Archive for December, 2011

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Get Up On Its Hind Legs Like A Human

December 26, 2011

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 theĀ 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.

Silly me.

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

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The World Will End In A Week

December 25, 2011

Ah, this is an entirely true story where the timing was, unfortunately, perfect due to a certain date. When I was in college AIM was all the rage and everyone was always signed on with their buddy lists and away messages. At the time my friends and I were always posting clever and funny away messages, similar to the status messages found on facebook today.

So I thought of a prank a high school teacher pulled on us a few years back. One day he came into the classroom at the beginning of the period, walked to the board without saying anything, looked ominously at us and wrote on the board “THE WORLD WILL END IN TWO DAYS.” He then proceeded to teach class, refusing to answer any questions regarding the cryptic message. The next day he entered the room silently, walked to the board and wrote “THE WORLD WILL END TOMORROW.” No explanation. The following day: “THE WORLD WILL END TODAY.” At this point we were slightly unnerved and apprehensive as to what he could be referring to yet our teacher continued to teach as if that day were no different. Nothing happened. We came in to class the next day, clearly with the world still in existence and thought for sure our teacher was a crackpot. He walked in, confident as ever and strolled to the board. He wrote “THE WORLD ENDED YESTERDAY.” At that point we all groaned in disbelief, he went on to explain how it was a humorous exercise in getting our attention and it worked.

Fast forward a few years to me at my computer, thinking this would be a terrific joke for my away message. So I posted “THE WORLD WILL END IN A WEEK.” Friends IM’d me, concerned; I assured them all was ok and that everything would be revealed in due time. I continued my ritual for a week, building anticipation among my closer friends, likely annoying the other 200 people who could see my away message.

Then the day came when I woke up, posted “THE WORLD WILL END TODAY,” and I left for my morning class. I took my seat in the auditorium when the professor announced, “folks, we’re going to be canceling classes for the remainder of the day due to the attacks on the pentagon and the world trade center…” This was the first I heard of it and I had no clue what was going on, the tragedy was simply not apparent to me yet. I returned home and saw the news and couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Then I turned to my computer.

Nearly 100 messages. Some were shocked but amused, others were downright threatening. A lot of “DUDE WTF”s in there too. Some asked if I knew something or knew the attackers. All in all, a bad day and some explaining to do.

Tl; dr: I predicted 9/11

– Posted by JustRice; Reddit

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Dreaming Of Being Attacked

December 25, 2011

This happened a few years ago and my husband and I still occasionally bring it up. It absolutely happened just as I tell it. It freaks me out to talk about it so I thought it might be a worthwhile submission to /nosleep.

One night, I began dreaming of jogging up a hill where the majority of my family lived (my grandma, aunt, and four cousins all lived along this stretch of road). It was early morning in the dream, and I was jogging along, I noticed a man walking down the hill toward me. I was overcome with a sense of apprehension and I thought it was silly to fear this guy, but I knew everybody who lived on that road and this man was a total stranger. I quickened my pace, and suddenly noticed off to my right a lone public telephone where none was in real life. I angled toward the phone, hoping to get to it before he could reach me because I was suddenly and absolutely sure that this man was going to try to rape and kill me. I needed to get to that phone to call the police. I was trying to act nonchalant, hoping to not draw attention to what I was doing. I was worried he would figure out what I was up to and thwart my chances of calling for help. The man picked up his pace as well, and began running toward me as I broke out into a full run towards the phone. Just as I reached the phone, my fingertips glanced on the receiver and the man was there wrapping his hands around my throat. He was also pinching my nose shut and I was desperately trying to breathe and scream for help. He squeezes his hands tighter and tighter and I began to suffocate. I then blacked out in the dream.

I awoke, choking and sobbing. I was terrified there was someone in our house. This is a little sleepy town, and so we slept with the windows open upstairs to have a breeze in the summertime. I was petrified however, and laid completely still, just listening as the adrenaline surged through my system and I was totally freaked out. There was nothing to be heard: it was utterly peaceful and silent. I tried to wake up my husband but it was no use. Eventually I got up enough courage to creep over to my window to shut it quietly and lock it. I glanced at the alarm clock and it was around 3:30am. I then turned on the light in the hallway, snuck into my son’s bedroom and checked on him. He was dead asleep too, so I checked the closet and closed his window and locked it. I then went through the house systematically checking the closets, behind the couch, anywhere that someone could possibly hide. It was empty.

