The Story I Can't Tell

The Story I Can't Tell

I was 11 years old when we moved to Ruckersville, Virginia, just me, my mom, and younger sister and brothers. We were looking for a home. When my mom finally found one, all we could think was, “Oh my God, we finally have a house.”
The house made us feel like we belonged there, like it was meant just for us as a family. And the house was right next to our landlord, who we didn't like; all she seemed to care about was cursing us and taking all our money. But she was a very strange old lady, and her husband was also strange.
After a couple of months of living there, my mom, my brother Matt and I were kind of scared of the house. My mom had heard someone try to break in, and when she looked there was no one there even though the doorknob was still moving. My brother had come running from the basement one day to tell us he’d heard noises of metal hitting together, and when he looked up, brass buckles fell out of nowhere. The basement was always scaring everyone; you couldn't go down there alone without being paranoid that someone was lingering in the darkness, watching you.
I had shared a room with my sister, with her bed on one side of the room and mine on the other. I always had the radio on at night because it helped me sleep.
One night I woke up from a dream: I was lying in my bed and I suddenly awoke to turn my radio off. A woman with super sharp nails grabbed my hand and ripped it off of my arm. When I woke from that nightmare, I couldn't go back to sleep for a while, so I just lay there and put my head under the covers. Minutes went by and it grew very cold; I started hearing a slight moaning noise, like a woman’s voice whispering.
Stupidly, I thought nothing if it, believing it was my radio. I had awoken and went to turn off the radio, but I thought of my dream and stopped myself, beginning to sweat. I was paranoid. I took my head out from beneath my covers and lay there, eyes closed. After a few moments of silence, I opened my eyes and finally got up enough courage to turn off my radio.
I fell asleep for a couple if minutes and I woke ip to the moaning noises again and when I opened my eyes I saw her...
There was a young women standing over my bed. I could only see her for a moment. As she stood over the edge of my bed, she stared at me with anger, sadness, and fear in her eyes, though they were still and blank. She had her hair, which looked like it had just been dyed a blondish-orange color, pulled back in a bun. Her eyes were very dark brown, almost as if they were black, and her pupils were as big as quarters. She had a pug-like nose and her lips were cut from cheek to cheek then sloppily sewn together. I couldn't see her ears, but they looked as if they were also sewn to her head. I could only see from a little below her shoulders and up and I saw that she was naked.
I was so scared. I wanted to scream, but my fear held it in me. She slowly dissolved into the air. I couldn't scream so I shut my eyes and cried, but I didn't have any tears. Louder and louder I cried, until my mom said, in a tired voice, “Honey, what's the matter? Are you okay?”
I didn't answer, just cried until she said, “Come here.”
“I can’t,” I told her. “What if she's in the hallway?”
My mom thought I was delusional. She kept telling me to come to her room, so eventually I took my covers off, sat up, and put my feet on the ground. Still crying, I stood up and ran as fast as I could to my mother’s room and jumped up onto her bed. Shaking violently, I told her everything.
Of course, she told me it was just a dream and that I should go back to bed. At this point I managed to cry tears. I slowly walked out of my mom’s room, glancing down the hall way and into the bathroom. I was so scared, but I had to pee.
I went to the bathroom, leaving the door open behind me. I sat down and happened to glance towards the bathtub.
There she was, staring through the transparent curtain. She lifted her hand and started to move the shower curtain open; her hand looked like that of the woman from my dream. I darted out of the bathroom, back to my bedroom, and slept with my light on.
I never saw her again, but my brother Matt told me he had had a dream of a woman, and when he described her to me she matched the description of the same girl I saw. But every time I try to tell this story out loud, I always choke.

SHADOW IN DREAM

Dream A Little Dream Of Him

Most people out there have that one recurring dream/nightmare that never leaves us. There is nothing uncommon about that. But for as long as I can remember, I have had this one about a man who stood in the corner of my bedroom watching me as I lay in bed. I say man but it’s actually just more of a figure, really. Nothing ever happens, he just stands and stares, and over time I’ve become sort of used to it and it doesn’t really scare me anymore.
When I moved to university, I met my boyfriend. It became serious and we shared a bed most nights. One morning I awoke to my boyfriend staring at me. When I asked him why he was staring he responded with something along the lines of ‘What the hell was that?’ When I asked him what he meant he went on the explain that just a few moments ago I had been, what seemed to him as completely awake, and telling him over and over and over that there was someone in the corner of the room. He then said that I took the laptop out of the drawer as though I was going to use it but fell back to sleep leaving the laptop on my chest. I had no memory of any of this and just assumed that I had been having my recurring dream again but was sleep talking too.
About a week later I was with my Mum and sister at a theme park (ironically in line for a ghost train) and mentioned this event and the recurring dream to her. My mum looked creeped out yet kind of amused at the same time. She said that it was really weird because one of the reasons we moved out of my old house was because when she used to feed me in my high chair as a toddler, she would always see a figure out the corner of her eye just standing there, staring at us both. I have no idea what the connection is, if any, between these strange lurking figures. But to this day, I continue to have the dream.

