Hey guys, first time I’ve posted here but I have a few experiences that I figured you might have some interest in. Sorry it’s so long, but one story on its own takes up a big chunk of it, so the rest of the story is in the comments. BUT TL;DR: Possession, haunting, ESP, ghost sightings, weird trans-human sightings
A little background about me, I’m 23, born and raised in Minnesota, lived in Jersey briefly before I came back home. College educated with a degree in psychology and another in theater, pretty secular and consider myself skeptical of a lot of “supernatural” things. However, I have had a few things happen in my life which have weirded me out.
Growing up, my maternal grandparents owned a farm in a somewhat rural suburb in Minnesota, called Maple Grove. It used to be a farming town but over the last 15 years has gone the way of urban creep, and their farm was one of the original ones in the area. It was built in 1897 and they updated it over the years, but most of the house was still the original work or expansions that they had added on.
Most of my creepy stories I can tell you about come from that house or happened there.
I’ll start out with a minor one from when I lived in Jersey; I saw something that I can’t really explain. I used to sit on the roof and smoke while I’d look out at the lights from NYC since I was a midwestern kid and Minneapolis has shit compared to the Big Apple as far as lights and sights. One night, I saw a mid-sized dog, maybe a small yellow lab going down the street at a decent pace, I’d call it a trot. I whistled at it since I fucking love dogs, and then froze when I saw it stop in its tracks, look in my direction for a second, get up on its hind legs like a human and run down the street faster than most sprinters. It went to the end of the block and turned the corner. I wasn’t doing drugs at that time, but that one flipped me the fuck out and made me want to. Still, not all that creepy compared to some other stuff I’ve seen.
Back to my grandparents’ house.
My grandfather passed away from cancer in April 2009, really threw me for a loop, but I was prepared for it and had moved in with my grandma and grandpa to help out at the property while he was undergoing treatment. This happened in the Winter of 2008, but I don’t exactly know how to explain what happened other than what I talked to my grandmother about afterwards, since my grandpa forbade anyone from talking about anything supernatural and would get angry as all hell if anyone did.
One night when we were eating dinner, I heard banging coming from the sewing room and figured one of the cats had knocked over a mannequin or something. I started to get up, but my grandpa who was a pretty soft spoken man told me to “sit [my] ass back down and finish dinner” in a tone that made it clear that it wasn’t up for discussion. I told him I just wanted to get the cat out of there before he made a mess and he told me to not worry about it and to not go upstairs. The banging went on for about 5 minutes before it stopped, and I have no rational explanation for what it was, because I found the cat curled up behind a closed door on the main floor and there was no mess in the sewing room. There is a not-so-rational explanation that I can offer but I’ll do it after my next story.
Second creepiest moment I have ever had was when I was younger and home alone at their house and I saw an apparition in the sun room, or what used to be the main sitting room. I was on my way to bed, and in the house there are two landings on the steps. The first is one step up and leads to the wall where there’s a mirror facing the sun room. When I took that first step I looked in the mirror and in the darkness saw a woman dressed in white, dark hair that was tucked up into a hat, sitting in the rocking chair. She wasn’t moving and had her back to me but I sat there for a good second or two before I swung around. No one was there, but the rocking chair was moving. I ran upstairs and sat in their bedroom which is in one of the newer expansions to the house. I think I figured out who she, and whatever is in the sewing room. were though, and that part had me even more creeped out.
Some of this is from historical documents I’ve gathered and some things I’ve put together myself from talking to people who know the history of the place. In the late 1920’s, the people who owned the farm rented out a bedroom to make ends meet during the Depression. The renter who had come from Kentucky and came to Minnesota as a hired hand took his quarters in what we now use as the sewing room, and in the late 1920’s (I think 27 or so) he took his own life by hanging when he found out his daughter had died from some illness. I think that he’s still around there.
As for the woman, I’m pretty sure I know who or what she was too. The people who had the property at that time seemed to kind of be bound up in tragedy. When the renter killed himself, the family started having financial troubles (even more than most) since they lost a bit of income but more importantly someone who could help around the farm. By the mid-30’s the husband had turned to alcohol and became abusive. I found an obituary in a church archive that listed both of them having died on the same day in 1936 with practically no details. When I started digging around more, it turned out that the husband had gotten abusive enough that he threw his wife down the stairs and killed her. When he realized what he had done, he went down to the old cellar and hung himself. I have some stories about that little corner of hell that existed before they moved the house (literally lifted it off of its foundations) but I was young and knew enough to stay the hell out of there whenever I could.
