"The Bullet Hole"
When I was in high school, my friend Grace had several puppy-sitting jobs. One of the families she whose dogs she cared for lived in the hills far west of our town. Sometimes, she asked me to tag along. I loved playing with the dogs, but there was also something compelling about visiting the homes of these people who were away. Empty houses feel entirely different from ones that are occupied--sad, lonely... all the obvious stuff. This one house was even stranger. Not only was it an oddly shaped, seven story modern with an indoor swimming pool, but it had once belonged to someone who'd supposedly been the victim of a mob shooting.
That's right--someone had been murdered in the puppy-sitting house. I wasn't sure if I believed Grace at first, but when I saw the bullet hole which, for some reason, was STILL in the window of the indoor pool room, I knew that something bad had happened there.
I was highly invested in all-things "ghost" at the time, so I was extremely curious to spend some time in the house, even if it was only to help Grace change the doggie food bowls and water. When I entered through the garage, I felt odd. Maybe it was the house's seclusion up in the hills. Maybe it was knowing the house's history. I almost expected to find a dead man lurking around every corner. All we found though were two grotesquely cute Lhasa Apsos who were very happy to see us.
Grace and I spent some time playing with the dogs. Then, as she cleaned up the kitchen, I wandered to the base of the stairs in the grand foyer. That was where I first heard the voices.
Moving closer to the stairs, I heard them more clearly, a soft whispering, which actually sounded like a radio or television had been left on somewhere upstairs. I couldn't make out any words, but the sound was clearly there. I asked my friend if the owners had left a stereo playing... she gave me a look, and I brought her to the base of the stairs. "Do you hear it?" I asked. She nodded.
Together, we ascended the steps, the dogs locked in the kitchen behind us. At the first landing, we encountered a large living room with a cathedral ceiling. But the stereo was off and we couldn't find a television. And yet, the whispering sound was still there if we listened closely. But only near the stairs. If we moved away, the sound stopped.
We climbed the next set flight, which wound up the center of the house in a clunky spiral. At each floor we looked for some electronic device which might have been left on, and at each floor, we found nothing.
Finally we came to the top, the master bedroom. On a nearby shelf was a television set! But the screen was dark and as I peeked at the cord, I found the tv unplugged.
Grace and I couldn't figure out where the sound was coming from, and at that point, we weren't sure we wanted an answer...
Especially as we came back to the base of the stairs and found all of the foyer lights turned on. Funny. We hadn't left them that way...
Grace and I quickly said goodbye to the poor pups and went outside. Driving away, I couldn't help but catch a glimpse of the bullet hole in the window behind us and wonder what secret someone might have been trying to whisper to us.
****Did I make this one up??? Really? How can you be so sure...? Leave your vote in the comments for another chance to win a signed copy of my book, The Stone Child... Results will be announced after the best day of the year--Halloween!****
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
OGSP - Story #5 October Ghost Story Project
"The Hounds of Blairsden"
When I was in high school, my friends and I would drive around the Bernardsville Mountains, trying to defeat our boredom. Though my corner of New Jersey was filled with more local legends per acre than anywhere else I've ever lived, those roads were particularly ripe with folklore. And at night, they were terrifying.
If you grew up in Basking Ridge, you must have heard about Jacob's Ladder, the old winding road through the hills with the seven pronounced bumps, under which it was told were buried seven bodies.
One of the stories I'll never forget has to do with an old estate which stood at the top of a steep hill, overlooking a large mirror-like pond. Blairsden. The mansion's name was carved into a stone wall at the estate's ruined gate, just above a terribly creepy relief of a goat's head. That's right... a freakin' goat's head greeted any trespassers who were nervy enough to cross the gated off bridge which led from the road across a small creek. Past the gate was an abandoned driveway which hugged an overgrown hillside and which, once upon a time, led up the hill to the stone house at the top. I was a curious teenager. I explored this driveway one afternoon with a friend of mine. The scariest thing that happened to us was when we got back in my car and realized we were crawling with ticks.
But Blairsden came with a much creepier history than a mere insect infestation.
