go unnoticed. None of it made any sense.

It wasn't until years later that one of my cousins filled in a final piece of the story. He and his brother had spent hours searching for me, like they said. But the part they didn't tell anyone was that they thought they spotted me in the window of the bedroom I was hiding in. When they got closer they saw that it wasn't me.

A young boy neither of them recognized was smiling and waving down at them, and gesturing for them to come upstairs. That's when they ran back home.

All this, while I slept in the closet.
NOPE!

[Foopzheart]

IsAmy, you are a beautiful person. Thank you for keeping this thread well.

[IsAmy]

IsAmy, you are a beautiful person. Thank you for keeping this thread well.

I love the paranormal Also, go to Reddit's no-sleep.. they got good stuff there

[IsAmy]

new one
This story is as accurate as it was on the police report.

March 14th, 2008. I was 17 years old, a junior in high school. I lived in a square mile suburban town in Nassau county, one of the richest counties in America. Life there was very quiet. The population is white and Catholic. Not much goes on.

I had been struggling with depression and couldn't focus on my school work. I had a paper and a whole bunch of homework I hadn't done the night before, so I woke up at 7 am and made my way downstairs to my mom's room to ask if I could sleep in, catch up on some school work and go to school late. She agreed.

I woke up around 10 am, later than I had anticipated. I walked downstairs, poured myself a bowl of cereal and said good morning to my poodle. That's when I heard knocking on the door. At first it was regular, calm knocking. I didn't think much of it but didn't want to answer the door in my pajamas. I picked up the house phone and dialed my mom's phone number. She was at work (as a church secretary).

"Hey, mom? Are you expecting anybody at the house? Someone is knocking on the door. No? Could it be the cable guy? No? OK, I won't answer it."

After I hung up the phone, the knocking continued. It increased and started becoming more rapid and frantic. I peaked through the curtain and saw a bluish pickup truck outside my property and a man standing at the door. He had a red hat on, denim jacket, jeans and sneakers. No logos, no uniform. I didn't get a good read on his face. He kept knocking! At this point it was riling up my dog, and he was barking on top of the knocking. I swear, the knocking seemed to go on forever.

I checked the locks on the doors to make sure they were secure.

Then suddenly it stopped. Quiet.

Creak. The sound of the side gate to my house.

My pulse raced. Maybe it's the meter reader? I stood in panic in the living room.

The next thing I heard was shuffling coming from the bathroom. Could it be my cat playing with the shower curtain? I had to check. I walked down the hall and peered around the corner to see inside my bathroom. I'll never forget what I saw.

The window in the shower was pried open. In the middle of my bright and sterile bathroom was a dark mass pouring in through the window. One leg at a time.

Oh, fuck! Do I run outside the front door? What if there's more men outside to chase me down? Side door? Too close to the bathroom.

So I bolted up the stairs as carefully and silently as I could. I heard my dog barking incessantly. Not in a panic, but excitement. Happiness.

I closed my bedroom door behind me as quietly as possible. I didn't shut it all the way as to not make any noise. Cellphone. I picked it up and wondered who would come quicker... 911 or my mom who was at work less than a mile away. I dialed her number.

In a whisper: "Mom... mom... there's someone in the house... mom, there's a man in the house..."

The creak of his footsteps on the stairs. Fuck! Think fast! I ducked underneath my desk. I could hear one step at a time as he slowly ascended the stairs. It was like a movie. I quickly dialed 911...

That's when my bedroom door slowly opened. His head peered around it to scan the room. That was it, he saw me. I dropped the phone before I could hit call and instinctively put my hands over my head as he rushed at me with a crowbar flying through the morning air.

“Please don’t hurt me! Please don’t hurt me!”

“Don’t scream! Don’t say anything!”

With a gloved hand, he struck me in the face, sending my glasses flying. Blind. I fell to the ground and squatted with my hands over my head. He took my cellphone. I was shaking and my mind was racing. I’m going to die. He dangled the crowbar over my neck. I could feel the iron tip graze the skin. He was standing over me. How much will this hurt? How long will it take? What will it feel like having a crowbar in my skull? Fuck! My mom is on her way home... Not her too! This is it. I’m fucked. He rummaged through my things on my desk. Then there was silence. Is he still in the room? How many people are inside my house? Is there anyone in here with me? I didn’t want to know.

I heard my house getting trashed downstairs. I could hear my dog jumping and barking at the invader(s?) and I could hear them hushing him in a baby voice.

“Shhh, doggy... shhh, doggy...”

Quiet again. For what felt like hours.

I heard my name. I was stunned and confused. I heard it again. My mom. I ran down the stairs. The front door was wide open. There she was in my living room. I burst into tears and told her everything. I was still in a panic. Was he still in the house? Was he hiding?

We called 911. They came and investigated. A pillow case (to stuff the items in), my iPod speakers, a brand new camcorder, laptop, and leather jacket (for disguise) were the items missing. I spoke with a forensic artist. The cops drove me around the neighborhood to take a look at suspects they stopped on the street. He was never caught.

After everything was settled, I needed a shower. I sobbed when I had to scrub the tub of muddy footprints.

My post traumatic stress terrorized my life. I had to sleep in my mom’s room. I kept a knife under my pillow. Everywhere I went, I thought I saw the man who robbed me not only of my personal belongings, but my overall sense of safety. It didn’t help when at school the principal made an announcement about the break-in on the loudspeaker. He told the entire building that I let my attacker in and referred to him as a “gentleman.” This twisted the story completely. So much so that a rumor went around school that my attacker raped me and that I liked it. A whole lot has happened since then. And now I’m much happier. But, I still feel the effects of PTSD today.

The scary thing here is that he was a landscaper. My family never had enough money for landscaping but both our neighbors did. Landscapers are given access to people’s yards (sometimes when they’re not home) and have plenty of time to scope out unlocked windows, access points etc. He probably didn’t expect anyone to be home because I didn’t answer the door. The moral of the story is to always answer the door. Or if you don’t feel safe answering the door, make a noise to signify that you’re home. And of course, call 911 first

[Shadow00]

ask if I could sleep in, catch up on some school work and go to school late. She agreed.

This thing killed the post's real-looking effect

[IsAmy]

Still creepy as hell

[Shadowstar1922]

Bump of an epic topic.

[Foopzheart]

One day, we'll get our own subforum. IF YOU GET ACTIVE AGAIN, FUI.

Shut up, all caps.

[Foopzheart]

Happy Valentine's Day, thread that I refuse to give up on.