“A scream coming from my phone.
Not a mild scream but a blood-curdling scream.
Like someone was being murdered on the other end of the line.”
Dabid
By
Updated 4 years ago,July 27, 2021
This happened in my junior year of high school.
I never left my desk.
My parents returned around 11:00 PM.
Dabid
Seconds after I hear them enter, I hear my mother shout my name.
she screams, what on earth happened in here!?
Confused, I get out of my chair and start walking through the house to them.
Theres only a small hallway that separates my room from the living room.
After a few moments, I get to my parents.
My mom looks livid.
Shes pointing at the carpet floor yelling,Was this you!?
Did you have friends over!
?I look down.
The carpet is ruined.
Its covered in muddy footprints.
I watch as her face goes from anger to confusion to fear.
We realize that someone else must have entered the house.
Quickly we scan the footprints, trying to make sense of the situation.
Then we noticed something else.
The footprints started at the back door but there were no footprints exiting the back door.
We hear something pounding through our house.
We hear the front door get torn open, then slammed shut with a sharpWHAM!
We all run into the garage and lock the door.
My mom starts shouting at the police through the phone,yo come quickly!
Someones broken into our house!After what seems like hours, the police arrive.
An officer stays with us in the garage as his partner goes through the house room by room.
His partner tells us that its safe to go back in, that theres no one in the house.
Then she asks us a question.
She asks us whose room is down the hall to the left.
My parents look at me and I tell the officer that its mine.
She asks us to follow her down the hall.
As we go, its easy to see that the footprints weave through my house from the back door.
They stop in my doorway.
Then the officer points at my door, which I had left pop crack open the whole night.
Every now and then, I would hear what sounded like footsteps or banging coming from below my floorboards.
I guessed it was just normal house sounds, maybe pipes, and I got used to it.
After a few months of pretty non-stop banging which no one else could hear things started to escalate.
Heavy furniture started falling down on its own.
A few days later, I was playing with my Teddy Ruxpin doll when it suddenly drained of batteries.
We assumed the toy was broken and forgot about it.
From the day we had arrived in the house, I had known I wasnt alone in that room.
I had grown up in isolation and know what that felt like this was different.
I started responding to the knocking sounds, Stop it!
Im trying to read.
My mother was moderately concerned but assumed I was just playing with an imaginary friend.
I asked my mother over breakfast one morning when it was that wed finished the basement.
She looked at me, puzzled, and responded that the basement had in fact always been finished.
Small items diaries, stuffed animals, keep sakes, would rearrange themselves on a near-daily basis.
The more I spoke out loud, the less things moved about.
One night I woke from sleep inexplicably.
I decided to get up to have a drink of water and walked across the hall into the bathroom.
Bleary eyed I shuffled into the bathroom and sat down.
I stood up, panicked, only to line my reflection up with a figure standing to face me.
A figure that wasnt mine.
I tilted my head to the right and to the left.
Our reflection did the same.
It was me, but it wasnt me.
She had shorter hair and slighter features.
She wore blue pajamas where I wore a long sleeping shirt.
We regarded each and I lifted my hand slowly to wave.
She smiled and faded out.
I waited for an hour, sat on the bathroom floor, waiting for her to reappear.
Finally, I crept back to bed but couldnt sleep.
My mother answered nonchalantly, The woman who lived here before us was a reporter.
I asked, Did she have a daughter?
My mother tensed, Why would you ask that?
My mother trailed off.
What did they do to her?
I watched my mothers knuckles turn white on the steering wheel.
I thought I was in trouble.
You see, when my parents looked at our new home they had wondered about the low price.
The house had been foreclosed when its previous occupant had been sent to jail.
A few months later we moved into a condo on the other side of town.
It had clay, dirt floors and a small light you had to crawl to on all fours.
The day we moved our things away, I went down to the basement to say my goodbyes.
She had been kept there, I was sure of it.
How else would I have had her memories of the basement unfinished?
