True and Creepy Stories

by Brandon

For my final Countdown to Halloween Story Marathon entry, I’m posting four separate stories. Three of these stories were sent to me and the last one is my own. These stories are true (according to the people who wrote them). These things really happened. So enjoy reading about the shadowy side of the world!

The first story comes from fellow author Scott Langrel. Scott writes a variety of horror, dark fantasy, and science fiction. You can find Scott’s complete works on Amazon by clicking here. After reading Scott’s tale, I can see where he gets much of his inspiration to write about the creepy side of life:

For me, this is the Holy Grail. I won’t give the exact address because the house is now occupied, but this is where I experienced most of my encounters with the unknown. As far as I’m concerned, it gives any location you may have seen on TV a run for its money.

My parents built the house in 1975; we moved in either late that year or possibly early in 1976. I was thirteen years old, and my sister was six or seven. I was a small kid for my age I guess, and easily frightened or creeped out, though even then I loved horror movies and shows on TV. Still, at thirteen, I was past the age of believing that ghosts and monsters were real. The new house was only a short walk through the woods from our previous house, and I can remember pilfering cigarettes from my parents and walking to the new house, which was still under construction, to smoke. I can remember being there after the workers had gone for the day, sometimes near dusk, and I have no recollection of ever feeling uncomfortable.

It’s hard to say exactly when the strange things started to happen; after all, it was over thirty years ago, and no one at the time thought to document anything. This was before it was all the rage to be a ghost hunter; at that time, if you experienced anything out of the ordinary, you pretty much kept it to yourself, or risk alienating yourself from family and friends who would, at the very least, consider you slightly off in the head. I’m pretty sure the first things I noticed were the voices.

These weren’t whispers within the walls, or snippets of half-recognizable conversation. It was always my name being called, rather loudly, in either my mother’s or father’s voice. This wasn’t something faint, something that you think you might have heard, but always clear and understandable. Sometimes my parents were in the house, and I would hunt them down, only to discover that they hadn’t called for me. More often than not, though, I was alone in the house, though I always dutifully left my room and searched the house, just to make sure they hadn’t just arrived home. This was creepy, and though I couldn’t play it off as being my imagination, it wasn’t enough to send me running from the house. That would come later.

I’m fairly certain that the footsteps started after that. They would always sound in the upstairs hallway when all of the occupants of the house were downstairs. This was the only experience that all of the family members experienced simultaneously. Many a time, I can remember my father going upstairs to check while the rest us us waited anxiously. Always, he would return and shrug…no one was there. My mother believes that the footsteps always proceeded something bad happening, such as a death or sickness or accident. To tell the truth, I can’t remember. But I can still hear those footsteps as plain as day.

I was sixteen when I fled the house for the first and only time. It was summer, and I was on break from school. I had been running with friends and had come home for a bite to eat. I was on my bike – in those days it was unusual for a sixteen or seventeen year old to have their own car – and when I got there no one else was home. I went to the kitchen and made myself a sandwich. There was a radio which sat on the kitchen counter, and I tuned it to a rock station to listen to while I ate. I was sitting at the table, eating and looking absently at the radio, when the dial moved, by itself, from the station it was on (101.5 probably) to the lowest end of the dial. I actually saw the tuning knob moving, and it was a slow, deliberate turn. Needless to say, I left my sandwich half-eaten and did not return until I was certain that someone else was home.

The voices and footsteps continued, but it was only after I had moved out and returned that I remember the next striking event. I had married, moved out, and after eight years become separated. With nowhere else to go, I moved back in with my parents until I could get a place of my own. During that time, my mother was sick a lot. I was going to school during the day and working at night. One morning, the phone rang before 8AM. I rushed to answer it because I didn’t know if Mom was in the bed ill or if she had gone to work. As I snatched the receiver off the hook, I heard someone stomping loudly down the hall upstairs. Assuming that Mom had stayed home from work and was irritated that the phone had awakened her, I cut the call short and waited for the consequences. After a few minutes I heard nothing more and went upstairs. No one was there. I glanced outside and saw that my car was the only one there.

A few weeks after that, I woke from a sound sleep to the sensation of someone rubbing my back and shoulders. Having been recently separated, and still groggy, I at first assumed that it was my wife. Then I became aware enough to realize that no one should be in bed with me. For a few seconds more, the sensation persisted, until I jerked up in the bed. The feeling vanished.

These are but a few examples of what happened in that house, and only the ones that I experienced personally. My mother and sister had many more encounters with whatever it was that we shared that house with. As for my father, other than hearing the footsteps and hearing my mother call to him when she hadn’t, I’m not aware that he experienced anything else. Many of my friends as well as friends of my sister, not to mention other visiting relatives, either felt uncomfortable or had experiences there. Sadly, my parents sold the house several years ago. I would give anything to spend the night there again armed with video and digital recording equipment. I have had no paranormal experiences in any house I have lived in since then.

The next story comes from Jenn Allen. Jenn submitted the creepy story about the playroom in the countdown.

