Four Frightening Ghost Stories to Scare You!

For the first few months the house seemed pretty normal but then one night my son came screaming down the stairs in what I would call a night terror. I assume he woke up from a nightmare and it just kept going. He finally took a deep breath and said “I was sleepwalking, I’m ok” and went back up to his room. Then the weirdness started.

One night I was down in the basement doing laundry and I heard a small child’s voice behind me say “Hi there!” When I turned around, no one was there. At that point, we started finding toys in the basement in obscure places. My first thought was that the children who lived there before had hidden them in the crevices in the walls. Then one day I noticed a box of old marbles appeared where I had just cleaned. None of the toys belonged to my kids.

I also set up a cheap dollar store alarm system around the office area so I knew when the kids would sneak into the office to try to find birthday and Christmas presents. Little stinkers! They did it often. One day, when I was in the bathroom, the alarm went off. I yelled from the bathroom, “Hey, get out of my office!” Since my son and I were the only ones home, I heard him yell from upstairs, “I’m not in your office!”

As time went by we could hear a piano playing at night that I thought might be the neighbors and sometimes the lights and ceiling fan would go on and off. I blamed old lighting. The front door would sometimes open if not double locked. I told the woman who own the home before the new landlords bought it as our kids were friends. She told me the reason why she put the double lock on the door is that someone would open the door at night and the reason she finally sold the house is because of all of the weirdness surrounding it, including the piano. (and this paragraph was pasted over another paragraph at the end that I wrote and is now gone?)

After that, we started looking for another place to live. It was during this time that really strange stuff started happening. My kids would feel like they were getting pushed up the stairs when going up and then one night while my son was asleep in his room he heard an old woman’s raspy whisper from the closet saying “I’m going to kill you!” The kids would see shadows of figures going from our back porch area to a small building that belonged old house next door that was supposedly a candy store that burnt up inside years before but the outside remained undamaged.

At this point, we moved.

Story 2

CB Radio

Scotty from Terror Tortellini

I was quite young back when we were fooling around with my dad’s old CB radio system.

If I recall correctly, I was sixteen when I pulled it down from the attic in the house, and found myself asking about it at the dinner table that night. He explained what it was, I could communicate on short wave radio around the area. He offered to set it up and show me how it worked.

Now this was the age before the internet so my friend Tom and I were fairly excited to be using it. The unit sat in my bedroom for a few months and we had fun trying to talk to the truckers out on the highway or the various farmers or herders nearby. Many just ignored us or jumped frequency, we’d jump through them all and speak to anybody who would answer.

On channel twenty-nine, we began talking with somebody who seemed to be around our age. He said his name was Bobby. We hardly got further than cracking jokes and talking about playing pranks and giving fake traffic reports at first, it was all pretty exciting, but eventually, after a month or two, we agreed to meet up with Bobby. We asked for an address and he told us he lived on a farm just off Harris Road, around fifteen or sixteen miles out of town.

So Tom took his parent’s car one overcast Saturday afternoon and, as the rain broke out, we made our way down the highway and pulled off where we’d heard Harris Road was.

Nearing a split-country road, we spied the name of the farm on an old wooden sign that Bobby had told us about over the radio.

We pulled up through the drive and took the car right up to the farmhouse, expecting to see him waiting for us.

Instead we were faced with a run-down, dilapidated farm house, towered over by what appeared to be a barn falling over its struts. Common sense should have told us to leave but despite initial confusion, we were convinced that Bobby merely hung out here, that he had found the old radio system in the barn, where he usually told us he was when he talked to us.

We got out of the car and crunched across the old stone pathway to the barn, pushing the huge doors open with a deafening creak. We called out Bobby’s name, heard nothing and debated looking further. Eventually we decided to head in, Tom leading the way.

Upon rounding the first corner, we found the old radio system sitting up on an old work-bench, still online, with the number display lit up and the receiver still crackling away with static.

But it was the rotten human bones, laying across the workbench, that made us run.