I relaxed some, but the dream had a very intense feeling about it. It didn’t feel like any other dream I’d ever had at all. It didn’t have the dreaminess and the surreal quality that my dreams normally have once I awaken. I had this uneasy dread that just permeated my being.

I tried to shake it off. I got a glass of water, turned on the television for company and read for a while. At about 4:10am, I decided to go try to get back to sleep and hopefully awaken in the morning without this sense of intense dread.

I crawled back into bed, and fell asleep rather quickly. Instantly I was having an intense and otherworldly dream again. This time, I was at my cousin’s wedding that I had attended a few months prior. I was sitting at a table alone and my friend Kasey walked up and sat down. Now Kasey had not been at this wedding, in fact she didn’t really know my cousin at all and so this was strange. I instantly gripped her arm and said, “Kasey, I had this horrible dream and I think it was about you.” She kinda laughed but I was insistent. “I want you to be very careful,” I told her, “I think someone has been watching you and I think they’re going to hurt you.” Kasey shrugged it off, told me it was just a dream but I grabbed her harder and began begging her to take it seriously. The dream ended with me in tears saying, “Promise me you’ll be careful. Promise me you’ll lock your doors and windows!! Please!”

I awoke straight out of the dream. At this point I was like WTF? Why did I dream that? There was no mention of Kasey in the first dream at all, why was I so sure it was about her? I am really freaked out, look over and it’s about 4:45am. Rather than attempting to go back to sleep after the strange and disturbing dreams, I just got up and went downstairs to start the day early.

The sense of dread never left the entire day. It was disturbing me a lot. I told my husband my dreams when he woke up, but it didn’t make the sense of dread better at all. I went throughout the day with it hanging over me while I did the grocery shopping, made dinner, etc.

In fact, the dread was very unnerving. My husband was working the third shift and then he went to school in the evening before his shift started, so I was alone at around 5pm. I grabbed my son and headed over to my mom’s, which was a couple of miles from my house, just to have some company.

When I got to my mom’s house, she wasn’t home yet so I just played with my son for a bit. She got home, we started chatting about her day at work, the weather, etc. In the middle of shooting the breeze, she stopped and said, “Oh, did your grandma call you?” No she had not, and I asked my mom why she would have as I saw my grandmother often so we didn’t talk on the phone much at all. “Well, this morning right after your cousin Kyle left for his job, someone broke in and tried to rape his wife Casey.”

I nearly fainted. Literally. The room spun and kind of paled and I heard my mom say, “Oh shit!!!” and felt her grab me and sit me down. My cousin Kyle is a twin, and his twin’s name is Chris… it was Chris’ wedding I had dreamed about. It was Chris’ wedding where I had begged my friend Kasey (with a “k,” the only difference between the two girls’ names) to watch out. The hill I had been jogging up in the first dream? Right at the top of that hill was my cousin Kyle’s house where the attempted rape occurred. Then my dream made sense and as I told my mom my dream as well as I could while flipping the fuck out, she blanched and called my grandma for further details.

Kyle had left work at 4:30am, and Casey had fallen into a light sleep on her living room couch only to be awakened by a man on top of her, choking her. She struggled to reach the phone, only just out of her grasp, and before she could reach it she blacked out. The assailant apparently left before raping her. No one is sure why. And I had my initial dream approximately one hour before this occurred, and the second dream about the time it was happening. This still gives me goosebumps until this day.

I was actually embarrassed about it and I didn’t want to traumatize her by talking about it. My mom told my entire family though, I’m not sure if they believed it or not. It was interesting to have absolute proof of my dream and to not just think I had confused details of my dream with hearing the story about her. I had my husband tell my mom my dream when he got home in the morning before I told him what happened so I had proof.

I was good friends with Casey’s little brother. We all went to a small high school and he was a year younger than me. Casey was 3 years older than me though, so I never really interacted with her at all. That made the entire experience even creepier.

