Archive for the ‘Haunted Toys’ Category


When You Watch.

January 29, 2012

When I was probably about 12, we got Turbo Twists from some friends’ parents or something, the details escape me. Somebody thought they would be “educational” instead of “below my sister and I’s education level.” We had a red one and a green one, and to the best I can remember it was the red one that went bad, but that detail escapes me also (it was dark at the time, so I wasn’t even sure which one it was until morning).

Every time you turn one of these on by turning either end, the following sound is emitted by the speaker on the left end: “Do do do DO! Hey, DUDE, is that you? Hit it and let’s go!” You practically need the user’s manual to figure out it means that the button on the right end is essentially the “swipe to unlock”, and that’s what it’s telling you to do. One of the “features” is that you can customize what name it calls you by, but only out of a limited set of options they voice acted, most of which sucked. We left it on “DUDE”. Turn it off and it plays a short slap bass riff, “dadadau, daDAU.”

One night I was almost asleep in my bed when I hear the chime. “Do do do DO!” But immediately, “badadau, daDAU.” It just turned on and shut off, all by itself, halfway across the room. And then it did it again. And again. And I don’t mean it got the same amount into the opening, or that it even paused between shutting off and turning back on consistently. For the first few minutes it was nonstop. “Hey DUDE dadadau daDAU do do do dadadau daDAU do do do DO! Hey, DUDE, is that dadadau, DADAU.” Then it started taking longer breaks in between.

I was pretty freaked out by this point, watching it as intently as I could with my agonizing lack of night vision. I rolled over onto my other side, trying to ignore it. This is where things get bad. All of a sudden it just plain stops. I don’t make the connection until I turn to look again, and it starts turning on and off again. I turn back and forth a few times to make sure, spending a lot of time on each side. And every time it fucking confirms my suspicions. It only plays when I’m watching it.

I spent the rest of the night tucked under the covers, huddled up, and facing away from the demon-possessed piece of evil, not sure if it’s silently creeping up on me somehow and too scared to look, only to hear it louder and closer to my bed like the fucking mannequins in NM2 but noisy.

In the morning I was afraid to throw it out and afraid to keep it. I wanted to believe it hadn’t really happened, so I convinced myself it hadn’t, until the next night, when it happened again. Quiet all day no matter how I try to replicate the freakiness, then come midnight it glitches again. After that I was like NOPE and took the batteries out, which seemed to work. It happened again one more time months later, took it apart in the morning and there were batteries in it.

– Posted by Rainfly_X; Reddit


Cat Toy

November 6, 2011

We bought a toy cat–small enough to fit in your hand. When you squeezed it, it made a noise just like our half-Siamese, and I would occasionally harass my partner with it. The batteries started to die, and it would make this rasping emphysema sound, and then it stopped working, so we put it up on the third floor. Our house is old–a typical 1920 four square–and we don’t heat the third floor in the winter; we store things there. We didn’t throw it away because it was cute, and about this time, our one cat, Cassie, grew ill.

After a month of treatment, our vet was near tears telling us there was nothing he could do. It was four days before Christmas, and we decided to euthanize her the next day. We chose to do it at home, not wanting her to die in the arms of strangers on a stainless steel table under fluorescent lights. I dug a grave in the clay in the back yard, left it open and let the snow fall into the grave. I went up to the third floor to get an old blanket to bury her in, and brought the toy cat downstairs. I squeezed it again–now it was silent–nothing. The vet arrived, we took Cassie into the living room, pulled the pocket doors shut so she could not wander off, and she was euthanized in our arms on the living room rug.

We went outside without our coats. We laid Cassie in the grave, and I filled it in. The next day I took all the cat furniture out to the garage, washed all the cat blankets and food bowls, put all the toys into a box and threw the medications away. That night, as we were in bed settling in to the new silence, the toy cat meowed. It was a single perfect long Siamese wail. We got up and walked into the office and picked up the cat. The only sound it would make was the emphysema rasp. Then, nothing.

We tell ourselves the cat meowed without being squeezed because it had warmed up from being stored in the unheated attic.

We still have the little cat. She sits on a shelf at eye level and smiles at us when we walk through the hallway. We squeeze it from time to time, but it has never made another sound.

This is a true story.

– Posted by Uncle Wiggly; Fark

Posted on



June 18, 2011

When I was a kid I used to sleep with dolls, one night I woke up and heard a sneeze and my face got all wet. I didn’t sneeze, and the only thing next to me was my doll.

