ghosts and stories

A True Story of the Supernatural

by Gerald
(Belfast, Nothern Ireland)

First of all, everything I am going to put down here is as true as I can remember it. It's immaterial to me who believes it or not, but I am going to put it down on paper and let the reader decide. Why? Because it needs to be told.

Around sometime during the late nineteen seventies, my twin brother Billy, had split from his wife and was awaiting the divorce. He had two young children then, and for reasons we don't need to go into, he had full custody of them. Now we both worked in the large aicraft factory in Belfast, which was close to us, as fitters. Billy though, was having problems with his working hours, due to babysitters etc, and so it was agreed that our mother would look after them full time.

Now in those days there were rows of streets, with small two up, two down, terrace houses. When growing up my brother and I shared a small room with bunk beds in one of these small houses.

Anyway, my mother and father still lived there, and this is very important to remember as it has great relevence later in the story. The street name was Frome street, and another street sprung out from the end like an L shape. This street was named, Tern street, got that? We lived about five doors up from Tern street.

Around 1979, when we were both 25 years old, a house directly facing my mothers, in Frome street, came up for sale. This we thought at the time was the answer to my brother's prayers, because now he could be nearer to his kids and see them as often as he liked.

He moved into the house, and it was only two weeks or so later that something was to happen that would change the way he thought about things, forever.

I lived a short distance away, with my wife, and I decided to walk around and pay a visit. I was on night shift, and so this was sometime early afternoon. Both my father and brother where at work.

My aunt was already there, (as she always was) when I arrived, and right away, I thought there was something wrong by the way my mother was acting. Kinda strange if you like, and my aunt, (who never shut up then) was also behaving funny, and very quiet. As I played with Billy's children in the next room, I could hear snippets of talk, and to be honest, my ears pricked up.

It was clear from what I could hear that Billy had rapped them up around 2 am, and he was in a terrible state over something.

I confronted my mother, who clammed, up, but my aunt turned to her. "Better tell him," she urged. Well, after a long pause, my mother informed me that Billy had seen a ghost in his house and he had been almost demented when he roused them from their bed. He had made our mum promise not to tell me, which I still don't understand why to this day. So I was pretty much sworn to secrecy.

It was biting at me though, and about two weeks later, Billy and I and a couple of friends went out for a few beers. To cut to the chase, I waited until he was a bit the worse for wear, and I somehow brought up the subject about ghosts.
He finally admitted that, he went to bed about midnight that night, but it was so clammy that he lay on top of the blanket. When he awoke, he was freezing, and the clock on the bedside cabinet read 1.55 am. He couldn't believe it. This was the summer, yet he felt as though he was inside a freezer. The bedroom door was opened about three inches, and some light from an outside lamp, made it so that he could see the inside of the room fairly clearly.

He heard a noise on the landing, and at once he thought burglars had gotten in. He reached down below the bed for an old bat he left there, but it was gone. Remember, there were no mobile phones in those days, so he felt pretty frightened.
Then the door swung open.

He claims a young looking girl in a blue dress, with long flowing dark hair and a large locket around her neck, floated in passed his bed. She didn't look at him or make any motions, but kept her hands to her side.

When she moved behind the bedroom door he flicked the light on and pulled at the door. There was nothing there.

He ran down the stairs three steps at a time he later claimed, and he said to make matters worse, the front door seemed to be jammed. He almost pulled it off the hinges. He never went back to the house to live, and quickly sold it.

However, my dad and I always believed it was a case of hallucination, because there was one thing about Billy. Billy never lied, ever.

If you think the story ends here, then you're in for a shock.

Fifteen years later, two new men came into our squad in work. We asked if they wanted to join our tea syndicate, which was 50 pence, or 1 dollar a week then. One joined, and his name was Robert.
During the first week, we were all sitting around the table, six or seven in all, when someone said it was a disgrace what the newspapers would print.

Seems a poltergeist had been giving a family in Wales, a hard time. "What a load of nonsense," the same person said.