I have had other prophetic dreams after this. A couple of years after this, I had a dream about someone messing with my brother’s car. It was the same really intense, stick-in-my-brain quality that these had so I paid close attention to it. I told him to get an alarm or something and to keep his porch lights on. He just laughed at me. A month later he wrecked. The mechanic told him someone had cut something (some kind of bolt or something?) and I said, “I told you, you should have listened to me!”

– Posted by sillystingray; Nosleep

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Dreamt Of Someone Dying

December 25, 2011

Let me tell a little about myself. I’m very logical and non-superstitious — okay, maybe a little superstitious. I’m an engineer working at a printing company. I haven’t believed in a personal God since my late teens, and I’m always the first person to point out how some strange occurrence can be explained rationally and scientifically. That said, let me tell you about the dream that saved my life.

In my early adulthood before finishing college, I was a laborer for a construction company. I had been working on this large-scale brick job for two months when I had a dream.

In the dream, I was on the top of the scaffold, and I saw my step father (who worked as a mason with me) cleaning the scaffold with his trowel. This is really unusual because scaffold gets dirty sometimes, but it doesn’t much matter, and you certainly don’t damage a valuable trowel to clean it.

I saw two men fighting and one pushed the other, and he fell off the edge where a pile of bricks waited below him. This was unusual too because usually the scaffold is protected by a steel cross-beam and two 2×4 boards. The only time they are removed is to land materials using a boom-crane, but then they’re placed back on.

The strangest part was that as I watched this man fall to his death he looked at me with indifference. As this man fell, he had to know he was going to die, and he used his last moments of life to look at me. He didn’t look scared or afraid or at peace, he just looked at me casually like I was an acquaintance passing him on the sidewalk. My dream ends.

I rarely have dreams I remember past my feet hitting the floor, but this dream stayed with me, especially the man looking at me. I told my mom and step dad about it, and they both took it as a premonition that my step dad was going to die (I could only hope), but I dismissed it and forgot about it by the next day.

Two weeks later, I’m on the ground about to climb the scaffold, and I see two guys fighting, and one pushed the other just like in my dream. This brought the dream back to me. Hmm, I thought, that’s a funny coincidence. I stopped the fight, went back to work, and climbed the scaffold four stories in the air where the masons were continuing the brick wall. Note: I don’t have a fear of heights because I worked in them all the time.

Once I get to the top of the ladder, I see a pallet of bricks being unloaded by a new guy that was hired that day along with another new guy, his brother. Sorry, I don’t remember their names.

Past him on the opposite side of the scaffold, I see my step dad cleaning his trowel off with the scaffold, but it looked like in my dream where he was cleaning the scaffold with his trowel.

That’s weird, I thought. I can’t believe I didn’t realize that in my dream that he was cleaning his trowel and not the scaffold. I must have seen it before and put it in my dream subconsciously. That explains it.

Well, as a laborer, it’s one of my jobs to make sure the masons have mud (it’s the wet cement that holds bricks together), so I fill two five-gallon buckets full and go to carry them past the new guy to my step dad and other masons to give them mud.

As I walk behind the new guy, who’s kneeling as he unloads the bricks, I look down the scaffold to the ground and below me is a pile of bricks and walking past the pile of bricks is the new guy’s brother. He looks up at me casually, and I instantly recognize him as the man that fell in my dream.

Immediately I realize I have my hands filled with 80 lbs of mud walking behind an unexperienced laborer next to a section of scaffold that isn’t protected because the brick materials were just landed. I was the one to die. As I type this, the memory gives me chills.

I dropped the mud buckets just as the new guy stood up and backed into me knocking me off the scaffold. I managed to just barely grab onto the side of the scaffold and catch myself. I climbed back on and took a deep breath of relief.

The man that almost killed me says “Sorry” looks down and then, “Wow, that could have been bad.” He almost got thrown down to his brother.

Like I said I’m (mostly) not a superstitious person, but I know for a fact that I would have died if I didn’t have that dream. It saved my life. Because of my own reservations, I don’t share this story very much, but feel free to criticize in this land of anonymity!