– Posted by Suno ; Reddit



June 7, 2011

This is a pretty long story of the scariest thing that ever happened to me in my life, I hope you guys never have an experience as bad as mine.

I recently moved into a new house and now live alone. The house is near a small town, maybe 2 miles away. The house itself in the middle of a nicely wooded area in a smaller town, which is perfect for me, I love the serenity of the woods, being untainted by urban life. The idea of having a barn thrilled me, with all of the possibilities of what I could turn it into.

My parents recently gave me this house as a graduation gift. The house was given to them by my grandparents, which is strange because we didn’t live in this house growing up. In fact, my parents never mentioned it to me until I graduated college, admitting that they much preferred the city life over living in the middle of nowhere. My mother lived in the house briefly until she was around 7, when my grandparents decided to pack up and move one day. They never sold the house, they said there were too many memories and at the very least my parents could use it as a vacation home. They never did.

The house was in a slight state of disrepair, however I couldn’t care less. I was a homeowner! Mowing the lawn and clearing the branches was the easy part, the real work began within the house. Dusting old furniture, clearing cobwebs and throwing away old canned food. It took me about 2 weeks of cleaning until I decided it was sanitary enough to move into.

I decided to take a few weeks to just relax, I was tired of partying and I didn’t want to start searching for a job just yet. I spent my first day at the house hiking near the creek, fishing on a small pond and meeting folks in town. That night however I was restless, there was no tv and I didn’t have any books other than text books. I needed something to do after it got dark out, so I started exploring the house. In the attic to my surprise was filled with random furniture, toys and trinkets from my mothers childhood. I found baseballs cards, jump ropes, a little football helmet, action figures, a doll house, board games, ect. This was fascinating to me. I then found an antique dresser, which I found my mothers diary. Jackpot! I can read this at night until I fall asleep.

Not this night however, I was tired and decided to go to sleep in my new bedroom in my beautiful new house. Sleep came fast, however I was woken by creaking from the stairs and attic. This was to be expected living in an old house, I was sure I’d get used to it. The next day I decided to check out the barn, I’d decided to turn it into a hobby lounge where I could do woodworking or whatever my wavering enthusiasms desired. The barn was in fact in pristine condition, aside from a pile of cigarette butts in the corner and a musky smell which hung in the air. The smell was the only thing that bothered me, I am a nonsmoker I hate cigarettes, the stench they give off makes me want to vomit. There was a very unstable looking ladder leading up to the loft, which I decided not to use, the last thing I needed was to break my neck in the middle of nowhere. There didn’t appear to be anything up there aside from some hay creeping over the edge. After picking up the butts, I realized that I had more free time than I planned, since I assumed I would spend the day cleaning the barn.

I decided to explore the attic more, as I could not find my car keys to drive to town. Oddly enough I swore that I left them on the kitchen table next to my wallet, as this is what I have always done with any set of car keys I own. Asides from an old mirror and a pile of old cloths, I couldn’t find anything of much interest. As I left I noticed that there were less dolls than I had remembered, and I could swear one of them was not there before. Whatever, I decided to just read my mothers diary.

Lying in my bed I read through the diary, laughing at the entries of the diary. Several of them mentioned her older brother “James” throwing tantrums for no apparent reason, punching himself in the face or trying to fling his baseball bat into a tree. My mother must have had a very overactive imagination as a child, she had no siblings and grew up a single child.

I marked the page I was on and went downstairs to get a snack, growing more annoyed by the constant creaking in the attic. I decided to go to town the next morning and find someone who could fix it. Remembering I had lost my keys, I decided to retrace my steps so I could leave for town early in the morning.

The sun was beginning to set, a dull orange peaking over the horizon, so I decided to check the barn before it became to dark to see. I brought a flashlight just in case it did become too dark. I couldn’t find my keys, however I did find a few cigarette butts in the corner which I had apparently missed from earlier. I set down the flashlight and scooped them up and threw them away. After an unsuccessful search, I glanced up towards the loft and noticed there was a doll propped up against the wall. I could have sworn the doll was in the attic yesterday, so against my better judgment I climbed the rickety ladder to the loft. There was nothing up here aside from from an old hammer, the doll and a pile of hay. I picked up the doll and climbed down and walked towards my house. When I entered the front door I noticed my keys on the ground, only the car ignition key was mangled and bent.

