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Title: Ghost stories/Paranormal stuff
Description: A RE: To emads topic

Teh p00n z0r - February 18, 2009 10:49 PM (GMT)
This is a personal RE: To Emads topic shown here

On the topic he talks about paranormal activity Well... i am sort of the Paranormal Freak Im not Emo or gothic about th sht i just believe alot into it...

Im currently making a loong video of paranormal Activty that has happened or pictures i found and im bout to finish it and post on youtube...

Well once the video is finish i will put a link on this topic (or a new one)
But i have a few stories to tell you... heheh... some ghost stories or Scary stories

Scary story #1...

Much to the displeasure of our parents, we liked hanging out in the old barn. The barn was situated toward the back of the house and was a dilapidated, crumbling building that we were forbidden to enter.

My brother and I usually went there at night and with our flashlights we would enter the barn through a side door that hung precariously on its last corroded hinge. It appeared ready to collapse at the tiniest provocation, so holding our breath and very careful to avoid touching anything, we would squeeze through the tiny opening to the inside.

Scattered randomly throughout the interior were rusting farming implements, rakes, a scythe and numerous long-forgotten other tools that no longer resembled anything useful. All of the items appeared dangerous and capable of serious damage if they were mishandled or if careless passage caused contact with fragile skin. We kept our distance and tried to remain clear of these things, finding our usual seats in the center of the room on the old hay bales left there.

The barn itself was pretty spooky and in the darkness, the outlines of the objects and decaying contents resembled the skeletons of the dead, but my brother and I liked it. We would go there and share spooky stories and get ourselves so frightened, we'd barely find our balance to get back out the decrepit barn door as we would literally be shaking in our boots.

But the loft was the most sinister part of the barn. It was dark as pitch and the ladder leading up to it had years ago crumbled into an unusable heap of kindling that lie uselessly on the barn floor. The few remaining steps appeared in tact at the top, but at ground level the decaying rungs appeared through the murkiness to be the gaping holes of a skeleton's dislodged teeth.

We never went up to the loft and could only imagine its contents: huge spiders covered with coarse hair and menacing fangs. Their enormous eyes watched and waited for anyone who dared to ascend the rotting ladder to the elevated platform. Other than our mental images of the spiders, we had no idea what was in the loft.

One night, we were in the barn sitting on the floor talking. During pauses in our conversation, we listened to the mournful groans of the old structure slowly yet very audibly decaying. Why this caused us such fascination is unknown to me, but we were thoroughly enjoying the spooky, musty ambience that was the old barn.

My brother was telling his favorite ghost story for the hundredth time in low, hushed tones. I was enthralled by the tale as my brother was very good at making any story sound terrifying beyond belief.

Just when the story hit its scariest point, a scraping noise began to emanate from the loft. At first we thought it was our over active imaginations. But the soft sound grew in intensity as we listened, almost as if the originator had waited to ensure it's audience was paying attention.

Scraaaaape. Screeeeeech. Scraaaaape.

Then for a second, the only sound we could hear was our heartbeats pounding wildly in our ears. We stared at each other with wild eyes, lids locked wide open, almost bulging.

A chill ran down my spine. I grabbed my brother's hand and held it to me. I couldn't imagine what could be causing the sound and in terror, I whispered loudly, "Michael!"

At that, my brother shifted position and leaped over to sit beside me. He shook loose my grip and wrapped his arms around me, covering my mouth with one of his hands. "Shhh," he whispered, very quietly.

Screeeeech. Scraappppe.

It was a metallic sound, hollow and ominous.

Michael grabbed my hand and pulled me with him as he jumped up and ran for the door. We held our breaths as we squeezed through the passageway, careful to keep from touching the sides. We escape the barn and ran out into the night using all of our might to keep from screaming.

We made it to the backyard and stopped, bending over and holding our sides, chests heaving. We gained our composure before we stepped onto the porch and opened the screen door. Mom was there and said, "Time for dinner kids!"

"I'm glad you're here," she continued, "a man escaped from jail tonight and the police are on the lookout. You kids should stay inside. Guess the guy was a terrible, evil person. Murdered five people before he got caught."

We half listened as we pulled out our chairs to sit down.

"Shouldn't be hard to find, though. He had a metal hook for a hand. Gotta be pretty easy to find a fellow like that.

"Did you kids wash your hands?"

Scary Story #2...

