Let's Share Some Spooky Stories!

[Red Offerings]

I'll tell you a couple true stories.

I was eight months pregnant with my first daughter. My husband was still in the Army and we lived in one of the oldest houses on Fort Irwin. It has since been torn down. Anyways, until that night, I had never had any kind of paranormal experience and I was something of a healthy skeptic.

I was very much asleep on this particular night. I tend to not remember dreams and they're never terribly interesting anyways. But often at that point of my pregnancy, my daughter would wake me up by doing something crazy in my belly. I don't know if that's why I woke up or what, but I remember just opening my eyes and looking up. Our bedroom was pretty dark, but we had those vertical blinds, and at certain times of night, the moonlight would shine through a gap at the corner of the blinds. When I opened my eyes, I immediately saw a person standing right against my bed.

The moonlight showed right on him, he was completely corporeal and looked to be maybe the size of a 10-12 year old boy. He had dark pants or shorts on and no shirt. His skin was super pale white or grayish and I could even see he had semi-long blonde hair. The oddest thing about the whole experience was that the shadow in the room fell right across his face, it was totally black but he was just standing there, not moving. I've never seen anything like it before or since - but I tell you what, you have never seen a pregnant woman move so fast. My husband was sound asleep on the other side of where I lay and I rolled myself over and started to climb of him. He grabbed me and I looked over and of course the figure was gone. But this "kid" had only been six inches from me. He was there and that was no dream.

[Red Offerings]

Second story - same house.

I had just had my first daughter. My mother had made the trip from Phoenix to stay with my husband and I and help out with our newborn. My first night out of the hospital, I was kind of up being hormonal and tired. It was super late at night and my mother came out of the room she had been sleeping in. It was also going to be our daughter's nursery when I was ready for her to be in her crib.

Anyways, she came out and looked kind of upset. My mother had never had any paranormal experiences herself and I could describe her as level headed. I thought maybe she had heard me, but no. First she asked me about what was wrong and then she offered to stay up a bit and handle our newborn. I thought this was great but I was also curious as to why she was suddenly willing to be up.

She finally told me that she had been laying in bed and was just about to sleep when suddenly someone/thing had grabbed her hand and started to haul her up out of the bed. Since she was half asleep, she fought against it, and the feeling went away. So she settled back down to go back to sleep and just as soon as she did, something grabbed her hand again and began literally tugging her from the bed. She told me that she felt like maybe she just needed to be up for a while.

[Valerian]

From my home state of Wisconsin:

The Pfister Hotel in Milwaukee is said to be one of the most haunted hotels in the world.  Guido Pfister, a German Immigrant who had made his fortune as a tanner and become a leader of the community, began to plan the hotel along with his son, Charles, hoping to create an elegant hotel that would show hospitality and service to all, no matter their social status.  Guido died in 1889, one year before construction started, but his son Charles went forward with their plans with enthusiasm, finishing it in 1893, at the cost of 1.5 million dollars.

It is now a historical landmark in Milwaukee, the home of professional baseball and basketball teams whenever they are in town.  Major league baseball players have reported a wide range of paranormal activity when they stayed in the hotel.

Adrian Beltre, a player for the L.A. Dodgers, has said in Sports Illustrated that he heard knocking in the hallway and on his door.  He went out to investigate but found no one.  Later, he saw the air conditioning and the televisions switch on and off by themselves.  When he was sleeping, he was awakened by pounding noises from behind his headboard. He was so scared that he took a bat with him to bed for protection and was only able to sleep for two hours during his three-night stay.

Carlos Gomez, another baseball player for the Minnesota Twins also experienced something paranormal a day before his big game.  He heard disembodied voices, then saw his iPod switch on by itself.  The iPod then began vibrating wildly and almost fell to the floor.   He put the iPod back on the table where it started doing the same thing again.

As well as the many reports of mischievous activity and electrical malfunctions, several guests have also reported seeing the apparition of an elderly gentleman, thought to be the spirit of none other than Charles Pfister himself, walking the halls.

[Cycle]

You all are creeping me out...

Good job!!  ;D

[Jag]

So R.L. Stine decided to use Twitter to write a short scary story in 15 tweets. I loved the Goosebump series growing up and I loved the Fear Street and Fear Street Seniors as a teen. I also loved his first adult horror story 'Red Rain' and I'm glad he's bringing back his Fear Street books. *Jag has already bought the first one*

"You won't look at egg salad or your father in the same way ever again."



What's in my sandwich?!

