In honor of Halloween, we decided to take a hiatus from the norm to tell ghost stories! But they’re all true. So sit back, enjoy, and relax . . . if you can!
A group of us were headed to a party at a friend’s house. They lived on a country road that was quite dark at night. We were caravanning in two cars. I was in the first car but in the back seat.
We weren’t driving fast—lots of ruts in the road—but still probably faster than we should have been (hey, we were in high school.) The second car was pretty close behind us with their brights on so the driver was swerving a bit trying to keep the headlights from blinding us.
We came around a bend, just before the clearing for the house, trees on both sides of the road, when a man walked out of the woods and in front of the car. He was wearing a baseball cap, a red shirt and jeans. He stopped and looked directly at us just as the car hit him.
Needless to say we all screamed and jumped out of the car. The guys in the car behind came running and yelling, “what happened?” They saw our car lurch to a stop but didn’t see why.
There wasn’t a body under the car, around the car, no sign that anyone had crawled into the woods, nothing. The only evidence was a slight dent in the front fender.
We continued to our friend’s house but didn’t stay long. On the way home, we drove very slowly, windows up, doors locked. When we reached the same bend our headlights caught a baseball cap hanging on the limb of a tree.
I was a jock in High School. Competition racing, and synchronized swimming. I was one of the few on the team who had their Mom’s car, that week before Halloween, so too many piled in after practice, after dark.
It was foggy. I’m talking thick white-out fog, when your headlights just reflect back cotton. We had all the windows open and our heads out, but I still couldn’t see the edges of the road. so two giggling volunteers sat on the hood, to keep us out of the ditch.
Fog can get spooky, smothering sight and sound. And it wasn’t just me; by the time we got to Margie’s neighborhood, we had all fallen silent. How we found her house in that soup, I don’t know. But I had just pulled up out front, and Margie was climbing out.
A massive dark shape came out of the fog, moaning – right into my face, grabbing at me. The face was pale, bloody, and scarred. In that second, I knew I was going to die. I emptied my lungs, and my bladder. I think several of the others did, too.
Margie’s brother thought his mask and his joke was hilarious. If I hadn’t been so embarrassed about it, I’d have made him clean the seats of my mother’s car.
Ever had a vision or premonition? When I was around 19 I still lived at home with my folks. I’d been out one evening, parked my car and climbed the stoop to the front porch. But when I pulled open the screen door to unlock the front door, I blacked out.
I didn’t exactly faint though and on some level I realized I still stood with the door handle in my hand. At first there was only a terrible dark and then I realized that I hovered on the shoulder of a dark highway.
By the light of flashing emergency lights, I saw that there’d been a bad accident involving a pickup truck colliding with a semi. Everything was very quiet and I didn’t see who was driving either vehicle. I sensed I knew someone in the accident but just that quick I was back on my front porch again.
I was weirded out and when I told my mother what happened, she was too. You see, my dad drove a pickup truck to work and his job was driving a semi that hauled gas. We couldn’t help seeing the possibilities.
My mom promised to warn dad to be careful. But a week later he was driving his semi when a drunk in a pickup caused him to swerve off the road. Fortunately, no one was hurt. Guess I’ll never know if that was because he’d been warned or if it was just a very strange coincidence.
My mother had been recovering for almost a year from a broken hip. “The worst break I’ve ever seen,” according to her orthopedist. When she completed nine months of physical therapy and “graduated” from her walker to a cane, I took her on her bucket-list trip – a cruise to Scandinavia and Russia.
My kitchen was being re-modeled and we were staying with her for a few weeks, and all we heard was, “When I get to take a bath again…” She was one week short of being cane-free and excited about being cleared to take a bath again. After fifty-one weeks of showers, which she’d never liked, she was ready for a good tub soak.
Unfortunately, she died suddenly at home in that last cane-required week. One of the things I cried about was how hard she had worked for that never-to-be-taken bath.
The morning after she died, I was awakened by a thunder in the house. Not the thunder of a storm. It sounded like Niagara Falls. Inside the house. Certain that a pipe had burst, I ran into my bathroom. All was well. I ran into the kitchen. No water anywhere. Still, the thunder of a waterfall.
I ran into my mother’s bathroom to find her tub filling, the water tap opened wide. I thought something had broken and wondered where I would find a wrench in the garage. But when I turned the handle, the water stopped. I was afraid to leave the house, in case it happened again. Obviously something was wrong with the plumbing.
The plumber arrived in a couple of hours. After tapping the wall and turning knobs he pronounced the bathroom plumbing in perfect working order.
My mother was just getting her long-awaited bath.
Just that once. It never happened again.
And in case none of those tales were scary enough, here’s Jenny Hansen‘s husband in a truly terrifying Halloween Costume:
So now? It’s your turn. Tell us YOUR scary, true story!