Behind a house in a rural midwestern town lies a dark wood. It is rumored that the wood is haunted, although the only report of such haunting is that of three young girls who encountered a spirit on a single autumn night. The source of the haunting was never investigated, and it is doubtful it ever will be. The house is now vacant and the wood has been left to overgrowth.

It all began when these girls decided to camp out deep inside that wood...

Sally, Jennifer and Britney were all thirteen years old. They had known one another since the fourth grade and were best of friends. Sally lived off a country road outside of town in a house surrounded by dense forest. There were no neighbors around for at least five square miles, with the nearest being Sally's grandmother and the home of an elderly couple. Sally always looked forward to going to school so she could have friends her own age.

One day, Sally had the idea of camping out in those woods and from her previous explorations, knew the perfect site far from the prying eyes of parents. It was in a pine grove where the ground was very soft, with a nearby clearing that would retain their campfire. Sally got the excited agreements of her two friends, who in turn got permission from their parents.

The campout was a plan.

It was a Saturday in late September. The weather was still warm but being early autumn, the nights were chilly and dark. They set up their tent in the afternoon. They also constructed their fire ring, gathered firewood and carefully selected branches that would hold their hot dogs and marshmallows. At dusk, they took their sleeping bags, flashlights, and a cooler full of snacks and headed down the path to their tent.

They joked and shared stories while they started their campfire. Once the flames were to an acceptable level, they formed their lawn chairs into a circle and pulled out the package of hotdogs as well as their pre-made sticks. They were sitting in their chairs, roasting their frankfurters and talking. The night had arrived and a chill was setting in.

If you've ever sat around a campfire, you know that the area outside the glow of the fire is pitch black. It was from this blackness that the sounds of snapping twigs and the rustling of leaves came.

Jennifer was the first to hear the sounds and exclaimed in a loud whisper, "What's that? Shhh--listen!"

Britney froze mid-sentence and Sally leaned forward in her chair, straining to hear.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the crackling of the fire.

Then Sally chided Jennifer for her outburst, "Jennifer, it's nothing. You're scaring us. Now cut it out!"

As soon as she uttered those words, a tremendous wind whipped through the woods, blowing a cloud of pine needles and leaves into the air. The debris hit their faces and stung their eyes. The wind blew their hair and upended their gear. It was so fierce and so abrupt that it almost put out their fire. Sally fell out of her chair in order to avoid being hit by the gust of flames that leaped in her direction. Then the wind stopped as suddenly as it started.

The girls were terrified. They sat motionless for a moment, not knowing what to do next or what to expect. The woods were completely silent.

Then, from the direction of the deepest part of the forest came a wailing so loud and so tormented, it was horrifying. The girls covered their ears with their hands and tried to block out the lamenting shriek. It was a sound they had never heard before and they knew it was not of this world.

Jennifer was the first to break the reverie. She sprang from her position in the direction of the house. Seconds later, Sally and Britney did likewise. Their reaction was so instantaneous they didn't think about grabbing a flashlight. They darted through the inky forest tripping over logs and lumbering through the underbrush. If they stumbled, they quickly righted themselves. Mindless of the tears in their clothing or the scratches they suffered, their only objective was the safety of Sally's house.

They finally made it to the back porch and were met with the confused, sleepy gaze of Sally's mother who stood in the kitchen clenching her bathrobe. Out of breath and shaking, the girls gradually described in broken sentences what had happened. Sally's mom listened while her dad, hearing the clamor, arose from his bed and joined them in the kitchen.

After listening to their story, he quickly dressed and ventured out to the campsite to investigate the matter and to extinguish their fire. He was gone for over an hour.

When he returned, his face was pale. He was solemn and seemed distracted. He didn't say a word, and would not comment on what he had found, no matter how many times Sally or her mom pleaded to know the outcome.

The girls were sent home to their parents and it would be weeks before any of the girls would be able to sleep soundly. They all vowed they would never camp again.

The next day, Sally's family received word that her grandmother had passed away. In the ensuing days, the incident in the woods was dropped from conversation.

As time passed, the family moved on.

The girls remain friends to this day, but the memories of their campout are etched in their minds. That night will never be forgotten.

Scary Story #3...
Whatever you do, don't end up like me.

Whenever someone asks if you believe in ghosts, you need to say no. Just say unequivocally, absolutely, without a doubt that there is no way that ghosts exist. Don't even entertain the thought, as intriguing as it might seem. It is just not worth it.

Ghosts are not polite, they don't care, they don't play fair and they will tear your life up. Believe me.