THE DEVIL WITH IN.....!

The Devil Within

When I was a little girl, around 6 or 7, I used to have an imaginary friend. But then again, who didn't? After a few months, my mom started asking me if I was able to see something, or someone, so I told her the truth. No. Well, a couple of weeks later, I really did start talking to an actual person, who seemed alright at first....but whatever it was, tortured me and my mom for years.
It started one day after I came home from school. I went upstairs to my room to do my reading homework and I noticed that my bed looked as if someone had been in it recently. I made my bed that morning, so I figured my mom must have come in and taken a nap or sat on my bed or something. So I thought nothing of it, and got out my book and started to read. Well, about 15-20 minutes later, my mom came racing into my room, and started asking me all sorts of questions like, "what happened?!" and, "are you all right?!" At first I had absolutely NO idea what she was talking about, so I said I was fine, and she left.
The second she walked out of my room, I heard a low growl rising from the hallway, and slowly moving ever so slightly, was a tall shadow, that for some odd reason, absolutely terrified me. I raced across my room, slamming my door in the process (I got yelled at later for it) and hopped into my bed, staring at the door with my pillow across my chest, as if throwing something at the shadow figure would scare it off. After a few minutes that seemed like forever, I slowly opened my door to see a large non-human footprint in the carpet... right outside my door. I freaked, and slammed the door shut again, this time, locking it.
I never thought anything else about it until the next day, when something was missing from my room, my favorite teddy bear. I had just come in from the backyard, when I saw something tall and very dark slide from my doorway. Me being a kid, I thought that maybe my mom was in my room again, so I ran into my room thinking I'd see her there putting away my clothes.... but the only thing I saw was an entirely dark room.... even though it was sunny and warm outside. But the moment I stepped through my door, chills went down my spine, and I slowly backed towards the door. Out of nowhere, the door slammed shut in an unnaturally fast way. I screamed.
A month after that incident, my mom moved us to a new house. To this day, I won't go into a room alone without a light on first.

MY DEVIL FRIEND

The Forever Friend

Personal Experience

This story starts around the time I was in Kindergarten. I still remember him, quite vividly. His name was Joey, and he was my first friend. He never left my side, he was always there to play with me, and we laughed our way through the first year we were together. I no longer played with him by the time I entered first grade. The reason for that was because I moved schools. And also because, I was too old for imaginary friends. As I remember him, he was just a shadow on the wall. I don't recall when I first started talking to him, or why I called him Joey. I've always hated plain names like that.
By the time I was 13 my two youngest siblings, the twins Gavyn and Olivia, were Kindergarten age. I remember the first time it happened quite clearly. My step-mother, Liz, and I were making dinner (she was cooking, I was taste testing) my brother was outside with a friend, my father was watching television after having just come home from work, and my sister was upstairs playing. The walls in that house were very thin, as it was a decently aged place. From my bedroom upstairs I could hear most people's conversations and if I listened closely I could sometimes hear Liz washing dishes.
So it wasn't completely implausible that we could hear my sister upstairs. She was talking to herself, as she sometimes did while she played with her dolls. This time though, the context felt different. Like she wasn't just talking to herself, but having a conversation with another person. And then the unthinkable happened - we heard somebody reply. Liz gave me a look that said 'go make sure she's okay.' I didn't need to be told twice. I have a deep connection with all of my siblings, especially Olivia (at the moment she's in that stage where she worships me because I'm a teenager and therefore everything I do is cool). If there was somebody there who shouldn't be there, they could count on a fight from me. Nobody messes with my siblings.
So I walked into the living room, passing my oblivious father on the way, and peered up the staircase. She was in the hallway, clearly visible. As usual, she had a doll in each hand, making them converse with each other. I asked her who she had been talking to. She told me, "My friend Joey."
I went back into the kitchen, glad that I had been the first to witness a memorable part in my sister's life - her first imaginary friend. Liz and I laughed it off as our imaginations, and for the next few weeks thought nothing of it. Later though, when we visited my grandmother, both the children were playing upstairs and I heard her say his name once again, "Joey!" My brother asked her who that was and she explained it to him. He got mad, I think because he couldn't see Joey as well.
After my dad yelled up the stairs for them to stop arguing, my grandmother recalled my first imaginary friend, who's name was also Joey. I'm not sure how to explain the feeling I got next. It was just like a sinking feeling, like I wanted to vomit, but couldn't. I walked silently away when the adults changed subjects, and climbed upstairs. The twins were thrilled of course. They loved it when I played with them. I sat down and played dolls with Olivia, and read to Gavyn, just to humor them both, because hey, what are big sisters for?
Then I slyly started asking Olivia about Joey. Gavyn was immediately put off by this topic and went to play by himself. I asked her when she started seeing him, she told me she met him at school. I asked her why she called him Joey. She gave me a look that said "are you stupid?" and told me it was because that was his name. Then I asked her what he looked like. She pondered over it a minute and then shrugged. I asked her how she didn't know what he looked like, and she told me it was because he didn't really look like anything. He was just a shadow.
There's no way my sister could have known about my Joey. I'm not exactly sure if the Joey she saw was my Joey or not, but it seems likely to me. Olivia looked almost exactly like me at that age. I suppose it's possible Joey could have confused her for me? Or maybe it's because she's my little sister, I'm not sure. If it is my Joey, I'm sure he never meant to harm her, but I asked her not to talk to him anymore. She's seven now, and I haven't heard about Joey in a long time.