Now here’s the big one. This is something that I’ve only ever told 5 non-involved people about. One was my psychiatrist, and the other four are good friends. This happened last winter, so from the fact that I’ve only told that many people, you can gather that I don’t really talk about it and it still freaks me out.
So I have this friend, we’ll call her Ann. Ann has always been unique. Very perceptive, very feeling, very empathetic. She could tell you things that you hadn’t told anyone ever and would know all about it. I thought she was just perceptive, but she has since told me it’s more than just that.
Typing this out, I realize I sound crazy, but bear with me. Ann called me one night, asked if I wanted to hang out, told me she felt like we should spend time together. I told her to come by, and again I was home alone as my grandmother had gone to Arizona to escape the cold. We sat up and ate home-made pizza, and yes, each had a few drinks. Neither of us were even close to drunk as we had maybe 4 drinks over the span of as many hours and I was pouring them.
We were watching TV when Ann asked me to shut off the TV and that she needed to talk to me. She wouldn’t look at me, but kept her eyes locked on the corner of the room. She told me she could see things and people. Things and people she shouldn’t be able to see. Things like where someone was born, their history, their secrets, like watching scenes out of a movie. She told me she could see people she had never met, people she couldn’t have met, and she could talk to them.
Like I said, I was a psych student, and I was worried that maybe she had been going through some schizophrenic episodes but then she hit me with the kicker and I’ll never forget her words.
“I can see your grandfather. At least I think he’s your grandfather. Skin, worn and leathery from years in the sun. His hair is so white, it used to be grey and peppered but it changed… it keeps changing. He’s wearing glasses. Strong hands. Very strong hands. He has happy eyes, and god his laugh. He laughs with his whole body, so happy. He’s a jokester. He likes jokes. He doesn’t talk a lot but he’s always smiling, always happy. What a kidder.”
I stared at her and my jaw dropped. I thought maybe I had talked to her about him, but then realized I hadn’t. I thought maybe she had seen pictures, but my grandma didn’t have any pictures of him in the kitchen or the room where we were watching TV. I told her to stop fucking with me. It had pissed me off a lot. I was close to my grandpa and her joking about this sort of stuff did not sit well with me.
She looked at me and it seemed like she wasn’t even talking to me, more like she was talking to me over the phone. She told me “he had eleven…. no… twelve? eleven or twelve brothers and sisters.”
He did, he had twelve brothers and sisters, one had died in infancy.
She told me “he grew up in a white house, very small, lots of people, but always happy… hard living… I see the letter G and a lot of corn, lots and lots of corn, but the letter G is still there.”
He grew up in a white 2 bedroom farmhouse in Graettinger, Iowa where his family grew corn and raised cattle. They still own the property. During the worst of the Great Depression the entire family lived in that house. 30 odd people on the property, all packed into a 2 bedroom farmhouse. That’s what he grew up in.
Then she started talking about things he had told me just before he died. Things he had wanted to tell me. Secrets. Things he had hidden. Medals from his time in the Army that he had tucked away that my grandma thought were lost forever. She told me he was still watching after my grandma and me and would play tricks on us, like hiding keys and other things in weird places. That we’d just think we had lost them but then they’d turn up in bizarre places like on top of cabinets which we weren’t near, or in drawers which we never opened. Which had happened, and had never been a problem before, which led me to get one of those press the button and your keys beep things. It was a lot to take in.
That part didn’t creep me out. It made me cry, I can’t explain why, but I felt safe. I was crying even as I was typing this, but I don’t know why. It’s a weird mix of sadness and happiness, but yeah. This is the creepy part. After about 10 minutes of this, she turned absolutely white. She looked terrified. She said she had to stop and her breathing got shallow. She tried to get up but fell backwards, really hard like someone had pushed her. She asked me to carry her outside to the garage where we could smoke. I picked her up and carried her out as she shook and held onto me.