"No!" Robert declared. "These things exist. My aunt was tortured by one during the sixties. It would start off by hiding things behind cushions and places where they were easily found. But it got worse. One time when the chimney sweep was cleaning the chimney, a load of small stuff belonging to them but had gone missing, rings and stuff, and they fell down with the soot. After this my uncle was assaulted in the dark, on at least two occasions. Then when they stepped outside for a couple of minutes, they found to their horror, that when they re-entered, the sofa and chairs had all been moved upstairs. This was an impossibility, and this was what drove them out. They left every stick of furniture, and left with just the clothes on their back."

"Where was this? Someone ask. "Was this in Wales?"

"No," Robert replied. It wasn't far from here, in a street named Frome street."

I jumped up from my seat. "Was it about four or five doors up from Tern street?" I asked. I immediately saw I'd struck a chord.

"How'd you know that?" Robert asked. "No one knows that."

"I know," I said, "Because my brother lived in it after that time, and he saw something."

Someone started to clap, and they all laughed, thinking we had made this all up, but I didn't know the guy then. I met him about a year or so ago, and that was the first thing we talked about. I met another old neighbor from there who told me that everyone knew about that house. I don't believe my parents did though. Or if they did, they didn't believe it.

This I swear is true as I remember it, and I will go to my grave believing that there is something that we just don't know about. That house is knocked down now, and they have widened the road and built new houses. I often wonder if it's still there.

Gerald

My experience in Belgium

My experience happened sometime in July 2007 (I think 14 July 2007) while living in Belgium as a civilian employee working for the U.S. Army. My address was Residence de Milfort **, 70** Ghlin, Mons, Belgium. Actual address removed to protect privacy. -Webmaster

It was in the 04:00 AM hour. I was sleeping next to my wife. I woke myself when I heard myself answer “Yes" to a question. I don’t remember hearing a question I only heard me say “Yes". I rolled over and opened my eyes and there was a whitish gray being with black eyes above me. I shook my head back and forth to ensure I wasn’t sleeping. The being came directly to my face and seemed to be scanning my head. For whatever reason I was not scared. To this day I try to understand why I wasn’t scared.

It appeared to be male but did not have the stereotypical appearance attributed to space aliens. I felt no weight or energy from him. The being raised up slightly and looked to his left and opened his mouth and did what I describe as grimaced. He then looked back at me and then moved up and got smaller and then disappeared.

I did not turn and look at what he was looking at because I wanted to ensure I watched his every move. Not that I think that I could have stopped him from doing anything. To this day I wonder what he was looking at.

Since that experience, everyday I think about what happened and what it meant. I know for sure that I wasn’t dreaming or imagining it.

I was scared everyday after the experience because I wasn’t sure that I would have the same composure as I did with the initial experience. I think I wasn’t scared because I think I was busy trying to understand what was happening.

After that experience I never saw him again but there were pounces and depressions on the bed. They happened in the daytime also when the room was dark when the roladens were down.

My wife was sleeping in the upstairs bed room and something hit her pillow twice. My 26 year old son slept in the same room and something appeared in the room but I don’t know all the details of his experience.

My wife and I have five children. Three of the five have seen ghosts. Sometime in 1996 while we were living in Las Vegas my daughter who is now 23 saw a toddler in her room sitting in a chair dangling his feet and just staring at her.

While we were living at Yokota Air Base, Japan staying in the Temporary Lodging Facility (TLF) in July 2003, my son who is now 14, saw a male ghost. My son was sleeping in the room with his brother. He said he was asleep and something was hitting his bed. He said to his brother to stop. When the hitting of his bed continued he sat up and saw the ghost at the bathroom entrance. He said he wasn’t scared but he felt like the ghost was transmitting his terror to him. He said he felt a distinct difference between his feelings and what the ghost was transmitting.

The Yokota TLF has a history of people jumping and committing suicide. During our tour at Yokota one of the base counselors attempted suicide from the TLF building, but survived.

The Ghost Who Didn't Like Blue Paint...

by Andrea
(New York, New York)

I had just moved into a second floor, three bedroom apartment in Queens, New York in 1998. My new roommate, Chris, had lived in the apartment for a couple of years before I got there. I'd moved in with the understanding that the kitchen, bathroom and front hallway were soon to be painted. The apartment was new and very nice and I thought that some new paint
would make the place even better.