Realize that delving into the unknown comes with a price. It isn't a nice little free ride or something fun to do, getting all scared and the like—although it may seem like that. But once you get too close, too real, that all changes and you can end up with visitors that won't go away.

A Friday night spent watching ghost movies or reading spooky stories may seem like a fun way to pass your time. Go for it! Go ahead and get a little spooked, a little creeped-out, then go to sleep and carry on with your life.

It used to be fun like that for me, until I found out that those whispy little creatures in those spooky little stories WERE REALLY REAL.

That was when my life changed.

It began the day I went to the cemetery.

Always looking for authentic material for my stories, I decided, "Hey! What a great place to find a mist or catch something on tape? Go to a cemetery!"


Well, there I was, shooting pics, studying the headstones. Like a sponge, I walked through the graveyard soaking up memories of the dead, immensely desirous of catching something with my camera, or at least get a "vibe" that would give me something to report.

Something, anything about a ghost—I wasn't picky.

It was a gray, overcast day and rain threatened to soak me at any moment. It sprinkled intermittently the whole time I was there. But the car was nearby, I was wearing my raincoat and I knew I could run for shelter if it started pouring. So undaunted, I roamed.

I spent several hours in that cemetery and all I saw was a bunch of graves, some serious and sad, others whimsical and humorous, and yet others that were very old and seemingly forgotten. But I never saw evidence of a single ghost. Maybe I caught an orb or two, but heck, they could have been the raindrops that came with the threatening little showers caught on my lens.

It wasn't until I returned home that I learned the lesson I'm trying to teach you here.

I think something from the graveyard followed me home.

Although my visit to the cemetery was uneventful, a story had come to me while I was there and I was intent upon getting that story down. I sat down and started writing while the images were coming to me, fast and furious.

I was alone in the house and the night was incredibly quiet. I was writing and thinking and creating, when the telephone rang. I picked it up. For a long moment there was nothing, just silence. But after a time, there was static and a hoarse whispering voice that said, "Watch for us!"

Then a click.

Then nothing.

That was a bit unnerving, but I trotted back to my laptop to continue my story. After about thirty minutes, I traveled to the kitchen for a drink of something cold. I needed a break.

I was standing at the fridge, about to grab a soda when out of the corner of my eye, I saw a white face glaring at me through my kitchen window. I turned to visualize the face, but as my eyes fixed on its position, the face dashed out of view. I reached for the back door, turned the knob and stepped outside. After inspecting in all directions, I found nothing and went back inside.

The kitchen was dark because as a Midwesterner, I believe in conserving electricity and had only used a very few, necessary lights. In fact, the entire house was very dark.

I returned to the fridge to get my soda. The light from the interior glared and after I closed the door, for a moment I was blind.

I turned to go back to my room when I was confronted with the image of someone dressed in white from head to toe. It undulated six inches off the ground and the face was pallid; eyes hollow and black. Its bony finger pointed at me shakily and anger emanated from it very clearly and very intensely.

Of course I was terrified at the sight and didn't know what to do. After all, I was alone and it was dark. So I did the most stupid, foolish thing I could think of.

I went back to my laptop and kept writing my story.

I blazed on my keyboard, slurping my soda and getting every mental image I could put into words as quickly as possible.

I heard rappings, I felt chills and I witnessed shadows moving through the room.

After a time, I decided to stop for just a short break to stretch my legs, and a picture in the hall crashed to the floor. This told me that stopping was the wrong move, so I returned to blaze on my keys once again.

It went on like that all night, trapped by the spirits—each one threatening me anytime I quit writing. Pushed forward, I came to realize the story I was writing was not my own, but something I was being forced to write. I didn't mind that so much as the story was good, really good. I just didn't care to be bossed around so much or treated with so much disrespect.

But what could I do? I knew sleep wasn't an option and being alone I had no one to pull me out.

Like a fool, I just kept writing and writing and writing. They were there, I knew it and I knew that they knew what I was doing. They even knew what I was thinking.

They were behind me, in front of me, above and below. But the way they were acting, I knew I was onto something and that alone, kept me going.

I did complete the story, but it was daybreak when I finished. With bloodshot eyes and exhaustion, I stepped out of my front door and onto the sidewalk. The sweet smell of morning air penetrated my soul and drove away the shadows of the night.

I was spent.

And while most of the activity stopped after I finished the story, a few of them have stayed behind. I know they're here. Once you know how they feel, you never forget it and once you've stepped over the line, you can't pretend it never happened.