The Koa House

In September of 2008, I was staying with my family in a house on the west side of Maui.  The house’s three storeys were built of dark koa wood, with winding spiral koa staircases connecting each level.  At face value, the house was beautiful, but it made me uneasy.  Certain rooms were fine, but others were very uncomfortable.

My aunt, having paid for the trip, stayed in the master bedroom, and my brother and his wife were in a room with a king-sized bed.  Both of their rooms and one other bedroom were at street level.  The other two bedrooms were on the floor below, which is where my mom and I stayed.  Either of us could have taken the remaining street-level room, but neither of us wanted to be downstairs by ourselves, nor did we want to leave the other down there alone, so we descended the rickety spiral staircase together every night.

From the very first night, I had terrible dreams.  All of the dreams took place in that room, and I was watching myself from a fixed point near the ceiling – kind of like a security camera mounted high in a corner.  I would watch myself sleep, see myself toss and turn, watch as I alternately kicked down or pulled up the sheets.  Then the character of the room would change.  My sleeping form would begin to breathe fast, shallow breaths, and something darker than the darkness of the room would begin to manifest.  It was as though it was sucking the dark out of the room’s shadows and using it to assemble itself, wisps of black stretching from every corner of the room to gather at the foot of my bed, and, in every dream, it came together in more or less the shape of a man.

From where I was, stuck up in the corner, there was nothing I could do but watch.  Each night, I’d watch it form, and watch it watch my sleeping self.  On the third night, it drifted from the foot of the bed to right beside me.  On the fifth night, it leaned over me where I slept.

These dreams were extremely vivid – to the extent that the pajamas I went to bed in were in the pajamas I was wearing in the dream.  If I’d set a book of crossword puzzles on the nightstand, they were on the nightstand in that night’s dream.  And the dreams were in color.  I almost always dream in black and white, and only dream in color if the dream is significant in some way.  These dreams were significant – so significant that they felt true – and were so memorable that I can still picture them more clearly four years later than I can picture last night’s dreams.

After a week of these increasingly frightening nightmares, I decided that – even though I was in my late twenties – I wasn’t too old to sleep in mom’s bed.  A couple of days prior, she’d been stung by a jellyfish while we were out snorkeling, so she was happy to have my company since she’d been swollen and hurting and kind of worried about herself.  We might as well sleep badly together.  Hell, if I hadn’t had any other option, I would’ve slept in the rental car.  At that point, I didn’t care where I slept so long as I wasn’t sleeping in that room.  But, thankfully, once I stopped sleeping in my bedroom, the dreams stopped too.

It was bad enough that my luggage was in there.  Even in broad daylight, I never felt alone in that room.  It got to the point where I’d run in there, grab the clothes I wanted, and go get changed somewhere else – somewhere not downstairs, ideally.  That whole level of the house, including the room I was now sharing with my mom, was just… off.  There was something almost tangible about it, and I think the rest of the family could feel it too.  My mom and I would go grudgingly downstairs when it was time for bed, but nobody else went down there, even though there was an indoor hot tub, a sauna, and a pool table just outside our bedroom doors.  But nobody used them, save for the couple of times we sat in the hot tub, all together as a group, during the day.  There was this tacit notion each of us had that the downstairs was bad news, so we independently spent as little time down there as we could.

One morning, my brother told me that he’d woken up in the night and seen a woman sitting in the chair in his room, and that it’d scared the hell out of him.  When I pressed him about it later, he’d decided that his eyes were playing tricks on him in the dark, that it was probably just some clothes he had draped on the chair, and he no longer thought he’d seen a woman there.  I remain skeptical of his skepticism.

The remaining days wound down without incident and finally it was our last night there.  I was more than ready to go home.  My suitcase was already all packed up, so I was in my mom’s room helping her pack.  We had the TV on and were chatting while we rolled her clothes like burritos and crammed them into her bag.  This was the most at ease I’d been the entire trip, probably because I was so relieved that it was ending.  I was stooped over the side of her bed, in mid-sentence, rolling up a T-shirt, when something pulled my hair.  It felt like someone had wrapped their hand around my ponytail and yanked it.

I wheeled around to see what, if anything, I could have gotten my whole ponytail caught on, and there was nothing behind me but the bedroom wall.  It just didn’t make sense.  My mom looked up from her packing and saw me spinning around, rubbing one hand over the wall and holding my ponytail in the other.  She probably thought I’d lost my mind.  I told her what had just happened, and it gave both of us the creeps.  We agreed not to tell my aunt because we didn’t want to seem like we didn’t appreciate this lavish vacation, but we were both glad that we’d be home the next day.  Neither of us slept well.

Our third story is from Garv, over at Quiet Room Entertainment. If you haven’t “liked” QRE’s Facebook page yet, you can do it here. Lots of great articles on their website over at .

I can still feel it, more than 10 years later. The way the hair would stand up on the back of your neck, the almost-physical feeling of eyes boring into you. When you’re not alone, the air just feels…different. And that’s the way it felt in that hallway.