Hair To Die For (REAL STORY)

Hair To Die For

There used to be a girl in my school. Her name was Algee. She looked awful. She had frizzy, blond hair with a bad overbite. She was extremely skinny and had gross teeth. I was always creeped out by her. My friends called me mean, but I just had this feeling. I would catch her stroking my long, black hair in class. Her stare sent chills down my spine. I ignored my instincts and forced a smile.
One day, the day that changed everything, was in Mrs. Ellious' class. She asked us to write an essay about the best trait you have. I was a shy, unsocial girl, so I decided to write about my hair. Mrs. Ellious called me up to the class. I smiled and read my descriptive essay, word by word. I could see Algee's face turn bright red. Then she started murmuring and her horrible smile spread over her face, revealing her brown teeth. I was kind of scared. Her eyes bore holes in my soul. I started to feel sick. I dropped the essay on the ground and rushed over to the trash can, Algee grabbed my hair and pulled it back, then started braiding it. She placed the black hair in her mouth and sucked on it. Too distracted about the acidic liquid spewing out of my mouth, I didn't care. I just wanted to go home.
I was sent home, and the clouds were black. I expected rain and I didn't care. I just wanted to sleep. My mom came rushing in my room with a yellow energy drink and felt my forehead.
"You are fine. You just need some rest. I'm going to the pharmacy to get you some medicine. I will be gone by thirty minutes. I better hurry. Looks like a storm."
I sickly nodded, and heard the pit pat of rain. I heard a low boom and saw a flash. The raIn came down harder, and the thunder became louder. I heard the scurry of feet. "It's just the rain," I told myself. Right then I saw biggest flash I had ever seen and an even louder crash that split my eardrums. I turned on the television to get my mind off things. Everything went black.
The power was out. I was terrified, huddled in my small bed, sick and in the complete blackness. I was starting to see double vision. I felt a cold hand on my wrist and I weakly asked, "Mother?" I don't remember anything else except the feeling of hands gripping my hair and tearing it out of my head. I have never before experienced such pain. It was as if my head was on fire. Not only had she pulled out more that half the hair on my head, she had pulled chunks of my skin, too. I was bleeding very heavily. I felt faint. Too faint to scream. The last thing I remember is hearing the front door open, then everything went black.
I awoke in the hospital, with bandages around my head. My mother and father were standing over me, their eyes puffy and red. "Someone broke in, darling" my father said. "We don't know why they would do such a thing to you, but the police are still investigating." All I could choke out was "Algee" my father pressed his hand against me and whispered, "shhhh." I went back to school next week. It was awful. Kids were making fun of me because I was bald, everyone kept asking questions and no one seemed to notice Algee had black extensions put in her hair. She kept fingering "her" new black hair and still no one noticed.
It has been two years now. No one believes me when I say "Algee tore chunks out of my head. Algee's the one who broke in." No one believes me. They just keep giving me medicine. Ever since then I have a terrible personality disorder and I am still receiving treatment.