The house's story went like this: Blairsden was built by rich young man for his new bride. But before they even had a chance to share their perfect love nest, the poor girl died. The young man was left inconsolable. He moved into the house by himself. Supposedly, he bought himself a number of hunting dogs for sport, and also to keep himself company.
The dogs, however were no comfort. The man fell into a deep depression. One night, he drowned each dog in the pond at the base of the hill, before taking his own life.
A sad story... but it doesn't end there. Legend says that if you look into the water in the dead of night, you can see the glowing red eyes of the dogs looking back at you.
My friends and I would often freak ourselves out by driving by the pond, but we never saw the red lights for ourselves. This didn't stop us from trying... or going even further.
Though Blairsden's old driveway was locked and crumbling, a newer driveway had been built on the other side of the hill. The mansion itself had been turned into a rest home for retired nuns... or so we believed... which somehow made the house even spookier. On several occasions, my friends and I would drive all the way up to the house at night. Thinking back on it now, it seems like quite a rude thing to do, bothering the nuns like that. But at the time, we cherished every thrill we could get.
Past a ten foot wall, the driveway circled a long thin reflecting pool. Along the wall were stone busts of important looking men. My friends and I would drive quickly past them, holding our breath, hoping the nuns wouldn't chase us off the property... or call the police.
The last time I drove up to Blairsden, I was by myself. I'd come home on a break from college, and one night, I decided to check out the place for old-time's sake--the best kind of sake when you're on a break from college. The leaves were off the trees and the hills were especially dark. I pulled into the mansion's long driveway and tried to make my way up to the top, but when I reached the wall, I found the entrance chained off. I figured that maybe one too many people had had the same idea as my friends and I over the years, and the nuns had had enough.
I had put the car into reverse and was trying to pull a k-turn, when looking over my shoulder, I saw someone walking in the road behind me. I nearly hit him. The red tail lights reflected off a man in a long coat. He didn't look at me. Just kept walking by. I pulled forward and up the road. Looking into the rearview mirror, I noticed that he was walking at least four large dogs. I swear one of them looked back at me, its eyes glowing red...
I drove as fast as I could away from there...
I tried to fall asleep at my mom's house, but all night long, I heard a dog barking in the woods outside. I haven't been back to Blairsden since.
**** What do you think??? Real story, or did I make it up? Leave your vote in the comments below... Keep coming back. The more you vote, the better your chance to win a signed copy of The Stone Child. Winner will be revealed after Halloween!*****
When I was in high school, my friends and I would drive around the Bernardsville Mountains, trying to defeat our boredom. Though my corner of New Jersey was filled with more local legends per acre than anywhere else I've ever lived, those roads were particularly ripe with folklore. And at night, they were terrifying.
If you grew up in Basking Ridge, you must have heard about Jacob's Ladder, the old winding road through the hills with the seven pronounced bumps, under which it was told were buried seven bodies.
One of the stories I'll never forget has to do with an old estate which stood at the top of a steep hill, overlooking a large mirror-like pond. Blairsden. The mansion's name was carved into a stone wall at the estate's ruined gate, just above a terribly creepy relief of a goat's head. That's right... a freakin' goat's head greeted any trespassers who were nervy enough to cross the gated off bridge which led from the road across a small creek. Past the gate was an abandoned driveway which hugged an overgrown hillside and which, once upon a time, led up the hill to the stone house at the top. I was a curious teenager. I explored this driveway one afternoon with a friend of mine. The scariest thing that happened to us was when we got back in my car and realized we were crawling with ticks.
But Blairsden came with a much creepier history than a mere insect infestation.
The house's story went like this: Blairsden was built by rich young man for his new bride. But before they even had a chance to share their perfect love nest, the poor girl died. The young man was left inconsolable. He moved into the house by himself. Supposedly, he bought himself a number of hunting dogs for sport, and also to keep himself company.
The dogs, however were no comfort. The man fell into a deep depression. One night, he drowned each dog in the pond at the base of the hill, before taking his own life.
A sad story... but it doesn't end there. Legend says that if you look into the water in the dead of night, you can see the glowing red eyes of the dogs looking back at you.
