The Dark Lady in Green Bay by skylarker@online.dct.com When I was about nine or ten, my mother, my sister and I, lived in an older two story brick house. We rented the bottom half and an older lady lived upstairs. The older lady moved out after awhile, to live with her daughter, so my mother rented the top half of the house too, so that my sister and I could each have our own rooms. My sister got what was the "living room" area of the upstairs apartment (it had once been a bedroom, and I got the actual bedroom. It was really pretty with floral wallpaper and everything, very feminine. Across the room from the door, there was another door which lead into a very smallish room, with slanted ceilings (it was in the "gable" of the house) and a very small window. Off of this little room, was a very little door that entered into a part of the attic. I was pretty excited about the prospect of having my own room once again (we'd lived in many many houses, and most of the time, I had my own room, I was pretty used to it). I even moved my desk in the little room, which for some reason I named "the nursery" even though I was older than that doll age and there was little physical evidence of the room ever being used as such. It was always extremely cold in there and after a month, I moved my desk back. I was also extremely uneasy about having that door open, and I would even prop things up against it, because sometimes, even though it had a pretty good latch, it would open by itself in the middle of the night. Then, I specifically remember one night, I woke up and thought my mother was in the room. My bed was situated so the door to the nursery was at the foot of my bed. Standing in front of the door, at my feet, was an adult shape, but it was all shadows. I think that I covered my head and tried to go back to sleep. Another time, when I was sick, I woke up and the shape was back. I got the distinct impression that I had called out to my mom in my head, and the figure was answering the call. I sat up a little bit, to see if it was shadows from the window or something, but the figure remained. Then I let out a bloody scream for my mom and the figure rushed across the room to the door leading into the hall. It passed directly through the light coming off of the street, and it was definately a solid black or shrouded figure. I got the impression that it was a sad lady. I never told my mom because I didn't think that she would believe me. Then, after a few more months, my mom moved us back downstairs because she could no longer afford the rent for the upstairs. We moved again after another year. There were some other strange things about this house. There were definate hollow spots in the walls and strange noises came from them sometimes. Also, the basement had several different rooms, including a coal room and this strange meat locker type room. I got the distinct impression of evil that came from that room. Also, once I thought I saw a big grinning face in the dark where that door was. The strange thing about this, which makes me think that it wasn't just a nine-year-old's active imagination (ok, well, the face may have been), is that about two years ago, I was talking with my mom about ghosts and faces that you see out of the corner of your eye. I kept saying "Haven't you ever done that? Thought you saw someone?" and she kept saying "No, never." After I let the subject drop, she brought it up again. She said "Actually, remember the brick house on Shawano? Remember when you girls were sleeping in that upstairs part? I went up there one day when you were in school to pick up dirty towels and I was standing by your closet, looking out the window when I just got this funny feeling. Then I thought I saw a woman standing there looking at me, but when I turned my head she was gone. It was over by that little cold room in the front of the house. Remember that room?" I had never told her about the incident and, while I was growing up, we had lived in about fifteen different houses, so there was no reason for her to just pick that house at random. Back to top Mr M and Pepper by EDJULIE143@aol.com Last month, I had a 91 year old hospice patient, "Mr. M" who was dying of CHF. His wife had died 2 years ago, so he was alone. He had long since given up being able to care for his pet dog "Pepper", a small, rat-looking, yappy dog who was 16 (112 in dog years) herself. Pepper had to be taken away a few weeks ago so she could be taken care of by Mr. M's daughter, who lived 10 miles away. I was called in to see Mr. M after he had declined to the point that his doctor had discharged Mr.M from the hospital to go home and be comfortable for his last few hours. By this point, Mr. M was catamose, nonresponsive to family and obviously near the end. Only myself and Mr M's son-in-law were in the house. The rest of the family kept their vigil at their own houses, wating for my call. All of a sudden, Mr. M opened his eyes and said " Come on Pepper", and died. While not unexpected, the death was so quick and strange, we were kind of stunned. Not 2 minutes later, Mr M's daughter telephoned to tell us Pepper had died. I have heard of things like this before, but this was my first experence. Has anyone else heard or experence similar deaths?