THE HOUSE WITH SECRETS

The House with Secrets

Personal Experience

My parents didn't believe us. In their minds, we were 12 and 9. We had just moved into a new house that was "settling," or so at least that was the excuse they gave for all the noises at night and the cold drafts that would come from nowhere. I was determined to show them we were not imagining it. I may have been 12, but I knew what I had felt, and a settling house could not be the cause for it.
For the next week, I stayed up as late as I could each night, determined that when I heard the sounds, I would wake up my parents and they could hear for themselves. My blanket was securely around me and my flashlight was in hand. My radio was on low. I found I couldn't handle complete silence, but the low radio gave me just enough background that I could still hear the creaks of the house. For 6 nights I waited, and for 6 nights there was nothing. No sounds, no cold drafts. I started to believe my parents may have been right. We had just moved in after all, and maybe it was just the house, and everything was explainable.
On the 7th night, I went to bed as normal. By 10pm, I was drifting in that space where you weren't completely awake, yet not totally asleep. As I was starting to dream, I heard the first thud. I jolted awake, my ears straining to hear it again. After a few minutes and no more sounds, I chalked it up to something that was possibly in my dream. As I drifted back to sleep, I was humming along to the top 40 hit that was popular at the time, my mind wandering to school the next day.
I don't think I caught on right away, but as I started to listen again, I noticed my radio was no longer playing the song. The static was low and crackling. I reached over to adjust the radio, thinking it just came out of tune. As I turned the dial slow, trying to catch the radio station, I came across a station that was coming in faintly. I kept adjusting the dial, trying to clear the sound. As it started to come in I froze.
That's when I heard my name. Very soft and very faint, I made out the word "Crystal." My body wouldn't move. My breathing was so labored, I could barely hear the voice as it kept repeating my name. I scrambled to the end of the bed, my eyes darting from the radio, to all around the room. I wanted to scream for my parents, but I couldn't make a sound.
And as quickly as it started, it stopped. The radio, which had moments ago called to me in a soft manner, was now back to its regularly scheduled programming.
I waited a few minutes, heard still pounding. I needed to get to my parents. I know without hearing it, they would just say I was dreaming. But I needed their comforting presence. I slowly edged to the end of the bed, taking a hesitant step off the bed, touching the floor with a whisper of noise. I stood, slowly making my way towards the door, my eyes taking in the entire room, not really sure what I was looking for. I breathed a small sigh of relieve when my hand touched the door knob.
As I swung open the door I was frozen again, this time by a gust of cold air that chilled me to the bone. I was shivering before the gust even stopped. I started to turn, not being able to really help myself. Before I could get half way, a voice which seemed right next to me, sternly said "No!".
I dropped to my knees, my heart racing, my lungs not able to gain enough breath to scream. I closed my eyes and started to rock, trying to prepare myself for whatever was about to happen.
And that's all I remember. My parents found me the next morning, in the same position, still rocking, murmuring the word "no..." repeatedly. My mother, to this day, refuses to talk about the incident. I couldn't tell you what happened in those few hours, and something tells me it is better that way. But what I can tell you is that it wasn't the last time the house called my name, and it wasn't nearly done with telling me its secrets.

EVIL NOT DEAD

The Mirror Is Always Watching

Personal Experience by Cicie

It all began when I was seven years old. We had just moved into a new house and my room was perfect. We went shopping at an antique store and found a beautiful full-body mirror. It was sparkly greenish and had blue flowers along the outside. I tugged on my moms arm and showed it to her. It was only five dollars, so she bought it in a heartbeat. I hung it against the wall in front of my bed so I could always go to sleep looking at my reflection.
That night I couldn't shake off the feeling that something was wrong. I didn't want to glance at the mirror because I was paranoid something very bad would happen. I finally looked in the mirror and saw a teenage girl wearing a long, white dress. She smiled at me; a cruel, evil smile. I gasped, and then she was gone. I rushed to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face, waking me up completely. I laughed to myself. I was just being silly. I walked back into my room and fell asleep almost instantly.
The next morning I got up, got ready, and walked outside to go to school. I passed by a telephone pole, and noticed a sign that had been put up. I read it and it said:
"Heather Grace Hearse. Missing since October 1, 2012. If found, please call 730-555-1274."
I frowned and looked at the photograph. It showed a laughing teenage girl wearing a white dress, holding on to a boy roughly her same age. I nearly screamed. It was the girl I saw in the mirror.
Several years had passed and now I was ten. I was reading the newspaper while curling my hair. I saw an ad that said:
"Today Heather Grace Hearse was found dead in a river. This was very hard for Mr. And Mrs. Hearse, who had previously lost two daughters before her."
I frowned. The name Heather Grace Hearse rang a bell, but I couldn't quite remember. She felt like a forgotten friend from when I was little.
That night I stared at my reflection in my beautiful mirror for a long, long time. Suddenly, I saw a flash of white and an evil smile. I gasped, then heard a scream outside. I slipped on my boots and ran outside. I looked everywhere, then turned on the porch light. I was not prepared for what I had saw next. My older sister was leaving for a party, and she must have twisted her ankle wearing her high heels. She had fallen and cracked her head, and she lay motionless in a pool of deep blood. I tried as hard as I could to look away from the disturbing sight. Not until my father ran outside with a baseball bat did I realize I was screaming uncontrollably.
I woke up in the hospital with my parents. They were as white as a sheet and their eyes were bloodshot. I will not write any more about this incident because it is too difficult to write. What I do know is that every night I know Heather watches me and waits. She is always watching.