My friends and I would often freak ourselves out by driving by the pond, but we never saw the red lights for ourselves. This didn't stop us from trying... or going even further.
Though Blairsden's old driveway was locked and crumbling, a newer driveway had been built on the other side of the hill. The mansion itself had been turned into a rest home for retired nuns... or so we believed... which somehow made the house even spookier. On several occasions, my friends and I would drive all the way up to the house at night. Thinking back on it now, it seems like quite a rude thing to do, bothering the nuns like that. But at the time, we cherished every thrill we could get.
Past a ten foot wall, the driveway circled a long thin reflecting pool. Along the wall were stone busts of important looking men. My friends and I would drive quickly past them, holding our breath, hoping the nuns wouldn't chase us off the property... or call the police.
The last time I drove up to Blairsden, I was by myself. I'd come home on a break from college, and one night, I decided to check out the place for old-time's sake--the best kind of sake when you're on a break from college. The leaves were off the trees and the hills were especially dark. I pulled into the mansion's long driveway and tried to make my way up to the top, but when I reached the wall, I found the entrance chained off. I figured that maybe one too many people had had the same idea as my friends and I over the years, and the nuns had had enough.
I had put the car into reverse and was trying to pull a k-turn, when looking over my shoulder, I saw someone walking in the road behind me. I nearly hit him. The red tail lights reflected off a man in a long coat. He didn't look at me. Just kept walking by. I pulled forward and up the road. Looking into the rearview mirror, I noticed that he was walking at least four large dogs. I swear one of them looked back at me, its eyes glowing red...
I drove as fast as I could away from there...
I tried to fall asleep at my mom's house, but all night long, I heard a dog barking in the woods outside. I haven't been back to Blairsden since.
**** What do you think??? Real story, or did I make it up? Leave your vote in the comments below... Keep coming back. The more you vote, the better your chance to win a signed copy of The Stone Child. Winner will be revealed after Halloween!*****
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
OGSP - Story #4 (October Ghost Story Project)
"The Lady in Red"
Believe it or not, I actually went to college for acting.
Syracuse University. Woo-hoo.
Our acting classes were held in a building down the hill from the main campus. This building housed the university theater (The Storch) as well as a professional regional theater called Syracuse Stage.
I first heard about the Lady in Red when I was working at the box office for Syracuse Stage. One of my co-workers told me that the theater was haunted by a woman, an actress, wearing a red dress. Supposedly, this woman didn't like being upstaged. She would grow jealous of anyone else who wore red on Syracuse Stage. There were countless stories of strange mishaps when one of the actors was costumed in red.
My co-worker told me her story: she'd been working late in the box office and was about to leave, when she found the door locked. From the outside. The problem was, the door didn't lock from the outside. She was alone in the theater and had to call her partner to help get her out. But when help arrived, the door wasn't locked anymore. Weird...
Okay... but here's what happened to me when I was in a show with someone who wore red.
It was my junior year, and I'd been cast in Syracuse Stage's production of Three Tall Women, by Edward Albee. I played the non-speaking role of The Boy. Basically, the three tall women were my mother... (surreal, I know). My role was to come onstage in the second act, sit by my dying mother, and weep. Very difficult to do night after night, with any authenticity. I'm pretty sure I used all my tears up during rehearsals.
One of the three tall women was made to wear a 1960's style red chiffon dress in the second act. Right from the start, this dress gave our actress problems. The first time she even tried it on, her shoe heel caught on the hem and tore a huge hole at the bottom. By the time the show was up and running, our actress couldn't get out of that dress fast enough, and began undressing in the hallway before she ever made it to her dressing room.
Anyway, I spent most of the show in my own dressing room, listening to the dialogue piped in through speakers. Opening night, a friend of mine gave me a single red rose in a small vase. I had placed the vase on the counter next to my dressing room mirror. As I sat listening to the play, untouched, the vase tipped toward me and spilled the rose's water all over the floor. Unnerved, I scrambled to wipe up the mess. I couldn't think of how the vase had tipped over by itself. I felt like it was the Lady in Red wishing me luck...
