Ghost Stories And The Paranormal

One day I was at my old apartment I was about 11 years old, I saw my moms brother. I never knew how he passed away. I never heard anyone talk about it, because I guess it was to "Brutal" as they called it, for me to hear about. So one day like I was saying, I walked outside and I saw this tall male, standing in front of me. With his face/skin half off on his face, a army suit on, and him smiling at me.

I talked to my mother about it and she asked me how I knew how he passed away And I told her I saw him wandering outside our old apartment. She got so shocked that she couldn't stand still, Because he got blown up in an army accident.

A couple years down the road, I used one of the boards, that tells you things you want to know etc. It came with his death date and a message for me to give to my mother. "Tell your mother Donna, I miss her" I got goosebumps.

He visits me here and there still, with my younger sister Kayla, its same story. I was actually younger when my sister passed away. I was seven years old when that happened and I never knew she got buried with the bunny or a white dress. I got a bunk bed a few years later after that and she was laying with me laughing saying hey Ashley, I noticed it was my sister so I calmed down a little bit and she vanished quickly but she was in her white dress with her little bunny.

Sent in by Ashley, Copyright 2008, RealGhostTales.com

One night, around when we were living in the womens shelter on the second floor, we were eating pizza and there were at least five of us women in the kitchen. We were talking and laughing and the next thing we knew we were hearing furniture getting pulled across the floor on the third floor above us. Then we heard foot steps and chairs squeaking.

We went up to the third floor to check on it and there is no furniture up there and the door is always locked. It would be impossible to hear it so good cause there is alot of cement between the third floor floors and the second floor ceiling. To this day I get the chills and Ill never know what it was.

This building has been around since the early 1900's and there have been so many stories and experiences of this place being haunted. It used to be the YWCA, Francis Laure, and long ago the third floor was a morgue that held dead bodies when the building next door got full.

Sent in by Brittany Lynn Corning, Copyright 2008

The year is 1979, I was a freshman at Romeoville High. It's a school in Romeoville, Illinois. My mother was angry at my father for some reason or another. My mother was in an angry mood. I was a fairly attractive young woman with brown hair and green eyes.

I came home from school to our ranch style house at 59 Abbeywood drive in Romeoville. I stepped into my house, mother was screaming about Richard, my step dad. I just went into my bedroom and listened to music to drown out the screaming.

Later I had to go into the bathroom use the rest room. I opened the door and as soon as I opened the door my mother was swinging a huge butcher knife in front of my face. She keep screaming your F---ing father. She was in a trance. I tried screaming mother no mother no. She was swinging the butcher knife in front of my face. Then I put up my hands to protect my face. I was trapped in the bathroom. The knife went down and cut my entire hand, from my ring finger to my thumb. I had put up my hands and got cut with a defensive wound to my right hand. I was screaming, you stabbed me mom.

She finally snapped out of the trance. She was crying oh my god the devil made me do it, I was in a trance. I thought you were your father. She cried, Carri the devil put me in a trance and made me think you were your father. She then proceeded to stop the bleeding with a wash cloth. She innocently took a bottle of alcohol and poured it over my cut hand. I screamed because it hurt.

To this day by the look that was in her eyes I know she was in some type of psychotic trance the devil had possessed her. I believed many times my mother was possessed by the devil. sometimes the wind would pick up when she would say the devil is here.

I still have that scar across my hand. I do not believe in mental illness I believe in spiritual warfare.

Sent in by Carri, Copyright 2008 RealGhostTales.com

There is an old house that sits on West 1st street In Fulton NY. The house is my house. My parents bought it in 1991 and that's when everything started.

The original owner walks around at night. There's a little girl who walks around the house. There's an old Indian who walks around outside, but he never comes in.

My Grandparents have passed away and we believe that they are there now because we can feel their presence.

The previous owner of the house always walks around upstairs and stands in my parents doorway at night. They think that was his and his wife's room a long time ago.

Nobody knows why the little girl is there. She sometimes lays on the top bunk when my brothers not there.

The Indian, we think, is still guarding his territory, he is an Indian chief. He sometimes bangs his drums at night or walks up and down the river banks. That is very freaky.

The chair that my Grandmother always sat in when she came up to visit always moves back and forth like she is sitting in it. You can smell my Grandfather's cigar smoke in the house and when I say to put it out, the smell goes away. That is my haunted house.

Sent in by Eugene, Copyright 2008 RealGhostTales.com

I once lived in a haunted house. Our family pet was a little dog named Tippy. One evening my wife and I were watching TV. Tippy was lying in my lap. Suddenly she leaped to the floor, barking at something in the center of the floor. I went to pick here up, but she ran from me. We tried everything to make her stop. I was nervous, something evil was in the house and Tippy knew it. She was scared.

We walked in the kitchen and as we walked across the floor the room was very cold. We coaxed her to come with us. Finally she started to move towards us still growling at the center of the room. She would not cross over the center of the floor, but was making her way along the wall. Suddenly she flew over our heads and slammed against the kitchen wall before falling to the floor. We knew she was badly hurt. I couldn't move my feet. I just stood there I was petrified. My wife and I cried all night with tippy in our arms. we lived in the country and there was no doctor around.

The next morning tippy died, by the hand of something evil. What it was I don't know. I don't live there any more, but the house is still there. It was my home where I grew up in.I'm 65 years old now and still scared to think about the house. This is only one story from this house, there are so many more, but I loved my dog tippy and his story comes first.

Written by Mark P Clarke, Copyright 2008

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