Annoyed that I somehow must have stepped on the key to bend it, I decided to go to bed and walk to town in the morning. Before going to sleep I cracked open my mothers old diary to read. She was surprisingly articulate for a 7 year old, and I became so entranced by the story that the old house’s creaking no longer bothered me.

The diary’s entries became disturbing however. “James” began cutting himself in front of the family and starting fires, the story was becoming very morbid for a 7 year old’s imagination. The most disturbing entry, James had tried to kill my grandfather with a knife and ran off into the woods after stabbing him, my mother bearing witness to the entire scene. After returning from the hospital, James had not returned. Dead animals started appearing outside the front door and messages were being written on the house with blood. She wrote how her grandparents have been whispering among themselves for a week now and no longer allowing her out of the house alone. She also frequently wrote how much she missed James. The diary ended here, with no mention of when or why they moved, it just stopped.

My heart was racing, my pupils dilated and my heavy breathing silent. I didn’t want to stay here anymore, true or not the diary chilled me to the bone. I was aware of everything due to my adrenaline rush, the wind blowing outside and every little creak the house made. Wait, the house was no longer creaking, it was dead silent. I pushed my bed against the door barricading myself in the room. I moved my dresser in front of the window, knocking over my lamp and only light source. The blanket of darkness covered the room, the only source of light coming from the tiny keyhole in the door. Determined to stay awake until sunrise, I sat with my back against the wall next to the bed. The floor began creaking down the hallway, stopping right outside my door and then stopping. The light seeping in through the keyhole went dark, I tried to listen over the deafening sound of air entering and exiting my lungs, what was worse was my the constant thumping of blood entering and leaving my heart. A few minutes after soul crushing fear, light returned through the keyhole followed by more creaking. I refused to look through the keyhole to confirm my worst fear.

After what seemed like days, morning finally came. When light creeped around my dresser blocking the window, I moved it and waited until sunlight saturated the whole forest. Cautiously I moved my bed and bolted down the stairs outside. I didn’t need a car, I was going to run to town. I ran into the barn to quickly grab my heavy mag flashlight as a blunt weapon if I needed it. I plucked it from the pile of cigarettes it was hiding under and ran down the dirt path into town. I called my parents to come and pick me up from a greasy spoon diner, making sure to sit in a booth which was against a wall and not a window.

Aftermath: I did call the police who insisted they found nothing out of the ordinary and both my mother and grandparents deny any existence of a family member named James. I returned to the house, with several friends and my parents mind you, to retrieve my belongings, I was not living in this damned house. There were blank pages from the diary stacked nicely on the nightstand, however we couldn’t find the diary no matter how much we searched. My mother vehemently denied ever having one and scolded me for smoking in the barn and littering the ground with cigarette butts and having such an “active imagination”.

No, it’s all completely true. I decided it was already too long to include the after aftermath of the story, but there is more. I lived in a hotel for a while after the ordeal and a few days after it happened, I decided to drop by my parents house. I walked in on my mother and my grandparents having an explosive argument, while my father sat silently looking with his mouth gaping wide open. The argument, obviously ceased the second I walked in and they muttered something about the topic being politics. Not long after my mother admitted herself into a mental health hospital for a few weeks for “stress of losing money in the stock market”. She’s seemed different since her stay at the hospital, but it’s probably due to the heavy medication they put her on. She does see one for anxiety problems and recently moved to New York, she likes areas crowded with people. We don’t talk about what happened anymore.

The way I see it there are only three posibilities of what happened.

First is that I went psychotic and I bent my own keys, smoked all of the cigarettes and moved the dolls around. Then after a few days of my psychotic break, I decided to run to town and make up a story about what happened. I don’t believe this option at all, although I’d like to believe this one the most.

Second is that some ghost or spirit was trying to tell me its story. I don’t really believe this one at all either, a ghost smoking cigarettes? I don’t really believe in the supernatural like ghosts anyways, but I sure do believe in deranged maniacs.

Third is that the James really did exist, and was living in the barn/house. He bent my keys and was smoking, he was what walked down the hall and looked into my room through the keyhole. I guess my grandparents believed him to be gone when they gave me the house. I assume that what happened scared my mother for life and she doesn’t talk about it. I believe this 100%, but I refuse to go back to the house to confirm it.