Like I said, it was difficult eventually to come up with tears on stage, but when I did, they flowed. After one performance when the boo-hooing was authentic, I rushed offstage after my scene and heard someone call my name from a storage room. Clear as day, a woman said, "Dan!"
Thinking it was one of my stage-hand friends, I looked all around that side of the stage for the person who called my name. But no one was around. No was had been near enough to say my name that loud, enough for me to believe they were within poking distance...
When I realized I was completely alone in the dark backstage, I hurried downstairs toward the light and the possibility of company.
****Real or made-up??? Vote in the comments for a chance to win a signed copy of the Stone Child...!****
Believe it or not, I actually went to college for acting.
Syracuse University. Woo-hoo.
Our acting classes were held in a building down the hill from the main campus. This building housed the university theater (The Storch) as well as a professional regional theater called Syracuse Stage.
I first heard about the Lady in Red when I was working at the box office for Syracuse Stage. One of my co-workers told me that the theater was haunted by a woman, an actress, wearing a red dress. Supposedly, this woman didn't like being upstaged. She would grow jealous of anyone else who wore red on Syracuse Stage. There were countless stories of strange mishaps when one of the actors was costumed in red.
My co-worker told me her story: she'd been working late in the box office and was about to leave, when she found the door locked. From the outside. The problem was, the door didn't lock from the outside. She was alone in the theater and had to call her partner to help get her out. But when help arrived, the door wasn't locked anymore. Weird...
Okay... but here's what happened to me when I was in a show with someone who wore red.
It was my junior year, and I'd been cast in Syracuse Stage's production of Three Tall Women, by Edward Albee. I played the non-speaking role of The Boy. Basically, the three tall women were my mother... (surreal, I know). My role was to come onstage in the second act, sit by my dying mother, and weep. Very difficult to do night after night, with any authenticity. I'm pretty sure I used all my tears up during rehearsals.
One of the three tall women was made to wear a 1960's style red chiffon dress in the second act. Right from the start, this dress gave our actress problems. The first time she even tried it on, her shoe heel caught on the hem and tore a huge hole at the bottom. By the time the show was up and running, our actress couldn't get out of that dress fast enough, and began undressing in the hallway before she ever made it to her dressing room.
Anyway, I spent most of the show in my own dressing room, listening to the dialogue piped in through speakers. Opening night, a friend of mine gave me a single red rose in a small vase. I had placed the vase on the counter next to my dressing room mirror. As I sat listening to the play, untouched, the vase tipped toward me and spilled the rose's water all over the floor. Unnerved, I scrambled to wipe up the mess. I couldn't think of how the vase had tipped over by itself. I felt like it was the Lady in Red wishing me luck...
Like I said, it was difficult eventually to come up with tears on stage, but when I did, they flowed. After one performance when the boo-hooing was authentic, I rushed offstage after my scene and heard someone call my name from a storage room. Clear as day, a woman said, "Dan!"
Thinking it was one of my stage-hand friends, I looked all around that side of the stage for the person who called my name. But no one was around. No was had been near enough to say my name that loud, enough for me to believe they were within poking distance...
When I realized I was completely alone in the dark backstage, I hurried downstairs toward the light and the possibility of company.
****Real or made-up??? Vote in the comments for a chance to win a signed copy of the Stone Child...!****
Monday, October 5, 2009
OGSP - Story #3
"The Burns Street Disturbance"
A few years ago, my father and step-mother bought a row house in Forest Hills Gardens in Queens, NY. It's a beautiful neighborhood with lots of history -- actually designed by Frederick Law Olmsted, Jr. Lots of tudor-style houses and buildings... nearly a century old.
The house my parents bought is four stories tall -- a living room, dining room and kitchen on the first floor, two bedrooms and a bath on the second, two more beds and another bath on the third, and below it all, a large basement. Before they moved in, they did many renovations. During construction, I went to see the place for the first time. As I made my way to the top floor, I felt strange, that we weren't alone up there. It was the way I used to feel in our house in New Jersey-the haunted one- like someone was watching me. I said nothing to my father. I didn't want to frighten him in his new house.
Yet, as I stood there, my father exclaimed, "The neighbors' kids say this place is haunted."