Story 3

The Cotton Field

I came up in the capital of Virginia. However, my family is from rural North Carolina. During the late summers and early autumns, often I would spend time at my grandparents’ house. My grandparents were farmers and lived between huge fields of crops. The late fall was always cotton harvesting season and my grandparents’ neighbors planted at least two acres of the stuff each year. Often, I would go out and walk the field, admiring the beauty of the cotton and surrounding trees.

My grandmother did not like this and would tell me not to linger in the cotton field. In fact, she all but forbade me to walk in it. I thought it was because the owner didn’t want people walking in her fields, but the owner had seen me walking the fields picking souvenir pieces of cotton plants. Most times, he waved and, if he was close enough, told me to tell my grandparents hello. My grandmother never told me why I shouldn’t go into the fields, other than to say some land is bloodied by anger.

I recall once, when I was around 12 years old, I was in the woods near my grandparents’ home. The hour was late and the cool air of twilight was approaching. Even though I had been throughout these woods many times in the past, I suddenly felt lost and befuddled. I heard the unmistakable caw of what had to be dozens of crows. At first, they were distant, but they were getting closer and closer with every passing moment. Looking up into the trees, it seemed I was surrounded by them, their black eyes all staring down at me. I walked briskly through the woods, hoping to find my way. I kept looking into the trees and the crows were still there, never moving but constantly cawing when, suddenly, all went quiet. I started to hear a creaking sound, not unlike the sound a very old rocking chair would make. As I walked, it got louder and louder. I yelled out to ask if anyone was there, but my voice seemed muffled.

I stopped in what appeared to be a small clearing, the creaking sound getting louder and louder, and suddenly the air became very cold and bitter. The creaking was loud and coming from above me. Looking up, I could see what seemed to be dark shapes in the trees. I walked to try and get home, but the trees seemed to have closed in on me. In the trees were the same, odd shapes, but they were much closer, as though the trees wanted me to see. The figures were people, with hands and feet bound, hanging from the neck as though they had been lynched. The creaking was the sound of the swinging bodies, hanging from ropes. Their clothes were old… very old. Their skin looked deathly pale, rotten and infested with insects, but their eyes… their horrible eyes were open and all fixed on me! Faces fixed, in contortions of anger and hatred unlike anything I’ve ever seen.

I ran and ran as far and fast as I could, when I came to the cotton field. Thinking I was near my grandparents’ house, I felt relieved, but the field was huge, much larger than it should have been. Acres and acres of cotton laid before me. I walked through the field, again looking to find my way home when the cawing started again. Louder this time, more angry. Again, I ran, hoping to find a safe place and the field of cotton started to become withered. The plants looked more like withered, twisted hands, reaching out of the ground, than plants. I ran and I am certain I could feel the plants grabbing at my legs and feet. A wailing started and I could hear the word shetani whispered in the voices. It sounded like hundreds of voices wailing in pain and anger, saying this unfamiliar word — “shetani“—over and over. I tripped and fell, only to find my legs held by the stems of these withered cotton plants. The grip was so tight it felt as if they were going to tear my ankles off.

At this point I gave up. The cawing and wailing got louder and all I could do was yell and cry for help. I heard footsteps getting closer to me and I closed my eyes, not wanting to see what horrible thing was approaching. A tap on my shoulder and I yelled and tried to fight whatever it was that had touched me. Suddenly, all the noise stopped. The tapping on my shoulder was my uncle, who had heard me yelling and came to find out what was going on. Gone was the wailing, the shapes in trees and the crows. Everything was normal — the cotton field was normal, grandmother’s house was a few yards away. Except, I had sprain my ankle. The same ankle that the cotton plants had grabbed.

They laughed at my story and asked if I had found old man Cuffy’s hidden moonshine stash. They all laughed, except my grandmother. All she said was that some land ain’t seen the light of a God.

Later, I researched the area and found out that the land where the cotton field was was once owned by a callous plantation owner. He was a cotton grower and had a foreman who punished the slaves harshly. This foreman was a vicious and superstitious man, and punished them for minor offenses. He once hung over sixty slaves, after mutilating them for some offense. He had the bodies buried where the cotton field is today. His name was a Tully, but the slaves called him Shetani, which is Swahili for ‘devil’, due to his habit of keeping the corpses of slaves in a pile until they rotted. While the slaves slept, he would stuff some of their mouths with cotton. These slaves always became his next victims, including his children, as he believed if any of his children became adults, they would trap his soul in an Eraminhô. However, he failed to kill them all, some survived.