– Posted by Thunder3gg; Reddit


Mariner Moose

June 7, 2011

*Ok, So my first and second I guess supernatural encounters happened when my family was living in Maine. We lived in this not so old but big house out in the sticks. I was about 13 at the time and in my bedroom I had a plush Mariner Moose (the mascot for the baseball team), sitting on a shelf near the end of my bed. A few weeks into living there at night I would dream that the moose would get up and and pace back and forth across the shelf. Sometimes like the moose was in deep thought, sometimes it would just be a frantic sprint and be twitchy. I wanted to make sure I was dreaming so the next day I set him in a certain spot on the shelf, put a piece of tape underneath him so I knew exactly where. That night I had the dream again. Woke up the next morning and the moose was sitting at the farthest point from where I set him that night. I was freaked out by that point and thought maybe I wasn’t dreaming at all.

*My next story takes place in the same house, and further provoked my belief that the house was haunted. My mom started a little Christmas wreath making business in garage. They would have the radio on and be listening to music while decorating the wreaths. At about the same time everyday the radio would somehow change the station to this old time 40’s music. We thought for a bit that the radio station just changed what was playing. So one day we decided to watch it. It got to about that time and we notice the knob on the radio is actually turning by itself to the old time station. Mom was promptly freaked out and unplugged the radio that day and continued to make wreathes in silence.

*My next story takes place in northern California, Me and a few friends were driving home form Dillon beach at about 2 in the morning. I was the DD and completely sober. My friends were all pretty high in the back seat. I was driving a jeep wrangler with the top down so no protection from anything. We are about a mile from the beach and anyone who has been around the coast knows it can get really foggy at night. well it was. Thick fog and I was driving slow so didn’t go off the road on one of the many curves. My friends are all having a time laughing and telling stories and then I slam on the brakes. They get all mad and say what the hell was that for. I just said “look”, and in front of the jeep, illuminated by the headlights was this.. thing. It had an arched back, it was pretty hairy, but pieces seemed to be falling off. It wasn’t walking normally like a dog, it kinda waddled and it was bigger then a dog, the arched back easily went up higher then the hood of my jeep. And the walk, the walk is what made it bad. It was twitching across the road, like it was having a seizure or something. At that point I didn’t see its face until about the time hit the other side of the road, where it froze and snapped its head and looked at all of us in the car. Then it got up on its hind legs and sprinted into the woods. The face looked not of a dog or bear or anything wild that could have been there. It really is indescribable but looked like somewhat of a mix between dog and human. I legitimately believe I saw a werewolf that night. We all do. I floored it after that and was pretty much freaking out the next few weeks.

So yeah, that’s what I have seen in my life. Definitely stopped me from sleeping a few nights

– Posted by CompactFlash; Nosleep


Who Are You?

May 24, 2011

To start off, I consider myself a logical person and hold no superstition but I cannot rationalize this experience in my head.

One day when I was just a kid, about 8 years old or so, a friend and I were alone in my basement play-room playing with a large blue, plastic helicopter toy that I had received for Christmas.

The helicopter had various buttons that made different helicopter-y noises and so forth, and also had a record function that saved a voice recording, (about 5 secs long) so we could say stupid shit and play it back; to overwrite the thing we had to press ‘record’ again.

We recorded ourselves saying something random and unimportant, but when we played it back we heard something else that made the hair on our necks stand on end. Underneath our chatter we could hear what I can only describe as a “dead” voice. It sounded scratchy and flat, and lacked any inflection. It said “Who are you?” That’s it.

Needless to say this popped our fun balloon very quickly and we ran upstairs to the kitchen to show my mom who was the only other person in the house at the time. We played it back a dozen times in disbelief, but when we tried to play it for my father when he came home the recording was inexplicably replaced with one of the chopper sounds the toy made.

– Posted by Chrsch; Reddit


May 24, 2011

When I was about 6 years old, I had gotten a bunch of battery operated toys (robots, rc cars, tanks, etc.) for Christmas. Couple days after Christmas, they were all sitting on the kitchen table and my parents and I were in the living room watching tv. All the toys turned on all at once and we heard running foot steps go to the basement door and and the door was opened and shut hard. My father immediatly got up and ran down to the basement thinking somebody had broken into the house. There was no one down in the basement and there wasn’t any way for them to exit without going through the same door. To this day, we never figured out who turned on all the toys or who or what went into the basement.

– Posted by DarthDippy ; Reddit