Prom Night Fright by Johnvirgil@aol.com After my senior prom, my buddies and I dropped off our small-town-Tennessee dates and headed to another friend's house to unwind. The prom had been tough on all of us, we never chose the right dates, and we were watching MTV on the couch (this was '83 you know). After severe 2am boredom set in, one of my friends and I decided to go for a walk on the golf course behind the house and see if anyone else was up at this hour. We walked a short distance, really just from one fairway to the next, and looked with interest at this giant old tree next to the creek at the bottom of the hill. It was a dark clear night and my buddy Mike and I could make out something under the tree. I asked Mike what it looked like to him, and he agreed with me, that it looked like two people and one of them was digging. I thought it was someone up to no good, and the last thing I wanted to do on prom night was get busted by the cops, so I said we should leave. At this point Mike and I were about 300 yards away from the shadowy figures. We turned around and took about two steps before I looked back again. In that one second, the figures had gained about 1/3 of the distance between us, and were closing in fast. Mike and I both screamed profanities and high-tailed it for the house. I shouted "Don't look back!", because the people in the movies that get killed are the ones who look back, but I forgot to remind him of the little knee-high chain that keeps the golf carts from leaving the cart path. As he sprawled on the damp grass I jumped blindly, hoping I would miss the near-invisible chain. I made it, and helped him up, without looking back, and we made it safely inside. Imagine if you were our third friend, of course you would have to go see it for yourself, so after a tall glass of water-we weren't into drinking beer yet-we took Kermit outside. After a short briefing, we went to the top of the same hill and let him go down to the scary part. After a few seconds, we heard that same four-letter word, and here came Kermit hustling up the hill. I was a little suprised that he was running so fast, he was a lot less chicken than we were, but there was no way anyone was going to beat me back to the house. In retrospect, we should have done some scientific tests, or taken some pictures, but we were genuinely tired and creeped out. Mostly tired since we had been dancing all night to Rick Springfield cover tunes. So we went back to Kermit's house and crashed. This story was mostly told as a funny icebreaker at boring parties later on, and we never thought much about it as the years passed. As a closing note, years later when my folks finally joined that country club and I played golf there, I saw the two headstones of the farmer and his wife(who used to own the land a long time ago) that are buried near the 6th tee about 300 yards from where we saw those "shadowy figures".
Phantom Motorcyclist by kjl@cray.com This story was told to me by my friend Jone. Jone and I live in the small town of Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin. It is located about 90 miles east of the Twin cities. one Evening, Jone drove to Minneapolis to pick up her daughter who was attending school there. On the return trip Jone let her daughter drive and they both conversed about school and other events in their lives. It was approximately 10:00 at night and small pockets of fog banks began to develop on the highway. Jone turned from looking at her daughter and yelled at her to slow down and avoid what looked to be a motorcyclist. She recalled seeing a leather jacket and various details of the bike. But she vividly remembers how the headlights reflected off the chrome of the bike yet it went through it at the same time. The motorcyclist was in front of their vehicle for about five seconds and then drove off into the ditch. Jone's daughter pulled over to the side of the road and the both looked at each other and verified what they both had witnessed. Spooked out of their minds they sped for home. They were traveling on Highway 29 which links I94 to Green Bay. Currently HY29 is being expanded to a four lane highway due to the many fatal accidents that have occured in the past.
The Ghost of the Ship by ozzie@sisna.com My family is prone to "paranormal" stuff, and I seem to be no exception. I have quite a few experiences to relate, both personal and heard second-hand through my family. This is usually the first one I tell people: I served as an officer in the navy onboard a cruiser. One night, while we were in port, I was awoken from my sleep by a "feeling." What I saw hovering before me was a semi-distinguishable face, but better described a nebulous form. What I remember most was the sound which filled my ears: not loud, not soft, very present, but nothing specific. The only way I've been able to describe it is that sound the transporters made in the old Star Trek, but at a constant pitch and kind of muffled. I could feel myself trying to speak, yet could not hear words out of my mouth. I could feel myself trying to move, but again, nothing was happening. The apparition floated above me for what must have been 10 to 15 seconds, then suddenly disappeared. The sound was gone, I could move, I could hear myself speak, and the rest of my stateroom came back into focus. The first thing I did was reach up and touch the pipes which ran through the overhead (my rack was the top rack, or bunk-bed, for ye lubbers) to make sure I wasn't dreaming, for it felt like a dream-state. I had two choices: believe it was a dream, or believe it was something else. I didn't make the conclusion right away. Later that night, I had the mid-watch (from midnight to 4 am) on the quarterdeck. Once the drunks are on-board, this can be a very boring watch. Two other people are up there with you: the Petty Officer of the Watch, and the Messenger. Discussion always varies, and that night, it turned to ghost stories. We swapped a couple, and my mind thought back to the incident earlier in my stateroom. I shared it with them, with no real conclusion, because I had not made one yet. That's when I noticed the pale look on the Petty Officer of the Watch's face. A year or so ago, on the deployment before my arrival, a young petty officer was doing maintenance on a radar system. He had defeated the safety interlock (a big no-no) on the radar's cabinet, exposing a fully energized klystron (something with lots of power going through it). He was wearing a sound-powered phone set, which is comprised of a head-set, and a mouth-piece which rests on a metal plate which rests on your chest, suspended by a a cord, and rests on your chest. This young man (could not have been over 21) got too close to the klystron, an high-voltage arc of electricity leapt from the klystron and landed on the metal plate, killing him instantly. The spot where he died was two decks above my stateroom, almost directly above where my rack (bed) is. The petty officer of the watch had the messenger retrieve a cruise book from that deployment (like a yearbook). The first page was a memorial to the petty officer who died, complete with his picture. It was his face I could barely make-out in my stateroom. We all just stood there. I didn't say a thing (outside of what I had to say for duties) for the rest of the watch, I just stared out into the night. Given my belief in these matters, I figgured he (the "ghost") was trying to tell me something. Typically, they all are. He woke me up only one other time after the first time. I tried to speak to him, but the same thing that happened to me physically during the first encounter impaired any communication. The ship has since been de-commissioned. I only hope he had the opportunity to tell whatever it is he wanted to say to someone else.
U.S.S. Forrestal Ghost MAYPORT NAVAL STATION, Fla. (AP) -- Ghosts are fine, traditional thingsto have around ancient English castles, but the Navy says rumors of one stalking the depths of the aircraft carrier USS Forrestal have spooked a few sailors. Flickering lights. Bumps in the night. Locked doors opening. Voices on disconnected telephones. And a vanishing figure in a khaki uniform. The figure's even got a nickname: George. At least that's what some of the men say aboard the Forrestal, in its fourth month of a six-month deployment in the Indian Ocean and the North Arabian Sea. They were interviewed by Lt. James E. Brooks, who detailed the story of the ghost in a 12-page news release issued last month. The report about George hasn't ruffled any Navy feathers, Mayport Navy spokesman Lt. Park Balevre said Thursday. "I thought it was cute. I think most people did." "What Lt. Brooks had in mind was a fluff piece to show the lighter side of the Navy," said Balevre. But according to Brooks, some sailors don't think the ghost story is at all cute. George lurks in two of the ship's below-the-waterline storage areas, one of them a former morgue, spooked sailors claim. "I've got one guy working for me now who refuses to go down there alone. Our last chief petty officer in charge, who has since transferred, refused to go down there at all," says Petty Officer Daniel Balboa, in charge of the officers' mess. "I've never seen any ghosts but you can hear weird things down there," said Balboa. "I was taking inventory one night and heard a noise like deck grating being picked up and dropped," he recalled. "I'd turn around and look but didn't see anything. When I turned around to begin my work again, the noise started again." One night, Balboa said, he was checking temperatures in food-storage freezers and kept finding open doors he had shut behind him. "It is impossible for anyone to open the reefer (refrigerator) doors from the outside, behind me. To open them from the outside requires a key since the doors lock automatically. "I had the only key with me. That incident puts me on the verge of believing," he said. Some say the ghost is a chief killed during a 1967 flight deck fire that killed 137 sailors in the Gulf of Tonkin off the coast of North Vietnam, Brooks wrote. Others guess he's a pilot whose body was once stored on the ship. Petty Officer James Hillard hasn't ventured into the haunted areas since he saw George last year while checking out odd footsteps. "He was wearing a khaki uniform, like an officer or chief would wear," he says. He followed the apparition into a compartment but "there was nobody in there, and I swear that is where he went," Hillard said. Mess Specialist 2nd Class Gary Weiss saw a khaki-clad ghost go down a ladder to pump room No. 1. Whoever went down into the pump room never came out and the ladder is the only access, he said. Hillard said he once was helping move supplies when a telephone that was reportedly disconnected kept ringing. "The phone rang and I answered it. This time there was a faint voice calling, `Help! Help! I'm on the sixth deck!' Rumor had it that a crew member was killed down there. I'm very scared to go down there alone. If I do, I get out of there as fast as I can," Hillard said. Others are dubious. "I think it's the guys' imagination," said Senior Chief Petty Officer James Williams. "I'm not superstitious but when I go down there by myself, I find it uneasy. When that happens, your imagination is going to play tricks on you."
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