As I turned to walk up the stairs, the lightbulb in the crawlspace flickered on, swinging.
Just for a second.
mindthemittelschmerz
When I was in high school, one of my friends was very into playing with ouija boards.
Ms defining feature was that s/he did not like me.
I know, the ouija is subconscious (or not-so-subconscious) movement, right?
But it seemed very… purposeful and real, somehow.
Even if we invited other people over to play, M would show up.
Eventually, we moved on to some other pastime, and I stopped thinking about it.
A few months into our senior year, my friend and I had a falling out and stopped speaking.
I didnt have a lot of other friends at the time.
Hard to believe that a manic-depressive poetry nerd with a ouija enemy wasnt very popular, but its true.
I wanted someone to talk to.
Guess where this is going.
I started to play ouija by myself, using a ouija board that Id drawn.
Or I made it work.
Things started to get a bit weird.
First, it was dishes clattering in the kitchen.
Not constant, just occasionally.
The first few times I went to check it out, but I didnt see anything.
After a while, I stopped getting up to look, but the noises kept happening.
I started to get uncomfortable in the apartment.
Have you ever had a bad feeling about a place?
Like serious bad vibes?
I felt that way in my apartment, particularly in the bathroom.
But I figured I was just being silly, lonely, over-imaginative.
One night, I was doing some drawing in my sketchbook.
I went to bed with everything laid out on the living room floor.
It looked like another painting.
It was a page torn out of my sketchbook and turned over so the image was on the back.
It was a message.
It looked like it had been written by a finger dipped in paint, in red paint.
and it just said DIE in big red letters.
In the bottom right-hand corner was an M. And the paper… the paper was scorched.
Burnt around the edges, with big brown singes in the middle of the page.
That was the worst part.
But the scorching made it REAL.
All of the choices were too unsettling.
And I decided to get out of the apartment.
I went to school but didnt go to class.
There was something that looked like purple lipstick on the wall next to the door to my apartment.
I havent heard from M since.
But 20 years later, thinking about playing ouija still makes me very, very nervous.
melodramallama
I pride myself on my car trip taking patience.
Sometimes this leads to overnight stays in random hotels in Connecticut.
Theres a general rule about my kid being cute I need to be there to see it.
As Im not really anywhere near home, I figure Ill stop at the first hotel I can find.
My GPS guides me to a Best Western but its all booked up for a Biker Gang Weekend.
The next hotel I find is off the beaten path and very….quaint.
A real, made of metal (iron?
Thats the kind of place this was.
Around 4 o clock in the morning I woke up.
Im not really surewhyI woke up but I found I couldnt get back to sleep.
Everything was too quiet.
I usually sleep at home with a box fan for white noise but here there was nothing.
No air conditioner to hum loudly.
No refrigerator to hum.
No neon lights to buzz noisily outside my window.
The night was still.
Whats weird is that I never heard footsteps.
Youd think with it being so quiet I would have heard something.
But all I heard was the sound of a key rattling in the lock.
It seemed to take an extraordinary amount of time.
So long that I remember clearly having the thought, Someone must just have the wrong room.
I was just building up the courage to shout when the key clicked.
For 3 eternity like seconds or so, nothing happened.
Then the doorknob turned.
It was tall, maybe 6 foot or so.
It was wearing a hat, like a baseball cap.
Whoever it was had long hair, down to their shoulders.
In my head, Ive gone over the next 30 seconds a trillion times.
In my head, I get up and run to the door and shout and raise a scene.
I am courageous in the face of this unexpected intruder.
In reality I lie there.
I hold my breath.
I dont move a muscle.
To have some detail come into focus that will right this so obviously wrong scene.
The figure stands in the doorway.
I know its just my eyes playing tricks on me but his fingers seem to get longer than shorter.
They arent moving either.
Just standing there with arms akimbo, like theyre posing for creepy stalker magazine.
And so we sit there.
Im not sure how long we stay there.
Time in situations like this really hammers home that it is a construct of human imagination.