People call me a loser, but that's going to change. I was in a little diner downtown and I ordered an egg salad sandwich…

...I was about to bite down on it when I noticed something moving in the egg salad. Was I imagining it? No…

...I saw a hairy, three-fingered claw push a clump of egg out of the way. I saw two round black eyes. A fur-covered face…

...The creature poked out of the sandwich, sending egg salad tumbling onto the plate. It was the size of a fat beetle…

...But it wasn't an insect. It had a furry head and eyes that peered into mine. Before I could react, a second creature poked out…

...And then a third. My sandwich was infested. My stomach lurched. "Is everything okay?" the waitress asked…

..."Yes. Fine," I said. "Could you wrap this sandwich to go?" Finding hairy things in your sandwich is gross…

...But I knew this sandwich would make me a winner. The sandwich would turn my life around…

...Discovering a new life form had to make me rich. I carried the sandwich home carefully and set it on a ta

...I didn't hear my son Willy come home. When I finally saw him, he had egg salad on his face…

...Yes, he ate the sandwich. If only I could have stopped him. Now the creatures are biting holes in his stomach…

...They are biting holes in Willy from the inside, poking their furry heads out of his stomach, chewing his flesh…

...Okay. A minor setback. But I'm not giving up. Willy is screaming in agony. The poor guy is terrified…

...I'm so excited. Where is my camera? Willy is going to make me rich.

[Spookie Monster]

Gah!  Spooky stuff, guys!  Thank you very much.

I myself would now like to recount a story told here by an Australian fellow named Duncan.  Tap-tap-tap...


Tapped by Something in the Night

This story takes place on Bruny Island, Tasmania, Australia.  It happened when I was a child around eight years old, so 1998.  I was at the family shack with my mum, dad, and older brother Jock.  Jock and I used to share a bunk bed, with him on bottom and me on the top shelf.  I used to sleep with a clip-on lamp on my right hand side.

One night I awoke to a tapping on my shoulder -- fast taps... one two three.  It woke me almost instantly, so I turned on the lamp to see why my brother was harassing me at this time of the night.  When I looked down, he was asleep -- or pretending, I thought.  Growing up, we were always playing pranks on each other.

I turned off my light and lay there.  One minute later, the tap started again.  The same as before -- fast, one two three!  I turned my lamp on, again looking down at my brother, still in the same position and asleep.  "Stop it!" I said, but he didn't even smirk.

Once again, light back off, but this time the tapping was straight away, and consistent.  I turned the light back on almost as quick as I could and looked back down at Jock, realising he wouldn't have had the time to get back to his bed.

A bit freaked out, I turned off the light, but kept my hand on the switch.  As soon as it went off -- TAP! -- straight back on... nothing around me!  I turned it off again... TAP TAP TAP.  This time I turned the light back on to see nothing.  I leaped clean off the bunk and dashed down the hall to mum and dad's room, where I spent the rest of the night.


The eastern sky's falling pale, but there's still time for one more!

Spel

[Spookie Monster]

I offer you "The Pale Man" by Julius Long...


The Pale Man

I have not yet met the man in No. 212.  I do not even know his name.  He never patronizes the hotel restaurant, and he does not use the lobby.  On the three occasions when we passed each other by, we did not speak, although we nodded in a semi-cordial, noncommittal way.  I should like very much to make his acquaintance.  It is lonesome in this dreary place.  With the exception of the aged lady down the corridor, the only permanent guests are the man in No. 212 and myself.  However, I should not complain, for this utter quiet is precisely what the doctor prescribed.

I wonder if the man in No. 212, too, has come here for a rest.  He is so very pale.  Yet I can not believe that he is ill, for his paleness is not of a sickly cast, but rather wholesome in its ivory clarity.  His carriage is that of a man enjoying the best of health.  He is tall and straight.  He walks erectly and with a brisk, athletic stride.  His pallor is no doubt congenital, else he would quickly tan under this burning, summer sun.

He must have traveled here by auto, for he certainly was not a passenger on the train that brought me, and he checked in only a short time after my arrival.  I had briefly rested in my room and was walking down the stairs when I encountered him ascending with his bag.  It is odd that our venerable bell-boy did not show him to his room.

It is odd, too, that, with so many vacant rooms in the hotel, he should have chosen No. 212 at the extreme rear.  The building is a long, narrow affair three stories high.  The rooms are all on the east side, as the west wall is flush with a decrepit business building.  The corridor is long and drab, and its stiff, bloated paper exudes a musty, unpleasant odor.  The feeble electric bulbs that light it shine dimly as from a tomb.  Revolted by this corridor, I insisted vigorously upon being given No. 201, which is at the front and blessed with southern exposure.  The room clerk, a disagreeable fellow with a Hitler mustache, was very reluctant to let me have it, as it is ordinarily reserved for his more profitable transient trade.  I fear my stubborn insistence has made him an enemy.