One morning, about two weeks after I had moved in, Chris & I were having coffee in the kitchen and he asked me how I was settling in.

"Great", I replied, "but for some strange reason,
I keep having these dreams about airplanes and airports." Chris didn't reply to this, but simply nodded. I didn't think anything of it.

But I never mentioned to Chris that some odd things kept happening...my lights would be on when I came home, my windows wide open, and my phone was making a strange crackling noise when I used it. I just kept believing my rational explanations for everything.

One of these odd happenings involved my best friend...

One night, he called my phone in my room and I wasn't home. When I saw him the next day, he asked why my roommate answered the phone. I told him Chris wasn't home that night that he'd been at work until 2AM. My friend told me that when he called, a man picked up and abruptly said "She's not here" and the line went dead. I asked Chris about it, and he looked just as surprised as I was....he wasn't home that night, he told me.

Several days later, the contractor and his workers started in on the paint job. One night, I came home and found one of the workers in the kitchen painting by himself. I greeted him and went into my room.

I was puttering about in my room, and heard a loud voice from the kitchen, kind of shouting. So I opened my door, and looked at the guy on the ladder...he looked at me blankly. I said, "Hey....is Chris back?"

He shook his head, and I was surprised. I could've sworn I heard talking...

"Okay...well, if he comes home, please let me know."

I went back into my room.

A few minutes later, again, the muffled shouting.
I opened my door and both the painter and I looked at each other.

"Is he back yet? I heard voices." I said, looking around.

And the painter shook his head at me, wide-eyed.

Chris came home soon after that, along with the contractor who came to pick up his worker. But the painter started complaining loudly in Portuguese and gesticulating all over the kitchen. The contractor took Chris aside and spoke to him and then Chris took me aside and told me something that gave me chills.

He said that the worker was telling his boss that someone was telling him not to paint the kitchen blue! He kept hearing someone telling him to stop, and it was the wrong color. He was very frightened and threatened to walk out on the job.

Chris & I went back into the kitchen to smooth things over and found the poor painter kneeling on the floor, praying with his rosary beads in his hands! He was absolutely wild-eyed and shaking.

From then on, the workers begged me to stay with them when they were about to be left alone in the house. They were clearly terrified.

The apartment was finally painted and Chris and I were sitting at the kitchen table, talking about what happened.

"I have a confession to make", Chris said quietly.
"I've experienced weird things in this place ever since I moved in. I didn't want to tell you because I thought you wouldn't want to move in. I never really believed in anything supernatural, but when you told me you were having dreams of airports and airplanes, well....you see, I didn't tell you but the person who lived here before us died here. He was a flight attendant."

Neither one of us wanted to put too much thought into what was going on, and we didn't talk about it again. We both liked the apartment and wanted to stay, despite the strange happenings.

But then something happened that really scared me.

One night, very late, I was already in bed. I heard Chris scream. I jumped out of bed and ran to his room. He was absolutely pale and pointed to the window.

"What IS that?! What IS that?!" He screamed and I looked.

A strange coppery-red liquid seemed to be dripping down from the side of the window. I looked very closely at it...it was a strange liquid that, of course, looked like blood. I turned to Chris to study him, even though he was cowering behind me... no, it wasn't a practical joke. Chris's face reminded me of the painter kneeling in the hallway with his rosary beads, terrified. Genuine terror isn't something
you can fake easily.

I don't know what that stuff was dripping down from the window sill, but I cleaned it up with some bleach and gave Chris something to help him sleep. But I couldn't. I tried to rationalize what it could've been, but didn't come up with any solid reasons.

I've never experienced anything like whatever was going on in that apartment, but I felt
that if it really was the deceased flight attendant, he definitely was trying to tell us he wasn't happy we were there. (And he certainly didn't approve of the blue paint in the kitchen!)

I moved out shortly after the "red liquid incident".

I often think about that place. I know I'll certainly never forget it.