There is no measurement here.
Finally, the figure clears their throat.
An ugly guttural sound.
They turn about and walk away, leaving my door wide open.
To put enough temporal distance from the event that the edges of unreality creep in.
Aikage
I was visiting my parents over the holidays.
Its pretty harmless, if a little embarrassing, so we indulge this habit with her.
I asked my mom about it because it was weird.
She said I stopped talking about it around the time my younger brother was born when I was 6.
She said there was one time that I said something that really weirded her out.
It hurt really bad.
Buzzy went to get Mama but when she got back I was dead.
I just said it again like it was a fact.
She wrote it off as me trying to get attending with a new sibling on the way.
Flash forward about 3 days and my moms mom and stepdad are there for Christmas.
A few glasses of wine and back to the baby videos.
One of them has me mentioning my brother again.
My mom retells the creepy story from earlier.
Her stepdad goes white.
His oldest sister, Shirley passed away when he was 9.
She was three years older than him.
They were raised on a grain farm in Iowa.
They were playing on a tree and she fell head first out of the tree when her foot slipped.
My moms stepdad was right there when it happened.
He went to get help but she passed away from the fall.
No one called him that after his sister died.
I had no idea he had lost a sibling.
My mom and I havent talked about it since.
My moms stepdad hasnt talked to me at all since.
Even for a basement apartment, it was unusually dark and cold all the time.
As soon as we moved in, weird shit started happening.
Scratching noises would seem to be coming from inside the walls.
I attributed this to mice, but not a single trap that was set ever caught one.
I would be doing dishes in the kitchen and I would hear an enormous crash from the living room.
A few months after we had moved in, a guy from my hometown came to visit me.
He was living in the same city at the time, attending the same college that my boyfriend was.
He brought a friend with him who was local.
This is the apartment that guy I knew lived in, he said.
Have you had any problems here?
Well, that spooked me.
He sprinkled some holy water around, said a few prayers in Latin, and was gone.
Later that night, we were invited to a small gathering at our neighbors apartment.
When we arrived at his apartment that evening, he asked us how it went.
We shrugged and said fine.
Then why were you screaming?
Were you having devils cast out or something?
My boyfriend and I exchanged puzzled looks.
I told him I hadnt been screaming.
The whole thing had been pretty uneventful.
He had thought it was me being exorcised or something.
I had hoped that was the end of it, but it wasnt.
Things actually started to get worse over the next few months.
The weird noises came more frequently.
The camera-shutter sound woke me up every night instead of just once in a while.
My boyfriend began experiencing the phenomena as well.
Around this time, the fights we were having started to escalate and my boyfriend became very violent.
It was a very bad time.
It startled me because I had never seen him wake up so suddenly.
I said good morning and asked if he was okay.
I spoke to it, he said.
The thing that lives here.
It told me I cant leave.
It said it owns me now.
One night a few weeks later, I was alone in the apartment.
Boyfriend was out drinking with friends.
I was watching Ace Ventura: Pet Detective on the TV in the living room.
I decided to go to the kitchen to get a drink.
I had heard something growl.
The growl came again, and it was coming from somewhere much closer, and off to my right.
I turned and saw a dark shape crouching in the hallway.
Bolted down the hallway, up the stairs and out the front door.
The lady named Dawn who lived in the apartment on the top floor came to the door.
She and her SO, who lived there with her, accompanied me downstairs.
There was nothing to see and nothing out of place, but the hallway was ice cold.
I felt stupid and crazy and embarrassed, but Dawn told me she believed me.
You know, this apartment is messed up, she said.
Lots of crazy shit has gone on down here.
I told her I had already heard about the Satanist dude who tried to murder his girlfriend.
She laughed and said that was only one of the people that had lived there.
Before that guy, a Mexican lady had lived there.
Before that lady, the apartment had been rented by a photographer who used it as his darkroom.
He was busted for kiddie porn.
My blood froze as I remembered the weird camera-shutter noises that would wake me up.