I got chills. I nodded. "I can feel it."
"This room in particular," my father continued, pointing at one of the top-floor bedrooms. He smiled, amused.
"Guess we'll see what happens," I finished.
A few months later, my father called me. "You'll never believe what happened," he said. "Or actually, maybe you will..."
This is his story.
One night, my father was in the attic of his new house, working on the air vents. The light had grown dim, and he had no flashlight to see by. He managed to crawl toward the hatch which led to the ladder. He climbed down the ladder, which brought him to the closet in the front bedroom on the top floor. The electricity had been turned off on this floor, and the only light to see by shone from the stairwell.
My father passed through the room, went through the door, out into the hallway and had started down the stairs to work on a separate project, when he realized that his measuring tape was not on his tool belt. Thinking that he'd left it up in the attic, he crossed back through the bedroom, entered the closet, and climbed the ladder into the darkness again. But as he floundered blindly in the attic for the tape, he quickly realized that he wouldn't have been able to find his own nose if it hadn't been attached to his face. So he gave up the search.
He climbed back down the ladder and was about to cross through the bedroom for the third time in less than five minutes when he realized something was now blocking his path. An object that had not been there moments earlier... Stretched out across the floor, in front of the bedroom door, was the measuring tape.
Surprised, my father picked up the tape, attached it to his belt and called out for the house to hear, "Thank you!"
If it had been me, I'm pretty sure I would have shouted something else...
****Real story or made up??? Leave your vote in the comments... Keep coming back every day to vote. Whoever leaves the most correct responses will win a signed copy of The Stone Child!****
A few years ago, my father and step-mother bought a row house in Forest Hills Gardens in Queens, NY. It's a beautiful neighborhood with lots of history -- actually designed by Frederick Law Olmsted, Jr. Lots of tudor-style houses and buildings... nearly a century old.
The house my parents bought is four stories tall -- a living room, dining room and kitchen on the first floor, two bedrooms and a bath on the second, two more beds and another bath on the third, and below it all, a large basement. Before they moved in, they did many renovations. During construction, I went to see the place for the first time. As I made my way to the top floor, I felt strange, that we weren't alone up there. It was the way I used to feel in our house in New Jersey-the haunted one- like someone was watching me. I said nothing to my father. I didn't want to frighten him in his new house.
Yet, as I stood there, my father exclaimed, "The neighbors' kids say this place is haunted."
I got chills. I nodded. "I can feel it."
"This room in particular," my father continued, pointing at one of the top-floor bedrooms. He smiled, amused.
"Guess we'll see what happens," I finished.
A few months later, my father called me. "You'll never believe what happened," he said. "Or actually, maybe you will..."
This is his story.
One night, my father was in the attic of his new house, working on the air vents. The light had grown dim, and he had no flashlight to see by. He managed to crawl toward the hatch which led to the ladder. He climbed down the ladder, which brought him to the closet in the front bedroom on the top floor. The electricity had been turned off on this floor, and the only light to see by shone from the stairwell.
My father passed through the room, went through the door, out into the hallway and had started down the stairs to work on a separate project, when he realized that his measuring tape was not on his tool belt. Thinking that he'd left it up in the attic, he crossed back through the bedroom, entered the closet, and climbed the ladder into the darkness again. But as he floundered blindly in the attic for the tape, he quickly realized that he wouldn't have been able to find his own nose if it hadn't been attached to his face. So he gave up the search.
He climbed back down the ladder and was about to cross through the bedroom for the third time in less than five minutes when he realized something was now blocking his path. An object that had not been there moments earlier... Stretched out across the floor, in front of the bedroom door, was the measuring tape.
Surprised, my father picked up the tape, attached it to his belt and called out for the house to hear, "Thank you!"
If it had been me, I'm pretty sure I would have shouted something else...
****Real story or made up??? Leave your vote in the comments... Keep coming back every day to vote. Whoever leaves the most correct responses will win a signed copy of The Stone Child!****
Sunday, October 4, 2009
OGSP - Story #2
"Hell Shower"
During my junior year at Syracuse University, my roommates and I lived on the first floor of a triple decker apartment building off-campus. There were four bedrooms, but only three of us.