The story I was driven to write has not been published yet, and it may never be. But if and when I do publish it, it won't be free.

Do you think ghosts are just a figment of the imagination?

Yeah, right. Go ahead, keep thinking that.

Really. It's in your best interest.

Because once you step over the line and start to believe, you are in for a ride that will change your life.

But that ride comes with a price.

Scary Story #4... More to come...

The tune jumped about as the tempo slowed and then would quicken. The song had a mesmerizing effect on Teresa as she listened to her daughter Sarah struggling to complete the number.

Although the ten year old had only been playing the piano for a year, she was progressing nicely. She was even creating her own songs, and that was what she played now.

Teresa sat in the living room on her favorite chair, lounging dreamily with the tomcat Wooser resting on her lap, gray eyes closed as he took an evening catnap. Sarah was coming along well with her song, but suddenly stopped.

There was a melody near the end that she could not resolve. It was at the same spot every time she tried.

Her plain song blended nicely together until she reached the final refrain. It was as if her fingers failed to grasp the lingering notes that would complete the piece. It eluded her every time.

"Mommy, I can't remember it. I heard it in my head, but now I forgot it"

Teresa winced at her daughter's frustration, wishing that she herself could play the instrument and help Sarah out.

"It sounds fine, dear, you'll get it."

Teresa would listen to Sarah and inwardly struggle with the girl to find the right melody. She had the song in her head and it would play over and over again, always falling short and unresolved.

There was a loud sigh of annoyance in the other room as Sarah vented her frustration. They had traded in their other piano for this old walnut colored upright a week ago, and Sarah had been constantly playing it from the time it was delivered.

Sarah's song had become almost an obsession.

"Give it a rest, honey. Why don't you get ready for bed? It's getting late anyway."

"No! I have to finish it."

Teresa stood up, disturbing the cat which jumped to the floor.

"Come on, call it a night. You're trying too hard."

She walked into the room and Sarah was cupping her hands to her ears.

"Sarah?" Concerned appeared on her face and she absently ran a hand through her long red hair.

"Shh. It's in my head. I almost have it."

"If you don't stop worrying about this song I'm going to restrict your playing, young lady. Do you hear me?"

Sarah hesitated for a moment and then gave in.

"Maybe I'll hear it better tonight. I had a dream last night and the song ended. Why can't I remember it when I wake up?" Her blue eyes lifted, the perky nose raised in determination.

Teresa put an arm around the girl's slim shoulders and nudged her towards the stairs.

"Don't you know, that's what dreams do to you? They tease and trick you, keep you hoping for more. That's the fun of it."

Sarah frowned and shook her head.

"I'll get it. I know I will."

"I'm sure you will too, dear. But not tonight." She squeezed the girl's neck but Sarah was in no mood as she stalked up the steps.


An hour later Teresa had resumed sitting in the living room, as she would every night to read one of the various novels from her collection.

The room was dim except for the reading lamp on the table at her side. Reading was something she had done a lot of in the two years following her husband's death. It was the only hobby she permitted herself but came to enjoy the books on many lonely evenings.

She must have been more tired than she thought as her eyelids fluttered in between paragraphs. Teresa caught her head nodding several times and as is usual with oncoming sleep, never realized when she lost consciousness.


She was dancing in a ballroom with other people. She couldn't make out the faces of anyone, but merely their silent figures as they swirled around in a changing pattern that seemed to be incomplete in some way.

A song was playing, enchanting and mysterious, but familiar to her. Where had she heard the song?

It lingered on the fringe of her mind, tugging gently but staying just out of reach. The song, she thought. The song.

Sarah's song. It was her daughter's tune.

The melody went on until it reached the point Sarah could never quite finish. But now it continued. There was an ending and Teresa could hear it clearly.

I have to remember it, she thought. I have to wake up.

Teresa came out of the dream and opened her eyes. She still heard the music in her head yet. The elusive melody was revealed and Teresa listened in wonder. The song had followed her out of slumber and was coming from the other room.

Someone was playing it on the piano.

Her heartbeat was loud in her chest as the sudden realization struck her. Sarah was awake and playing the piano?

A low growling reached her ears and Wooser was crouched at Teresa's feet.

His fur was ruffled and the gray ears were flat as his striped tail lashed from side to side.

He stared into the next room and hissed loudly.

The mild cat had never acted this strange before.

Without a warning he sprang from the room and went down the hall in the opposite direction.