We sat out in the garage for about an hour as she told me about what had been happening. Apparently she had been seeing things since she was about 13 but never paid any attention to them until she started seeing bodies when she turned 18 and moved to Duluth from the boonies of Minnesota for college. When she saw one in December of ’09, she thought nothing of it, figuring it was just a nightmare or a TV show she had seen. until she saw details about a high school student that had gone missing. She said she saw his body floating in water, which makes a lot of sense since they were right by Lake Superior, but that there were things she knew that she couldn’t explain like his clothes and his appearance.
She wrote it all down the night after it happened and even submitted a police report when she saw the news report but didn’t hear anything back. Come May, it turned out that they found his body and he was in the lake. The cops wrote it off as an accident, but popular opinion was that it was the Smiley Face Killer (shitty site, but the closest I could get, I honestly believe that stuff is legit). Apparently, she started seeing more of these bodies with more detail and reported them. This was before they found the body of the kid in the lake, but she figured that his disappearance a few days after her dreaming of him couldn’t be coincidental. She got some calls back and some panned out as something they were already investigating, some never did. She couldn’t explain it. Then she said she saw a really bad one, one that she couldn’t even describe. All she could say was that it was a ritualistic killing and she didn’t want to talk about it, but that since she saw whatever it was, there had been something following her. Something that was un-natural and evil. Something that whenever she opened up or talked about what she saw, even if it had nothing to do with the killings would show up and it wasn’t a good thing. I shrugged it off.
We went back inside and she sat down in the TV room while I went to get us water. I heard her start coughing. I came back and she was staring at the TV while it was off, her face was as white as sun-bleached bones. She looked at me, and I swear to god it wasn’t her. She smiled and then grimaced and gagged. I grabbed a trash can in the room, thinking she was going to hurl and when I walked over to her, she grabbed my arm and dug her nails in and screamed to get her out of there, her face was distorted, like someone had fucked her up bad with plastic surgery. Her eyes were sunken, her face looked powdered, and her mouth was red. Then she started puking. You know those small trash cans you can get at Target? The ones that go up to your knee about? She filled it almost entirely. She’s a small girl, maybe 130 lbs and 5’2″ and there’s no way that even I could fill one of those bins that far.
As soon as she was done vomiting, she stared at me, smiled, and started saying things. Terrible things. How it wasn’t her anymore. How, whatever it was, just hated me and was going to kill me and everyone I cared about, but not until it had tortured us until we begged for death. How it was going to drag my soul and the souls of everyone in the house to hell. How there was no god and it was going to fillet me alive. I stared in disbelief, but had no idea what to do. Ann has been a friend of mine for more than a decade and I know her, but this was not her.
She started muttering in what sounded like Latin or maybe Greek to me. Screaming, grimacing, grinding her teeth, clawing at her palms until they bled. Occasionally, whatever it was lost its hold and I could see it immediately. Her eyes brightened, her breathing went back to normal, and she just looked confused. She told me to tie her down and lock her in a room, and to not go in there until the morning. I bandaged her hands and taped over her fingernails then got some belts and neckties and did like she said. Whatever was in her would sometimes take hold, fighting me, trying to hit me or scratch at my eyes. It stopped threatening, started pleading for me to just let her go, that I was hurting her, and that if I loved her I would let her go. It tried appealing to every little bit of me, from my love of her as a friend, to logic, even to lust. Eventually I got her tied down and ran out, locking her in the room and locking the door to my own room as it screamed at me things that I’ve blocked out of my mind. I sprinkled salt at the doorway of that room and of mine, had an iron crucifix that was given to me on my confirmation by my god-parents under my bed, and all night I heard her screaming, crying and yelling. I’m not one to pray normally, but I did until daybreak. It was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever experienced. It sounded like thunder from time to time in the next room and I could hear things banging around, being tossed around the room, the heavy wrought iron bed shaking. I can’t explain what it was, but I waited until 10 AM to go in there. She was asleep, still tied to the bed, her wrists and ankles raw from the bonds, and her body drenched with sweat and the room was a mess. Pictures were on the floor, books had been tossed out of shelves, it looked like a little kid had gone wild on too many pixie sticks and cherry coke in there. I woke her up and untied her, gave her a blanket and asked if she wanted to shower. The only thing she said to me that morning was “take me home.” So I did. She didn’t say a word to me for the 45 minute car ride until she got out and told me not to call her and that she would contact me.