TL;DR: I had a dream that saved my life. I don’t believe in premonitions, but it’s an awful lot of coincidences.

Update: I agree it can all be normal with nothing extra-ordinary. I know how the brain works and that facial recognition could have been after the fact. My point is that this string of coincidences, if that’s what it is, saved my life. That’s pretty profound. I also realize that if I either died or didn’t almost die then I wouldn’t be typing this now, so the 1:million will stand out.

It’s just unexpected that I only remember a few of my dreams a year, and this one was accurate enough to bring my attention to a life-threatening situation and save my life.

Update 2: Granted, I admit it could all be a coincidence. However, consider this: if neutrino particles were detected hitting various parts of the world simultaneously, we would investigate the cause assuming it couldn’t be a coincidence of them all hitting simultaneously — but it could be coincidental from various unrelated sources.

I report a dream with a stream of coincidences and I’m labeled (by some) superstitious. I realize my dream is unverifiable and unquantifiable, and I’m okay with it being only a coincidence. I’m just happy that it ever happen, and I don’t make claims of it’s source.

– Posted by ecafyelims; Reddit

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Mortal Kombat would have to wait.

December 25, 2011

My father is a contractor, so we move around the country often, going where his work is. This particular contract he worked on required the family to move to into a beautiful old farmhouse on a huge farm estate. It had two stories, wooden floors and even had an old laundry shaft like we here see in the movies (It’s not common in South Africa to have these in your home) . I was doing correspondent home-schooling back then, so the majority of my free time was spent fucking around the farm and very seldomly would my mother and I leave the property.

The owners of the house where this elderly couple who had built themselves a little cottage about 500m where the house was. According to them, the house was built by the gentleman’s father and he had lived there his whole life, as had his two children. I thought it was rather odd that they were living in the cottage and renting out the house, but I could understand that during that time money and jobs were scarce and they were elderly, so the house must have just been a little too big for them.

We started to notice that something wasn’t quite right with the house about a month in staying there. My mother would begin cooking dinner about an hour before my dad got home, so by the time he got home his meal was piping and his bath was already run. One evening, helping my mother in the lounge with something, we hear a rattling in the kitchen. Thinking it was the pot which must have been boiling and the lid was rattling, my mom went to investigate. Turns out, all the dishes were removed from the cupboards and set face-down on the counter. Obviously, she blamed me for it and no amount of reasoning would lead her to believe that I didn’t do it. A few days later, we’re in the lounge watching TV and we hear footsteps on the wooden floors upstairs, making their way to the stairs and then silence. We went to see what/who it was, but came up dry. Nobody there.

The footsteps on the top floor and shuffling of cutlery and dishes in the kitchen increased more and more as we stayed there and eventually it was starting to freak us out. We told my dad about it, but he shrugged it off as “wind” or “a duck/chicken must have flown in through a window and those were the footsteps we heard”, though he didn’t say anything about the dishes and probably also suspected it was me.

Then one day, my mother went out shopping and I was at home alone. Playing with my Gameboy, sitting in front of the T.V, I start hearing the footsteps again, walking towards the stairs. This time, however, they didn’t just stop at the top of the stairs and I clearly heard the footsteps making their way down the wooden steps, towards where I was.

I didn’t even think twice. Gameboy in hand, I fucking hightailed it out of the house and towards the gate on the farm (which was bout 3km away). I didn’t even turn back to look once, and thinking about it now, not sure if I even closed the door when I bailed. I ran the whole way to the gate and waited for my mother to arrive, some several hours later. I was literally terrified and to make it worse, my Gameboy had run out of batteries, so I just waited there for her, dead Gameboy in hand and knowing that I had spare batteries on charge in the house, but I wasn’t planning on going back alone. Mortal Kombat would have to wait.

That was pretty much the peak of the strangeness in the house. Sure, we still heard the occasional footsteps upstairs and the odd fork not being where it’s supposed to be, but nothing as freaky as that day. We stayed there for a little over a year and about a month before we moved out, my mom and I visited the owners of the property to ask if weird shit like this had happened to them.