When my parents bought the house in 1976 there was only one bedroom. They decided that wasn’t enough, so we had two more bedrooms and a hallway added on at the end of the house. One small hallway, with a bedroom on the left, and another at the end, straight ahead. Couldn’t have been more than 12 feet from one end, where you took a right out of the living room, to the far end, where the door to my parents’ bedroom stood.

But that was the longest 12 feet in the world.

Some people said it was the lack of windows, the lack of light – just made the hallway feel ‘oppressive’, or ‘claustrophobic’. I say those people, for whatever reason, weren’t sensitive to whatever it was that lived there.

Walk through the living room, take a deep breath, and step into the hallway. Occasionally you’d get lucky and you’d feel nothing at all. Just a normal hallway, with a door on the left and a door straight ahead. Most of the time, though, you’d feel that there was a darkness that was hiding…something. Even though there was no darkness there at all – how much darkness could there be in a 12-foot hallway?

Still, though, it wasn’t just me. My brother (who ended up sleeping in the room on the left), our friends, girlfriends (and later, wives) – most all of them felt it. It was like there was someone standing there with you, staring at you – and not because they were happy to see you. It got to the point that most of our visitors refused to go into the hallway alone. Two things about this were odd. Well, odder than the fact that I lived in a house with a haunted hallway.

One, the fact that once you got into the room you were going to, you were fine. Sort of. If you had the door open, you could sometimes still feel it, whatever it was, watching you. So we generally kept the doors closed back there, once we got in whichever room we were heading to.

Two, the fact that before we added those rooms, nothing else was there. The 14 or 15 feet worth of hallway and bedroom at the west end of the house sat on what was previously a parking place. And as far as I know, there hadn’t been any reports from the previous owners of their parking place being haunted.

That sounds funny, but when you consider that I’m talking about a haunted hallway…well, one’s as plausible as the other.

I know, this isn’t your traditional haunted house or ghost story. There aren’t any “Boo!”s, no shrieks or screams. But I swear my hand on my heart, that every word of this is true. And to me, that’s even scarier than a finely crafted tale, with suspense and the bad guy jumping out when you least expect it.

Why is that scarier to me?

Because I lived it.

The Final Story comes from yours truly. The story involves a very interesting EVP we got while doing an investigation. At the end of my story, I’ll link the recording so you can listen to it and judge for yourself if you hear what we heard.

One night, three of us decided to try to get some EVPs at a few of the local areas known for being haunted. We went to five or six locations and recorded hours of noise with our digital recorders. Ultimately, it was a fun and creepy time, but we didn’t really get anything that we couldn’t rule out as something completely normal. Until, that is, we went to the final place.

For the final EVP, we walked to a location about half a mile in the woods, where – the story goes – a young man had died years before. We did our standard recording. We asked all the questions (“Is anybody here?”… “Would you like to talk to us?”). After about five minutes, my two companions suddenly got very uncomfortable. For reasons none of us could explain, they wanted to leave. Now, keep in mind, we’d been recording local haunts all night, and up to the moment, nobody had gotten remotely afraid.

Based on their feeling, we decided to leave. The three of us walked the wooded trail in darkness, heading back to the road and our car. We walked shoulder to shoulder. I had the recorder in front of us, held out as far as I could hold it. My companions weren’t aware that I was still recording, so they started chatting with each other. To let them know, I said, “I’m still recording,” and they briefly stopped talking.

We made it to the cars and went back to listen to what we’d recorded. After listening to boring white noise for a significant amount of time, we came to the part where we were leaving the woods… the part where I said, “I’m still recording.”

About 12 seconds after I made my comment, we think we picked up something… different. It’s very hard to hear (especially in MP3 format), but we listened to it over and over. We argued about what it said, but we all could distinctly hear a voice that seemed to whisper into the mic. When you listen to the recording, you can hear me say, “I’m still recording” and it’s obvious that I’m not close to the mic. The whisper, however, sounds much closer.

Like I said, we’ve debated what the whisper is actually saying, but I personally think it’s saying, “Run away.” I had a friend put the audio on better equipment to clean up some of the background noise, and he also hears a voice whisper, “Run away.”

We tried to replicate the sound many times, but have never been able to do so. To date, it’s our best EVP.

I’ve linked an MP3 of the segment below. The “voice” comes about 20 seconds into the audio (about 11 seconds after I say “I’m still recording”). You’ll hear us chatting afterward, but there’s nothing significant after the “run away.” Have a listen and see if you hear it too. It’s very subtle, but we all agree it’s something. What it is, exactly… we don’t know.

Click here to hear the audio.


That concludes our Countdown to Halloween Story Marathon. I hope you enjoyed the stories from all the various authors. I’d like to send out a big thank you to the folks who contributed stories. If you haven’t read them all, be sure to go back and check out the previous 11 blogs for some good, creepy fun.

I hope you guys have a fantastic Halloween! Have fun and stay safe.



Purging Fires (Day Soldiers Book Two) is now available!

It’s time to return to the war against the darkness.

Available at Amazon for the kindle and in Paperback.  Get your copy today!

If you haven’t read book one yet, you can get it at Amazon for the kindle or in paperback, or you can pick it up for the Nook at Barnes & Noble.

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