Teresa pushed herself out of the chair in alarm.

The music continued playing.

"Sarah?" Her voice wavered as shivers crept down her spine from the haunting melody.

"Do you hear me? Sarah?"

There was no answer except for the eerie melody.

Walking slowly towards the doorway, Teresa was amazed at the quality that reached her hearing.

There was not a single mistake.

The song was being played flawlessly, as if from a master pianist.

Dread filled her chest as every step brought her closer to the source of music.

The next room was masked in shadows and the only light was coming from the corner where the piano sat. Candles covered the top of the instrument but Teresa had not lighted them.


She called out again but there was no reply.

Teresa entered the room and saw that the piano was illuminated from candlelight as each one burned brightly.

There was no one seated at the piano.

And the song remained playing.

The frightened woman let out a gasp.

This wasn't possible. Am I still asleep, she thought? The tempo of the song increased as it drew near the ending. Teresa's hands were trembling and she felt weak.

Suddenly the song ended with a resounding chord making the candle flames dance wildly.

There was a large decorative mirror on the wall next to the instrument and Teresa noticed a reflection inside.

Invisible to her naked eye, the pianist was revealed in the mirror.

The figure turned on the bench and stared straight at her from the glass.

A skeletal body with a gleaming skull looked into her eyes.

It was ghastly.

All the blood drained from her face and Teresa stumbled backwards, falling against the door panel.

A scream lodged in her throat, unable to find release.

Her last memory was the sudden extinguishing of the candles as they blew out, then everything went dark.


Teresa woke with the morning sun spilling it's rays through cracks in the curtains.

She stood up feeling stiff and sore.

The events of the night came back to her but with the new day they seemed more like a bad dream.

Hesitating only a moment Teresa peered through the doorway.

There was silence and everything appeared normal.

Teresa walked towards the piano, half expecting to hear it come to life.

Was it a dream? And she had sleep walked? It was possible.

She reached the piano and looked it over. Sinister in her nightmare, the instrument was again friendly and familiar. Blame it on stress and Sarah's stubbornness, she thought.

Teresa was ready to leave and forget the whole thing when she noticed something below the keyboard.

There were sculpted designs engraved in the wood but it seemed one had been pulled out. She ran her hand over it and saw that it was more than just a molded piece.

An actual compartment was revealed behind the knob and she opened it.

A manuscript had been hidden inside, crumpled and old.

Teresa gazed at it curiously and saw that it was a sheet music selection with the words 'Jonathan Greene' on the front.

It was an original piece because the piano had come from the Greene Estate.

Teresa flipped through the pages until she reached the last one where it abruptly ended.

The song was unfinished.

Jonathan Greene had passed away before he could complete the music.

A feeling of horror passed through Teresa as the unbelievable truth gripped her mind.

He had come back from the grave to give his song the finality it deserved.

Ive found these Stories From - My Fav ghost/Scary site!

DookPlunkIdiot - February 18, 2009 11:29 PM (GMT)

K Arthur90 - February 19, 2009 01:06 AM (GMT)
Although I don't believe in spirits and ghosts and etc, these stories are very nice indeed. Very well written.
And, DookPlunk, about that ghost of yours... It's easy to make a shadow like that.
And speaking of eletronic ghosts (ghosts that don't appear to naked eye, but you can see/hear them on eletronic devices), have you seen "White Noise"? With Michael Keaton? You know those EVP's? I got one on my computer that scared the hell out of me. If I find it, I'll upload to somewhere and post a link, should I?

zoro894 - February 19, 2009 01:08 AM (GMT)

DookPlunkIdiot - February 19, 2009 01:21 AM (GMT)
i saw that vid

zoro894 - February 19, 2009 01:28 AM (GMT)
the poltergeist clips look somewhat legit ^^

emad - February 19, 2009 01:51 AM (GMT)
Damn, that's crazy, I want to be a ghost hunter or whatever they're called lol.

Teh p00n z0r - February 19, 2009 02:04 AM (GMT)
To the Ghost Spirit and Demons guy, i use to know him irl he use to be my old elementary friend.. But i moved... And im making a vid like his but almost of the same quality ill put a new topic up once finished

K Arthur90 - February 19, 2009 02:26 AM (GMT)
Zoro, about the vid u posted. Most of them look very real indeed. However, one caught my attention as how badly it was made. The one that he says was taped after a oubji/oubi/ouji (I don't even know what's that). You can easily notice the door effect was made by actually closing the door and reversing the film.

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