The plantation owner finally took notice of all the killings and organized a search for Tully. He was never found.

Oh, and the morning after my experience in the cotton field, I awoke with a small piece of cotton in my mouth.

My grandmother says I am Tully’s great-great-great-great-grandson…

Story 4

The Baby’s Room

I’m not sure what to say. This all happened rather suddenly, although the last three weeks have been long and dragged out. Let me tell you my story.

I moved into my new house three weeks ago. I moved here to be closer to my friend, Haley, whose mother wasn’t doing so well. Only part of it was because my boyfriend and I were no longer getting along.

There was nothing special about the house; just a simple two bedroom house that had an attic. I didn’t really know the history of the house, nor did I really care upon moving in. Oh, how I wished I did. It was only myself living there, so I turned the extra bedroom into a study. The bigger bedroom seemed much better for holding my bed and dresser anyway.

I spent the first week unpacking. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary about the house; no damages needing to be fixed, no leaks…made me wonder why the price tag was so low. Surely such a well-made, two bedroom house shouldn’t have gone for only 8 grand. But, that is how much I paid for this house. The real-estate agent only said that the last family had moved out with their fifteen year old son to be closer to family. Such a plain reason should have warranted more of a search, but I was just happy to have found such a steal.

Like I said before, it only took a week to unpack my stuff. Everything was going great. I currently took college classes online, so the study was a great room to have for some peace and quiet.

Some strange things started to happen exactly 9 days after I moved in. When I would lay down to sleep, I would hear this…moaning sound. It sounded like an animal of some sort. I passed it off as something coming from outside, and ignored it as it continued over the next couple of days.

However, the day after that, things just got too weird.

I woke up to the smell of baby powder. It was faint in my bedroom, but it grew stronger when I entered the hallway. This was very strange, as I didn’t own any baby powder. Not even any lotion that could have smelled similar, either. I was a little creeped out, but again dismissed it. The smell went away a few hours later, anyway. I continued through my day, cramming in nearly three days of classwork into my schedule.

While I was writing my report on the biography of Van Gogh, I started hearing a noise. Like the song you hear coming from an ice cream truck. But it was different. Soon after, to my horror, I realized what it was.

A baby mobile.

My older sister had a baby, and the mobile in his crib sounded much the same as the sound I heard. Of course the tunes were different, but that was definitely what it was. And the freakiest part? It was coming through the wall. But there was nothing next to this room. No bedroom, no bathroom…nothing. I left the study, moving out into the hallway.

Just as I thought. The music stopped, and I shook my head. Okay, maybe I was studying too hard? That had to be it. I was imagining things.

For the next week, things returned to normal. Haley came over and we played some video games, and she stayed for dinner. I pulled the baked spaghetti from the oven just as she returned from the bathroom.

“What kind of music box did you buy? I like the tune it makes.” She entered the Kitchen, taking a seat at the table.

“Music box?” I parroted, “I don’t own a music box.” I replied, brows drawing up in confusion.

“Are you sure? I heard this cute little tune…how did it go?” She paused for a moment, before humming the tune she had heard, and I almost dropped the spaghetti. The color flushed from my face faster than I could even process what I had just heard. That was the tune the mobile had made.

“Oh hell,” I breathed. I started feeling faint. I placed the spaghetti on the counter, stumbling over to a chair and collapsing into it, “can you get me some water?” I asked. I was going to be sick. I just knew it.

“Sure, May. What’s the matter?” Haley moved to get me the water, and I sipped it while waiting on my heartbeat to slow. After finishing half of the glass, I set it down.

“That tune…I heard it earlier, too.” I said. “It’s not a music box, Haley. I don’t know what it is, I…it sounds like a baby mobile. But the family who lived here before me didn’t even have a baby.” I then began to explain everything. About the smell and sounds I’d been hearing. “Would you mind staying the night with me? I feel a bit uneasy now.” I admitted.