I moved out of the apartment and back in with my parents a few weeks later.
Unborn child is 12 now.
Abusive boyfriend is out of the picture and has been for over a decade.
I am still very good friends with Dawn.
Sometimes I still have dreams about that place, though.
She had just moved to the city and didnt know anyone, had no money, etc.
One night I wake up and hear shuffling.
I scream and turn on the light: theyre gone.
My roommate tells me Im crazy.
I turn on the light theyre gone.
At this point, I feel pretty fucking haunted but have no idea why this is happening.
Then Neighbor comes down two nights later in a bathrobe.
Its rolling down on her legs onto the floor.
I go up to her apartment, where Ive never been.
All the lights are on, so is the TV, 2 faucets running.
Every wall is covered with Holocaust notes and pictures.
Where, thank god, they admit her.
On my way back to our building, I see my roommate walking toward me with a terrified face.
Neighbor left NY after that and I thought it was over.
I froze and she vanished.
We ended up subletting for the summer and both moved out.
It was a nice time being with him, but it was also sad, watching him decline.
The dementia went mostly as expected; strangely misplaced items, general confusion.
But there was one really weird thing that my grandfather did that really disturbed me and my mom.
One day he started talking about Connie.
Where did she go?
We thought he was talking about my deceased grandmother, but her name was Anne.
No one in our family was named Connie, so we figured he was just confused.
But he kept asking about Connie.
The weird stuff started happening shortly after.
One day he casually explained there would be a storm coming, and shortly after, one would come.
Again, he said Connie told him.
There were lots of little things like this.
Furniture and doors moving around.
Mysterious footsteps at night.
And always, he would say it was Connie.
He asked, as usual.
Shes not here, I said.
(my usual answer.)
Quick, shut the door!
Dont let her find me.
Quick, before she gets me again!
A creepy feeling came over me.
I asked for the millionth time.
But he just put his hands over his face and started to rock back and forth, moaning.
However one night I woke up to the sound of footsteps and scratching.
The footsteps were fast like someone was running around the house.
I hesitated to leave my room, scared of what I would find.
I asked as I went over to him.
He was scratching frantically at something.
I touched him on the shoulder and he turned around startled.
Connies eyes, he said.
her eyes are missing.
Why wont she leave me alone?
Back then, it was still to some extent the backcountry, and quite unspoiled.
Often times, there was nobody in those cottages, and we were pretty much alone for miles.
Needless to say, night-time was extremely dark.
Its a woman, wearing a house dress, and looking very sweaty and out of breath.
(I must have been about 7 yrs old, and had a brother slightly older).
He notices that she is barefoot, and her dress is all torn and muddy.
Cell phones havent even been dreamt of in this era, and he has no way to reach us.
Thats not even the creepiest part, though.
That was ONE creepy place.
We heard later that the woman had committed suicide.
She immediately called us after we left and said we could have the apartment.
He was friends with the owner, who was a very old woman.
Living there started off fine.
The manager though was strange.
You couldnt say exactly why he was strange, but there was something… off about him.
One day though we were startled by loud banging on our door.
I was terrified and made my husband bring up the door.
He wasnt making any sense, but it was terrifying.
He told us he would make us pay if we ever left a note on the car again.
Heres where the scary piece happens.
I had been trying to avoid him as much as I could at this point.
He seemed… unhinged somehow.
There was a look in his eyes.
Something wasnt right, and it was obvious he was very angry with us.
One night I woke in the dead of the night to noise in our hallway.
We had wood floors, and they creaked when you walked on them.
My husband was dead asleep.
Thats when the feeling of absolute horror and fear seized me.
Its unlike anything I had ever felt before.
Cant even describe it, except I was terrified, and I couldnt move.
It was like I was paralyzed.
He shifted his feet, the floor creaked.
He was breathing hard.
I wanted to scream or do something, but I couldnt.
It felt like it lasted forever.
Finally, I just closed my eyes again, unable to even pray I was so scared.