The old man tells us a story about how he had twins, a boy and a girl. At around 16 years old, the girl had been raped on the way to the farm and she was never the same after that. One day, he returned home to see her hanging dead in the kitchen. The brother, who had a very close relationship with his sister killed himself in the same house some years later, though he never told us where and how. He said that the main reason they moved out was because of the whispers, that he could hear his children’s voices sometimes at night when they laid in bed and could hear them talking to each other. That coupled with the burden of losing both children made him build the cottage and move there with his wife.

Look, I’m not going to say the house was haunted because I’m a rational person and like to consider all aspects before pointing to the paranormal, but to this day it’s something that bugs me because I can’t seem to think of a logical explanation to what happened.

– Posted by Nferno ; Reddit

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she was absolutely convinced that there was someone living in their cellar.

December 25, 2011

At op: I have to say you may just be schizo.

For my story, I had an aunt and uncle who lived in a ‘haunted’ house.

So my uncle (I’ll call him Kyle,) and my aunt (Jenny, and these are actual names) were moving out of my grandmothers house because they finally had the money to do it, and had a child on the way. They moved into a little house in a place called Little Russia in Topeka, KS, which is a place where Russian immigrants migrated to in whatever time or wherever. It’s next to a bridge, a small 4 block neighborhood with tiny houses.

Anyways, while Jenny was pregnant with their first and only child, she took maternity leave for 3-4 months before her daughter was born while Kyle continued working. She was alone in this house for most of the days, and started hearing things in their cellar/basement, which was really a trap door in the middle of their kitchen that leads to a dug out cellar sort of thing, dirt on the walls, sometimes foundation, dirt floor, that sort of thing. She was hearing movement, and motion, the common things that can be easily explained by water pipes and gas heaters and what not, but she was absolutely convinced that there was someone living in their cellar.

Kyle told her fairly frequently that she was going crazy, and there was no one in the cellar, but she wouldn’t budge on her opinion, and so it went for the next month or two. Finally, they had their daughter, and brought her back home after a few days in the hospital. The first night back, she unsurprisingly cried, like babies do. Kyle and Jenny were awoken by it, and decided they would let her cry it out for a minute to see if she would go back to sleep without intervention.

Their bedroom door swung open, crashing against the wall, and they heard footsteps go around their bed, gently push open the door to their daughter’s room, and heard their daughter giggle while the airplane ornament that jingled when wound up began playing. At first they were stunned, and unable to get out of bed to check on her, but eventually they did. They found her asleep, with the ornament winding down to the end of its song.

From this point, these occurrences were incredibly common. Rarely was it because of their daughter crying anymore, it was more as a playful activity. When Kyle got out of the shower, he would suddenly feel incredibly cold in the middle of summer in their smarmy, hot, house. He yelled, “enough!” Which caused the bathroom door to open, shut, and an unhappy ghost march out of the bathroom.

During the seven months after their daughter was born that they lived there, their three dogs would occasionally stand up and follow apparently nothing around the house to a door, or car keys would get misplaced. None of this phased Kyle or Jenny anymore, it was like living with a five year old that they couldn’t see. One day it got out of hand.

They decided they were done living there, as they could afford a new house in a better, more suitable neighborhood (hopefully devoid of the supernatural), and were planning on renting out the house. In order to do this, they first replaced the door: enter me and my other uncle Kris, who are both very realistic, and think the idea of ghosts are just silly. We arrived to help put in a new door, me because I happened to be spending the weekend with my uncle, him because he’s a carpenter by trade and helps the family with these tasks.

About half way through taking off the door, we hear a door open and shut (the house was empty aside from us three) in the back bedroom, and decided it might be the wind. Kyle of course, knew better, but Kris and I weren’t worried about it. We got the door off, and put it against the wall outside, when I saw the most unbelievable thing I’ve ever seen. Kris’s tool box, which we were pulling hammers / screw drivers out of, had been lifted off of the porch, carried a foot suspended by nothing, and thrown off the deck sprawling all of the various tools onto the lawn.

What… the… fuck…

I’ve since reevaluated what I consider realistic, and have become more agnostic than anything, with a healthy serving of collective unconscious a la Carl Jung, plus the idea of the connected mind being the universe, and us creating everything around us.