Of course, I believed it was haunted.
For example... we had a large plant which sat in the corner of our living room. One night, I watched as all the leaves and branches began to shake, as if someone were brushing a hand through them. But no one was near the plant. I wondered if I was seeing things until my roommate's two cats rushed over to the corner and stared at the plant with me. The rustling stopped, but I was still freaked out. I'm pretty sure the cats were too.
Another time, out of the corner of my eye, in this same corner of the living room, I saw a large shadowy figure standing there watching me. When I looked directly at it, it disappeared, but when I turned away, I could still see it standing there in my peripheral vision.
The weirdest room in the apartment was the bathroom, which was in the long hallway near the front door. One night, I came home with a friend to find we had the apartment to ourselves. Or so we thought, because as we came into the living room, we heard someone moving around. The lights were off in the apartment. I dragged my friend back to the front hallway. "Hello?" I called out, as I turned on the hall light. The sounds from the bathroom stopped. But the door was closed, so we couldn't see inside.
Of course.
We were freaking out as we slowly pushed the door open. I quickly flicked the light switch on, only to find the shower curtain drawn shut.
Of course.
"Hello?" I said again weakly, as my friend groaned in fear. But we received no answer. After a few seconds, I decided to suck it up and be a big boy. I reached out and pulled the curtain back. The shower was empty. However, one of my roommate's disposable shavers lay conspicuously in the middle of the tub.
My friend and I sighed in relief, and quickly forgot about it.
But soon, I was forced to remember. One morning before class, shortly after this incident, I was taking a shower. The way the bathtub was set up, there were shelves built into the faucet side of the shower as well as the opposite wall. These shelves were where we kept our shampoo and shower gels and whatever else we thought we needed in order to stay clean. On this particular morning, I was rinsing my hair when every single bottle sitting on these two shelves flew from their perches and struck me. Literally, the bottles flew several feet through the air to hit my body, hard. I cried out in shock and pain. Then I slowly put them back where they belonged.
This continued to happen again and again, until I finally started shouting at whatever it was to knock it off. And it started to happen to my other roommates as well. The bottles would fly from the shower shelves all at once, but only when we were in there. I might have dismissed the incidences as caused by gravity and a slanty old building, but with the other stuff we'd seen and heard in the house, we believed that a spirit who lived with us had something against us bathing... As ridiculous as that sounds...
****What do you believe??? Real story? Or fake? Leave your vote in the comments below... oh, and spread the word about the contest... Most correct guesses wins a signed copy of The Stone Child!****
During my junior year at Syracuse University, my roommates and I lived on the first floor of a triple decker apartment building off-campus. There were four bedrooms, but only three of us.
Of course, I believed it was haunted.
For example... we had a large plant which sat in the corner of our living room. One night, I watched as all the leaves and branches began to shake, as if someone were brushing a hand through them. But no one was near the plant. I wondered if I was seeing things until my roommate's two cats rushed over to the corner and stared at the plant with me. The rustling stopped, but I was still freaked out. I'm pretty sure the cats were too.
Another time, out of the corner of my eye, in this same corner of the living room, I saw a large shadowy figure standing there watching me. When I looked directly at it, it disappeared, but when I turned away, I could still see it standing there in my peripheral vision.
The weirdest room in the apartment was the bathroom, which was in the long hallway near the front door. One night, I came home with a friend to find we had the apartment to ourselves. Or so we thought, because as we came into the living room, we heard someone moving around. The lights were off in the apartment. I dragged my friend back to the front hallway. "Hello?" I called out, as I turned on the hall light. The sounds from the bathroom stopped. But the door was closed, so we couldn't see inside.
Of course.
We were freaking out as we slowly pushed the door open. I quickly flicked the light switch on, only to find the shower curtain drawn shut.
Of course.
"Hello?" I said again weakly, as my friend groaned in fear. But we received no answer. After a few seconds, I decided to suck it up and be a big boy. I reached out and pulled the curtain back. The shower was empty. However, one of my roommate's disposable shavers lay conspicuously in the middle of the tub.