I felt relieved when she agreed. We ate dinner and I took a shower while she set up the couch in my room to sleep on. Soon enough, I came back and lent her a pair of my pajamas, and we both turned in for the night.

It was around three in the morning when Haley woke me. I was instantly awake, but it wasn’t due to her prodding fingers. No, instead, I had woken up to the sound of a baby screaming and crying.

“What the hell!” I exclaimed. Haley looked scared. “Are you certain you don’t have a baby? Do you hear that, May?”

Oh, I heard it alright.

“Haley. We have to find out what’s going on, or else I won’t sleep ever again.” I said. My mind was made up. I got out of bed, walking out of my room and turning the hallway light on. The screaming was coming from the opposite side of the hall, and I crossed the short distance to listen. The screaming carried on for a few moments longer, then ceased entirely. “Get the toolbox from my closet. I may have to pay for the damages, but I won’t get any peace of mind until I figure out what the fuck is going on around here.” (Yes, I’m the kind of girl who keeps her own toolbox. Don’t judge.) I was tired and shakey, but I couldn’t go on like this. I needed to find out what was happening.

Haley brought the toolbox over, and I looked through it before pulling my hammer out. I then stood back, swinging the hammer to hit the wall as hard as I could. Nothing happened, but I continued. I pounded at the wall, again and again until a good part of it collapsed. I dropped the hammer, sinking to my knees.

“Oh my god…”

There was a bedroom. There was a bedroom, hidden behind this wall where nobody could see it. I stepped over the rubble, barely noticing that Haley was following me.

It was a baby’s nursery. Furniture took up the room, most of it caked in dust. It looked as if no one had touched it in a long time. A rocking chair sat in the corner, and a crib sat along the opposite wall. There were no windows, either. A bookshelf was next to me, lined with toys and books. But not only that; A large book sat at the end. I plucked it from the shelf, wiping the grime and dust away to reveal the title. ‘Baby’s first year’, it read.

“What is this?” Haley wondered as she explored the room. I shook my head slowly as I opened the book. I didn’t know. The first page had a picture taped to it. A black and white photo of a baby girl was taped to the page, and the name under was written as “Olivia Bathany Cordell”. The baby was cute, but she looked…off. Like she had a physical deformity of some sort. I couldn’t say what kind. I flipped the page, finding a birthdate listed. October 23rd, 1972. The following details aren’t really important, as I look at it now. Just ages of milestones and things like that.

“May!” Haley was standing next to the crib, hand over her mouth with a terrified expression masking her face as she peered into it. I dropped the book, going to stand next to her. I peered into the crib as well, and I went white with shock. Oh God…

Baby bones. They were fully decayed, but the whole skeletal structure was there. From the skull to the tiny toe bones, everything.

That did it. We both left the house as fast as we could, going back to Haley’s house. I couldn’t take it, I couldn’t stay there anymore. I spent the night, taking the couch. The next morning was tense. Neither I nor Haley said a word, but I did borrow her computer. I decided to just throw caution to the wind, searching my address. I didn’t find much, but I did find a news article. I started reading it, taking every word in.

Here, I’ll relay the article the best that I can. It has since been removed for reasons unknown to me.

Family Disappears, father found. Local authorities contacted — May 17, 1972

The Cordell family of 1247 South Broadway street went missing last Wednesday after the neighbors reported screaming. When authorities arrived, the house was empty. The persons missing are David Cordell, 33, Patricia Cordell, 30, and Tate Cordell, 7.

David was found and brought in for questioning three days ago, but the rest of the family has yet to be found. Cordell admitted to leaving his 7 month old daughter, Olivia Cordell, who was diagnosed as a mongoloid–recently renamed to Down Syndrome–in the house. Police could not find the little girl upon searching the house, but the case is ongoing and is still being investigated.

I have moved back into the house since then, and I am still living there today as I write this. I contacted the police and told them about the body, and they took the bones to be properly put to rest. I haven’t had anything happen since, and I’m grateful for that. A terrible thing had happened here. A baby had been left to die, which she did; all because the room had been hidden. I decided to keep the room as it is, but I have had a contractor come out and repair the wall and install a door since then.

Who knows, the nursery might make a great room for my baby in seven months.