– Posted by some_cool_guy; Reddit

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Dead At The Bottom Of The Stairs

December 25, 2011

I’ll throw this one out there, since I’m idle at the moment and enjoy reading the other stories. I hope someone enjoys mine.

One of my high school friends, Jim, turned out to be a friend that lasted beyond those formative years. We were in a band together back then, and ended up working together at the same restaurant a couple years after graduating.

Jim’s father died a few years before we met in high school–Jim was, by the way, a likely unplanned pregnancy as his mother was fairly older than all my other friends’ parents, and Jim’s sisters were adults with kids of their own.

He never talked about his father. I would imagine that losing a parent at such a young age is a more traumatic experience, but I’m no expert. Anyways, Jim and I would hang out when we weren’t working, smoke pot, drink… the usual early-twenties kind of stuff. Jim liked to drive around aimlessly and i was always happy to tag along. His car at the time was his father’s before his death. his mother didn’t drive, and only got her license recently–to the best of my knowledge, the only people who ever drove Jim’s car were Jim and his father (and probably his sisters, whatever).

So late one night, Jim gets his automotive wanderlust on and I tag along. Nothing out of the ordinary there, except that this evening we are not under the influence of any kind of intoxicant. That WAS out of the ordinary for us, as we usually did our best to spend as many hours of the day as farked up as possible.

He decides to drive south of town. I’m from a medium-to-small sized city in Pennsylvania; the kind of place where you don’t have to travel very far to find yourself out in the sticks.

We drive for a ways and get to a crossroads where a sharp left will take us back to town on a different road. We get to about the area on this road where there are a series of sharp bends–one of those “dead man’s curve” kind of deals that many people have in their towns and where many serious accidents take place.

I’m risking a tl;dr situation already, I know, but I need to state at this point that while I don’t necessarily believe in psychic powers and all that, I do believe that at times we can know a little more than we should. Call it a gut feeling or whatever–most of us have had it, and some have it stronger or more often than others. I never thought I was particularly special in this regard.

Back to our drive: I start to have a vision. I’ve been in Jim’s house enough times to be able to call to mind what it looks like. With an older parent, the decor of his mom’s house was “vintage” to put it nicely. The basement was finished, and we spent a lot of time down there as that was where our band would practice. I spent enough time there to be able to vividly the room’s details in my minds eye… I’m doing so now as I type. It had a very 70’s feel and was actually his parent’s “club room” where they would hang with their friends, play cards at the big, round table… maybe grab a drink at the wet-bar in the corner. Good times, I’m sure.

My vision is of me walking down the stairs to the finished basement room, but it’s off a little bit as if my visual perspective is just a bit higher than I’m accustomed to seeing that trip down the stairs as I had so many times before.

I’ve got a corded drill in my hand. Interesting, that seems kind of random for a “vision” that I seem to be being forced to have–I do have a vivid imagination, but this scene is playing in my head like a movie over which I have no control.

Halfway down the stairs, I acknowledge the fact that my chest hurts like a motherfarker. I’ve just had what can only be a massive heart attack and I fall the remainder of the way down the stairs, landing on the floor in a twisted, unnatural position. The drill I was carrying beside me, it’s cord tangled about my body just a bit from the tumble down the steps.

I realized that I had been narrating this vision as I was experiencing it. I knew I was in the car and was in motion, but there was this detached sense to reality at the same time. I was there, but I was also somewhere else. When the episode was over, I looked to my left to get Jim’s take on that little scene and he is quite pale, both hand gripping the steering wheel at 10 and 2. He’s staring forward out the windshield with a look on his face that was along the lines of someone desperately stifling a much-needed fart.

Silence for a hot minute, then Jim starts to speak. He tells me he’s seen that same scene too, just not the actual motion but the result. He came home from school one day many years previous to find his father, dead at the bottom of the basement stairs. Earlier, his father had asked him to bring some tools in the house from their shed in the backyard. Jim didn’t do as he was instructed, so when he found his dead father with those tools around him, his young mind came to the conclusion that had he done as he was told, his father wouldn’t have tripped down the stairs and could possible still be alive. This kid lived for years until that moment believing that he had essentially killed his father.

– Posted by Papa Rotsy ; Fark