If only I had been as self-assertive thirty years ago!  I should now be a full-fledged professor instead of a broken-down assistant.  I still smart from the cavalier manner in which the president of the university summarily recommended my vacation.  No doubt he acted for my best interests.  The people who have dominated my poor life invariably have.

Oh, well, the summer's rest will probably do me considerable good.  It is pleasant to be away from the university.  There is something positively gratifying about the absence of the graduate student face.

If only it were not so lonely!  I must devise a way of meeting the pale man in No. 212.  Perhaps the room clerk can arrange matters.

* * *

I have been here exactly a week, and if there is a friendly soul in this miserable little town, he has escaped my notice.  Although the tradespeople accept my money with flattering eagerness, they studiously avoid even the most casual conversation.  I am afraid I can never cultivate their society unless I can arrange to have my ancestors recognized as local residents for the last hundred and fifty years.

Despite the coolness of my reception, I have been frequently venturing abroad.  In the back of my mind I have cherished hopes that I might encounter the pale man in No. 211.  Incidentally, I wonder why he has moved from No. 212.  There is certainly little advantage in coming only one room nearer to the front.  I noticed the change yesterday when I saw him coming out of his new room.

We nodded again, and this time I thought I detected a certain malign satisfaction in his somber, black eyes.  He must know that I am eager to make his acquaintance, yet his manner forbids overtures.  If he wants to make me go all the way, he can go to the devil.  I am not the sort to run after anybody.  Indeed, the surly diffidence of the room clerk has been enough to prevent me from questioning him about his mysterious guest.

* * *

I wonder where the pale man takes his meals.  I have been absenting myself from the hotel restaurant and patronizing the restaurants outside.  At each I have ventured inquiries about the man in No. 210.  No one at any restaurant remembered his having been there.  Perhaps he has entrée into the Brahmin homes of this town.  And again, he may have found a boarding-house.  I shall have to learn if there be one.

The pale man must be difficult to please, for he has again changed his room.  I am baffled by his conduct.  If he is so desirous of locating himself more conveniently in the hotel, why does he not move to No. 202, which is the nearest available room to the front?

Perhaps I can make his inability to locate himself permanently an excuse for starting a conversation.  "I see we are closer neighbors now," I might casually say.  But that is too banal.  I must await a better opportunity.

* * *

He has done it again!  He is now occupying No. 209.  I am intrigued by his little game.  I waste hours trying to fathom its point.  What possible motive could he have?  I should think he would get on the hotel people's nerves.  I wonder what our combination bellhop-chambermaid thinks of having to prepare four rooms for a single guest.  If he were not stone-deaf, I would ask him.  At present I feel too exhausted to attempt such an enervating conversation.

I am tremendously interested in the pale man's next move.  He must either skip a room or remain where he is, for a permanent guest, a very old lady, occupies No. 208.  She has not budged-from her room since I have been here, and I imagine that she does not intend to.

I wonder what the pale man will do.  I await his decision with the nervous excitement of a devotee of the track on the eve of a big race.  After all, I have so little diversion.

* * *

Well, the mysterious guest was not forced to remain where he was, nor did he have to skip a room.  The lady in No. 208 simplified matters by conveniently dying.  No one knows the cause of her death, but it is generally attributed to old age.  She was buried this morning.  I was among the curious few who attended her funeral.  When I returned home from the mortuary, I was in time to see the pale man leaving her room.  Already he has moved in.

He favored me with a smile whose meaning I have tried in vain to decipher.  I can not but believe that he meant it to have some significance.  He acted as if there were between us some secret that I failed to appreciate.  But, then, perhaps his smile was meaningless after all and only ambiguous by chance, like that of the Mona Lisa.

* * *

My man of mystery now resides in No. 207, and I am not the least surprised.  I would have been astonished if he had not made his scheduled move; I have almost given up trying to understand his eccentric conduct.  I do not know a single thing more about him than I knew the day he arrived.  I wonder whence he came.  There is something indefinably foreign about his manner.  I am curious to hear his voice.  I like to imagine that he speaks the exotic tongue of some far-away country.  If only I could somehow inveigle him into conversation!  I wish that I were possessed of the glib assurance of a college boy, who can address himself to the most distinguished celebrity without batting an eye.  It is no wonder that I am only an assistant professor.

* * *

I am worried.  This morning I awoke to find myself lying prone upon the floor.  I was fully clothed.  I must have fallen exhausted there after I returned to my room last night.

I wonder if my condition is more serious than I had suspected.  Until now I have been inclined to discount the fears of those who have pulled a long face about me.  For the first time I recall the prolonged hand-clasp of the president when he bade me good-bye from the university.  Obviously he never expected to see me alive again.

