From the book “My Friend Michael,” by Frank Cascio
I felt his presence [in our home in New Jersey] and I know that I wasn’t the only one. Various people reported that they’d caught sight of Michael walking the hallways of our house. My mother doesn’t believe in supernatural phenomena, but late one night she was in the kitchen washing dishes when Michael walked past her and said, “Hi, Connie.”
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From the book “My Friend Michael,” by Frank Cascio
From the book “My Friend Michael” by Frank Cascio:
On that trip, the journey was more important than the destination. But eventually our big bus rolled up a gravel road to a castlelike hotel on Loch Lomond.
It was already dark when we arrived.
We were met by a receptionist with round glasses. I think his name was Herron. He seemed calm and businesslike, but as he walked us to our room he said, “By the way, there is a ghost in your room.”
Michael and I looked at each other.
“Great, a ghost. What’s its name?” Michael asked.
“Her name is Katherine,” Herron responded Michael’s mother’s name. Spooky.
We got to our room and settled in. It was after midnight. The security guys went to bed, but Michael and I were night owls. And it felt like we’d been cooped up in that bus forever. And there was a ghost in our room. No way were we about to go to sleep. Without missing a beat, Michael said, “Let’s go explore.”
We walked through the empty halls: it was a big hotel. Where were all the other guests? we wondered. Were they all sleeping? We headed out to the lake to see if we could summon the Loch Ness Monster. So what if this was the wrong loch. Nessie was a monster of a mystery. Who knew where she might appear? Besides, it was very pretty out by the lake. The air was fresh and chilly, though there was no sign of Nessie. Michael said, “This place is weird. Why aren’t there any cars in the parking lot?”
All of a sudden Herron, dressed in black, appeared right there next to us. A reflection of the moon glimmered in his round glasses. He scared the shit out of us.
“Can I help you?” he asked in an eerie monotone. “I don’t want you to go too far and get lost.”
The haunted castle, the lake, the creepy receptionist. It was straight out of a Scooby Doo episode. I was sure that if we ever saw the ghost Katherine, I’d be able to pull her mask off to reveal that she was none other than Herron, dressing up as part of some evil scheme he had concocted in order to get rich.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Michael said, trying to disguise how strange everything seemed to us. “I just wanted to see the property. It’s so beautiful,” Michael loved to go overboard with people, being effusive and flattering them, so he started laying it on about how enchanted we were with the hotel, how unique it was, and how Herron was doing such a wonderful job taking care of it. I joined in. Then we asked him about the Loch Ness Monster and if he’d ever seen her.
“I’ve never seen her,” Herron said, probably restraining himself from saying, “You dumb tourists. This is Loch Lomond.”
There was an awkward silence. Then Michael said, “It’s cold out here. We’re going to go get some rest.” Our host walked us back to the hotel. The place was quiet as a tomb, and by now we had realized that we were definitely the only guests. After Herron escorted us back to the room, we thanked him, bade him good night, and closed the door behind us. But we still weren’t remotely tired. There was nothing to do besides continue our investigation of this big, empty hotel.
We stepped out into the hall. There, walking down the corridor, was a young woman in a beautiful white wedding dress. Her hair was puffed up on top and cascaded over her shoulders in long curls. She glanced at us without slowing down. Then she was gone. Michael and I stood in stunned silence. If that wasn’t our ghost, Katherine, then who the hell was it?
That vision should have scared us off, but instead we continued in the opposite direction from the spook, of course, peeking around corners and testing locked doors. Then we saw a sign for an indoor pool. We opened the door, and there he was again: Herron. It was after midnight, but there he was, in his little round glasses, cleaning the pool. This guy was everywhere. We apologized again, saying we just wanted to see the beautiful hotel, and headed back to our room for real.
We sat down, talking about this strange place. Why would they tell us here was a ghost in our room? How were we supposed to sleep? All of a sudden the curtains moved. I started to leap to my feet, but Michael stayed me with his hand. “Wait a second,” he said. “You don’t ever have to be scared of a ghost. If you don’t challenge them, they won’t do anything to you. Just say a little prayer and they’ll go away.”
3 times, we tried to contact the spirit of “Freddie Mercury” to no avail, until yours truly, a Queen fanatic, asked for the spirit of Farrokh Bulsara
(Freddie’s real name). At that moment, the 10 candles we had burning in a circle in front of us all changes. They were burning straight up initially but after I spoke the 10 flames all started to burn sideways, and they all pointed at me for a good minute. It was very weird.
Years later we tried the same thing during a late night drinking binge, and while our efforts to contact John Bonham were unsuccessful, at least two of the people present nearly choked on their own vomit.
Ok here goes! I worked in a pub on the West coast of Scotland in a small fishing village when I moved over from Australia. It was fairly run down and one of the first buildings in the area aside from the old “blackhouses” which are all but a memory now. It was a great place and full of characters.
One morning I was opening the pub and cleaning before opening the doors for business. As I was stacking the glasses onto the shelves a willowy woman with grey long hair in a plait walked past the window in the snug (upper level) down four stairs and around the corner to the lounge bar and past me. She made eye contact with me and gave me a withering look and walked into the women’s toilets. I got out a “Hi” before she stalked off. She had grey coloured eyes and a dark skirt on mid calf length and a white peasant blouse, sort of 1970’s style. I stood there thinking “rude bitch” and waited facing the toilet doors for her to emerge. It dawned on me a nano second later that the doors to the pub were still locked. I then got a tad scared thinking that this bampot had let herself in after me as I had come in the back door and: a) she could be a lunatic flouncing about or b) someone who had been locked in over night and had been there all along.