The floor creaked again.
I opened my eyes, he was gone.
I laid awake the rest of the night.
The horrible fear that pressed against me was gone and I was able to move again.
Tears poured down my face the rest of the night.
That was all I could do.
The next morning, I looked at the front door, and the latch was still set.
I tried to convince myself that it was just a terrible dream, but I knew I was awake.
We moved shortly after that.
Youve been such good tenants.
He looked at me.
Didnt you love it here?
indianajoan
This happened about four years ago.
I usually photographed 3-4 homes a week; lakefronts and shacks alike.
I had seen unusual things, like the occasional hidden room or unique art collection left behind.
But I had never encountered anything scary until this happened.
It was a summer day, warm and bright.
I knew the neighborhood I was heading to and had no concerns about safety.
The area was very suburban for the mountain with a large park and school nearby.
I packed up my camera and drove twenty minutes to the home.
Upon arrival, I began my session by taking pictures of the exterior.
Nothing was out of the ordinary.
It was time now for interior shots.
I proceeded to the front, entered the lockbox code and tried to unlock the front door.
As I fumbled with it, I felt overwhelmingly uncomfortable.
Something washed over me in that moment and I knew I shouldnt be there.
I finally opened the door and found a house completely destroyed.
The living room was a sea of debris.
An EMT board laid in the middle, with a charred doll beside it.
Holes littered the walls.
Light bulbs were smashed all over.
It was a scene straight out of a horror movie.
I observed all of this without taking a single step further.
I told the agent that she would need to find someone else to take pictures of this house.
I left the property but decided I didnt want to lose my job over this.
I called my father, who lived locally, and asked if hed accompany me to the house.
In all my days, I had never heard my dad discuss anything remotely spooky.
Hes a very no nonsense kind of man and simply wouldnt tolerate talk of ghosts or witches.
Therefore I thought hed be perfect for this assignment.
Hed keep my head in the game for sure.
I arranged to pick him up at his house in 30 minutes.
My heart sank a little as I pulled up to my parents house and my dads truck was gone.
She brought along a flashlight and assured me that Id be just fine!
As we drove to the house I described to her what had happened.
Her cheeriness level came down a few notches and I could tell she was slightly unnerved.
We parked in front of the house and I knew she didnt want to go inside.
I didnt want her to go in either.
Shed stand right outside of the front door.
I answered her call, turned on my flashlight, and headed in.
Again, immediately upon entering, I was scared.
And just for clarification here, I am not easily scared.
I am not one to see or feel things of that nature.
So the fact that I was actually feeling something terrified me.
The electricity was off and it was dark.
My mother was on the phone telling me to breathe!
I cant hear you breathing!
Are you that scared??
Is it that bad?
I had a hard time speaking as I took in all that I saw.
The toilets were completely black on the inside.
The kitchen had blackish reddish smears all over the counters.
Childrens toys were mixed in with porn magazines lying on the floor.
I went as quickly as I could through the main level.
I then came to a set of stairs leading down.
I told my mother, through the cell phone, that I was heading down.
She continued to reassure me and told me to hurry up and get it over with.
I began walking, extremely cautiously, down the steps one at a time.
I had this immense feeling that I was going to see something horrific once I turned that corner.
I was two or three steps away from the landing when I heard it.
A scream coming from my phone.
Not a mild scream but a blood-curdling scream.
Like someone was being murdered on the other end of the line.
I have never ran, nor have I since, as fast as I did running up those stairs.
I completely expected to find my mom laying lifeless just outside the house.
I grabbed her hand and we ran to the car.
We drove for nearly five minutes before one of us said anything.
Then she turned to me and said, tell me why you were screaming.
I told her that I thought it was her.
We stopped at a grocery store parking lot and just sat there, trying to catch our breath.
I then deleted the email and every single image.
Because of that, I dont know the address of the house.
Nor have I driven by it since.
In hindsight, I would have liked to research the history of the property.
Alas, Ill never know what happened there.