I didn’t sleep that night either, which is bad because I already have sleep issues and decided to talk to the pastor at the church I was raised at, not because I necessarily believe in religion, but because I believe that there are things I can’t explain and maybe there’s something that can be done from another angle. He gave me some advice, things to try as far as prayer if anything happened, but in the end, said that she probably had psychological problems and that it wasn’t anything to worry about.
For the next two weeks, whenever I went to bed, I could hear pacing outside of my room. Banging on the walls. Pictures falling. Burns in carpet. Weird smells. It was terrifying. Finally I went back to the pastor and told him what was happening in detail. He got very serious with me and asked if I was messing with him. I told him I wasn’t and he asked to go to the house with the other pastor at my church and be alone for an hour or two until he called me. I went to the local bar and had a few beers to calm myself until he called me and said it was fine to go back. He was waiting with the other pastor and both were very somber and tired when I arrived. He told me we should be fine, but that if anything more happened we should contact him again.
I would have figured that maybe, just maybe, she was just messing with me and I was buying into it. That I was overly open to suggestion since she was my friend. That is, until my grandma came back. She asked me if I had heard anything while she was gone, if anything weird had happened. I played dumb until she said that she needed to see a doctor then because she had been seeing and hearing stuff before she left for Arizona. I asked her what kind of stuff, and she said things that reminded her of my grandpa. Little jokes he would play, like moving her earrings while she got ready in the morning, or moving her hairbrushes and stuff around. She told me she heard people talking when she was alone. Then she told me she had heard other things, new things since she got back.
She told me she heard angry voices, shouting, banging through the house. I freaked. I told her what had happened while she was gone and that we needed to talk to the pastors again. When we did they got extremely serious and told us that they needed to call some other people.
Now this is a Lutheran Chuch so no exorcists or any of that stuff, but we stayed at the church for 3 hours and eventually, there were 7 or 8 pastors there. They went to the house and we went to Perkins, just like the last time until they called us. Again, somber and serious, but this time, they said it would be fine.
I’ve since moved out of that house, and have talked to my grandma about things that have happened there. She says they’re fine, but every once and a while she hears or sees something strange, but nothing to worry about.
It still freaks me out… but… those are my stories. Sorry it’s so long, but I ended up kind of venting in addition to just telling you guys the story. If you have any questions, feel free to ask.
As far as the sprinting dog, I can’t really give much more detail than I already have as it all happened within maybe 15 seconds. All I can say is that it was either light grey or yellow, about the size of a yellow lab, when it stood up it was about 5 feet tall, and ran fast as hell.
I can say it was mid-March of ’08 on Van Houten street in Passaic, New Jersey, about 4 blocks from the Wachovia Bank (or what used to be Wachovia, it’s been a few years now and it might be a Wells Fargo), towards the school. Location wise I can be precise other than the house number because to be honest, I don’t remember it.
I could see if I still have the IRC logs on my laptop from when it happened but I’m not sure if I’ve reinstalled Windows on there since then or not.
As far as documenting at my grandma’s, if there was interest, I would maybe consider it but there are a few issues with doing it quickly. One is that she’s in Arizona to escape the cold for a few more months and I don’t have ready access to the house as it’s secured when no one is there and I’m not sure who else has a key. Second is that I don’t have a camera able to take video other than my webcam or my phone, so I’d have to find a camcorder or a redditor willing to lend one to me, but no offense, I wouldn’t take you to where my grandma lives alone even if you trusted me with your camera.
However, if those obstacles were taken over, I’d do it. You probably wouldn’t see anything though as even at its peak, other than the two weeks after the incident with Ann, it wasn’t a regular thing.
EDIT: I figured I’d toss a picture of my grandpa up here so you guys can see what he looked like. The photo on the left is from when I was little, maybe 7 or 8, the photo on the right is from the July before he died. He hadn’t gone through much chemo yet and still had his hair somewhat thick and dark… so there you go
– Posted by warfrogs; Nosleep