My friend and I sighed in relief, and quickly forgot about it.
But soon, I was forced to remember. One morning before class, shortly after this incident, I was taking a shower. The way the bathtub was set up, there were shelves built into the faucet side of the shower as well as the opposite wall. These shelves were where we kept our shampoo and shower gels and whatever else we thought we needed in order to stay clean. On this particular morning, I was rinsing my hair when every single bottle sitting on these two shelves flew from their perches and struck me. Literally, the bottles flew several feet through the air to hit my body, hard. I cried out in shock and pain. Then I slowly put them back where they belonged.
This continued to happen again and again, until I finally started shouting at whatever it was to knock it off. And it started to happen to my other roommates as well. The bottles would fly from the shower shelves all at once, but only when we were in there. I might have dismissed the incidences as caused by gravity and a slanty old building, but with the other stuff we'd seen and heard in the house, we believed that a spirit who lived with us had something against us bathing... As ridiculous as that sounds...
****What do you believe??? Real story? Or fake? Leave your vote in the comments below... oh, and spread the word about the contest... Most correct guesses wins a signed copy of The Stone Child!****
Saturday, October 3, 2009
October Ghost Story Project (OGSP)- Story Number 1
"The Eye at the Door"
The first time I ever saw a ghost, I was twelve years old.
I was in the upstairs bathroom brushing my teeth one evening. In the mirror, I noticed that someone was watching me through a crack in the door behind me. I clearly saw an eye come up and peek at me for several seconds. A few seconds later, it disappeared. At first, the sight of the eyeball frightened me. But by the time I spit out my toothpaste, I had concluded that my older brother was standing out in the hallway, preparing to jump in at me when I swung the door open. "Dummy," I thought. "He thinks I didn't notice him."
So I decided to jump out first. I yanked the door inward and shouted, "Boo!" But to my surprise, my brother was not standing in the doorway. Oh, I thought, he must by hiding just around the corner. So, I leapt into the hallway, determined to get him back, and shrieked, "Yah!" Again, I found I was alone.
The hallway was dark, as were the bedrooms. My brother's bedroom door was open, and I figured that if he was the one who'd been watching me through the crack in the door, he must have managed to run and hide in there. I crept toward his bedroom, growing uneasy. I'd never imagined my brother to be so stealthy.
As I entered his room and turned on the light, I tentatively called out his name. But I found the room empty. Obviously, I received no answer.
By now, I was getting scared. Whoever had been watching me brush my teeth must still be upstairs. He couldn't have had enough time to creep away, I thought. I rushed downstairs toward the light of the kitchen if only to get away from the feeling that I was still being watched, that he might leapt out and grab my arm... or worse.
I found my mother sitting on the couch, reading the L.L. Bean catalogue. "Mom," I said, "Is Brendan home?" My brother.
She shook her head. "It's just you and me," she said.
Chills rattled my body. "Someone was upstairs watching me brush my teeth just now. I saw them through the crack in the door."
My mother looked amused. "I've been down here for awhile. No one else is home."
She wanted me to believe that I had simply imagined the eye at the door.
But as I got in bed that night, I couldn't be certain of what I'd seen at all.
**** So what do you think? Real or not? Leave your vote in the comments!****
October Ghost Story Project Announcement
Since it's finally October, officially the coolest calendar month, I decided to push myself to do a little experiment.
Part contest, part just-for-fun, I'm going to try and write, until Oct. 31, at least one ghost story per day.
Those of you who know me understand that I've always had a fascination with ghost stories, so much so that, when I moved to New Jersey at eleven, I eventually came to believe that our house was totally haunted.
Ever since then, I've had a love/hate situation with the ghosts in my life... ;^)
Anyway, the October Ghost Story Project goes like this - I will write down a daily ghost story here on this blog. Some of them will be true, some of them will be fiction.
You will write in the comments whether or not you think the story is true. (True meaning--it actually happened to me or someone I know.) The more ghost stories you read on the blog, the more you can vote. And at the end of the month, who ever has guessed the most correctly wins a signed copy of The Stone Child, my first book!
Happy Hauntings,
Dan
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)