Time ticks on and STILL no sign of this woman emerging from the loo. I had not taken my eyes off the toilet door as I thought perhaps this chick was a nutter and wanted to know why she was in the pub when it was closed. After 15minutes I started to worry that something was wrong so I tentatively edged the door open and called in “excuse me are you alright in there” and was greeted with three empty toilet stalls and no sign of anyone at all. The windows are all barred as they are on ground level. I felt my stomach lurch. I looked around all of the stalls and pushed and pulled on all of the bars but they were welded in place. There were no crawl spaces etc.
Three nights later as we were closing up I told my work mate about my encounter and as we stood at the opposite end of the bar chatting over a dozen glasses slid off the shelf and into the sink as if in slow motion one after the other. None of the glasses were at the edge of the shelf, the shelf was not coming away from the wall. We put a pool ball on the shelf and it didn’t roll off. GULP! We then locked up and literally ran out without finishing prepping for the morning.
About a week later my then very annoying manager was fucking about in the back out the pub while I was hoovering the lounge bar before opening. The jukebox does this thing where it plays the last track played automatically if someone hasn’t put a track on for over 45minutes. So I’m hoovering away and “Heartbreak Hotel” comes on VERY LOUD. I ignore it as much as I can and hurry through the hoovering and the track finishes and so do I. I pick up the Hoover and start to carry it out the back when my manager walks through and I have to back up to let her pass. We pass each other in front of the jukebox and she leans past me and turns it on at the wall. My eyes went from the switch to her face and I apparently went green. I told her what just happened and she said “Oh yes that happened a lot in your flat”! Whaaaaa?
Apparently the staff accommodation above the flat has some serious ghosty activity and unplugged radios and stereos played Elvis. At this I thought they were all taking the piss and the whole thing had been an elaborate hoax. I got really shitty with her thinking she was playing me for a fool. Fucking Elvis! Seriously!
Several nights later I am laying in bed in said flat and have left one of those safety pint glasses (one’s that don’t shatter but break into cubes when broken) on the sink (yes my crappy room had a sink in it…stained yellow naturally). I started to feel really spooked for no good reason and put my book down and look up. As I do the pint glass shattered and showered glass all over my bed and my legs. At that point I came very close to shitting my sheets. The room was heated to about 22 degrees centigrade and the windows were shut.
I moved out soon after. My experiences have now been added to a growing list of others in this particular pub. Scared the living fuck out of me! If I was conned then I doff my cap…it was a brillant hoax and I was genuinely scared.
My sister’s old roommate Ed worked for TAPS like 3 years ago for a few months and I drove him home for Christmas once. OBVIOUSLY I asked him about it and this is what I can remember!
When you first start to work for them they don’t immediately take you out on investigations, you need to work for it. They start you off answering the phones and he said it was pretty devastating to hear the stories that some people were telling him, people were always crying and were fucking terrified when they called. He said that was the most unsettling parts.
Eventually he went on an investigation to John Chapman’s house (Johnny Appleseed) and he played me some of the evps he had on his macbook. They were fucking clear as day answers to what him and some other dude were asking. The only one I can remember (since this was 3 years ago) was that they asked ‘what do you look like?’ or something along those lines and the ghost answered ‘pot on my head’..hahaha..the ghost was fucking with them. So he came to the conclusion that it was probably the previous homeowner that passed away a few years ago.
I wish I could remember more!
– Posted by julia_a; ONTD
My father was a civil engineer. My mother was a spoiled rotten trophy wife. While I was still in the womb, they went and bought one of the largest houses in Plainsfield, Wisconsin.
My father travelled a lot. And the house needed work. So he hired this odd little man named Ed that used to hang out at this mom and pop grocery store to maintain the house. According to my mother’s cousins, my mom used to work Ed almost to death, and then shortchange him on his wages.
One day, while my father was in town, it was snowing heavily, so he decided to drive to the farmhouse where Ed lived and pick him up. My father couldn’t drive all the way up to the farmhouse, but he drove as far as he could, and then started honking his horn.
While my father was honking his car’s horn, he noticed what he thought was a leg of venison hanging in the open door of Ed’s barn. When Ed finally came out and got into the car, my father slapped him and told him that hunting deer was cruel. Ed told him he never hunted deer.
A couple weeks later, my father is working in Texas when he gets a phone call from my mom. She’s in a panic. Somebody was murdering women in Plainsfield, and she was all alone, and she wanted my father to come home home right now.
My father couldn’t do that. But he called up a neighbor, and asked him to go to Ed’s farmhouse and pick up Ed. Ed wasn’t much, my father said, but at least he was something. Well, the neighbor drove to Ed’s farmhouse, and was rather suprised to see very nearly every cop in Wisconsin there.
I was born a full month later. My mom carried me for ten months.
Ed’s full name was Eddie Gein. He was Robert Bloch’s real-life inspiration for his character Norman Bates. And some years ago at a book fair, I managed to talk to the now late Robert Bloch about my family’s experience with Ed Gein and he confirmed almost all of it. And although he had never heard the leg of venison story, he told me that as far as he knew, Ed never shot a deer in his life.
My mother and her cousins were enjoying their weekly game of poker while drinking and decided to perform a seance. It was the same week John Lennon was murdered so they decided to contact him. They turned off the lights, lit some candles, and joined hands. After awhile they finally participated in unison and began chanting Lennon’s name. A few moments later a burst of wind came roaring through the house, causing the candles to go out and everyone to freak out. At that same moment my mother felt someone grab her by the roots of her hair and slam her forehead against a wine glass. When they turned on the lights, my mother had blood on her forehead and said “Damn. Lennon must be pissed”.
– Posted by SporaticVoracity; Fark