Of course I am not that unwell.  Nevertheless, I must be more careful.  Thank heaven I have no dependents to worry about.  I have not even a wife, for I was never willing to exchange the loneliness of a bachelor for the loneliness of a husband.

I can say in all sincerity that the prospect of death does not frighten me.  Speculation about life beyond the grave has always bored me.  Whatever it is, or is not, I'll try to get along.

I have been so preoccupied about the sudden turn of my own affairs that I have neglected to make note of a most extraordinary incident.  The pale man has done an astounding thing.  He has skipped three rooms and moved all the way to No. 203.  We are now very close neighbors.  We shall meet oftener, and my chances for making his acquaintance are now greater.

* * *

I have confined myself to my bed during the last few days and have had my food brought to me.  I even called a local doctor, whom I suspect to be a quack.  He looked me over with professional indifference and told me not to leave my room.  For some reason he does not want me to climb stairs.  For this bit of information he received a ten-dollar bill which, as I directed him, he fished out of my coat pocket.  A pickpocket could not have done it better.

He had not been gone long when I was visited by the room clerk.  That worthy suggested with a great show of kindly concern that I use the facilities of the local hospital.  It was so modern and all that.  With more firmness than I have been able to muster in a long time, I gave him to understand that I intended to remain where I am.  Frowning sullenly, he stiffly retired.  The doctor must have paused long enough downstairs to tell him a pretty story.  It is obvious that he is afraid I shall die in his best room.

The pale man is up to his old tricks.  Last night, when I tottered down the hall, the door of No. 202 was ajar.  Without thinking, I looked inside.  The pale man sat in a rocking-chair idly smoking a cigarette.  He looked up into my eyes and smiled that peculiar, ambiguous smile that has so deeply puzzled me.  I moved on down the corridor, not so much mystified as annoyed.  The whole mystery of the man's conduct is beginning to irk me.  It is all so inane, so utterly lacking in motive.

I feel that I shall never meet the pale man.  But, at least, I am going to learn his identity.  Tomorrow I shall ask for the room clerk and deliberately interrogate him.

* * *

I know now.  I know the identity of the pale man, and I know the meaning of his smile.

Early this afternoon I summoned the room clerk to my bedside.

"Please tell me," I asked abruptly, "who is the man in No. 202?"

The clerk stared wearily and uncomprehendingly.

"You must be mistaken.  That room is unoccupied."

"Oh, but it is," I snapped in irritation.  "I myself saw the man there only two nights ago.  He is a tall, handsome fellow with dark eyes and hair.  He is unusually pale.  He checked in the day that I arrived."

The hotel man regarded me dubiously, as if I were trying to impose upon him.

"But I assure you there is no such person in the house.  As for his checking in when you did, you were the only guest we registered that day."

"What?  Why, I've seen him twenty times!  First he had No. 212 at the end of the corridor.  Then he kept moving toward the front.  Now he's next door in No. 202."

The room clerk threw up his hands.

"You're crazy!" he exclaimed, and I saw that he meant what he said.

I shut up at once and dismissed him.  After he had gone, I heard him rattling the knob of the pale man's door.  There is no doubt that he believes the room to be empty.

Thus it is that I can now understand the events of the past few weeks.  I now comprehend the significance of the death in No. 207.  I even feel partly responsible for the old lady's passing.  After all, I brought the pale man with me.  But it was not I who fixed his path.  Why he chose to approach me room after room through the length of this dreary hotel, why his path crossed the threshold of the woman in No. 207, those mysteries I can not explain.

I suppose I should have guessed his identity when he skipped the three rooms the night I fell unconscious upon the floor.  In a single night of triumph he advanced until he was almost to my door.

He will be coming by and by to inhabit this room, his ultimate goal.  When he comes, I shall at least be able to return his smile of grim recognition.

Meanwhile, I have only to wait beyond my bolted door.

* * *

The door swings slowly open...




But soft!  November's first dawn has arrived; the season of the witch slips back into its slumber.  It seems that the curious secrets of the duizenderotischeprikkennacht will have to wait.

Many thanks to you, Jagerin, Lilias, Ryven, SinXAzgard21, Formless, Euron Greyjoy, Valerian, Drake Valentine, Oniya, TheGlyphstone, Winsted, LuckyOwl, Sel Nar, and Red Offerings.  I simply could not be more pleased with the quantity, the quality, and the variety of your tales.  Many thanks to you, too, Cycle, and to all other readers.  I hope that everyone will return next year -- you'll know when it's time -- a chill will grip the air and the wind will sing a melancholy song.  Till then!

Spel