I found it in the attic, cloaked in dust and shadows, a relic nestled among forgotten echoes of a life long past. The Mask of No Return, they whispered, swirling tales about its origins and the enigmas it housed. My fingers trembled as I lifted it from its resting place, the cold, smooth surface sending ripples of dread coiling around my spine. It was both alluring and repulsive, a face baring no expression—an eternal void, where emotions were swallowed whole.

They said the mask belonged to an ancient cult, one that danced beneath the silvery gaze of the moon, chanting secrets only the night comprehended. Those who wore it were rumored to transcend the bounds of life, straddling a thin line between worlds, forever wandering in darkness. To don the mask was to forfeit one’s humanity, for once you embraced its embrace, the return to the living was no more than a ghostly fantasy. The chilling thrill of curiosity lured me further into its depths.

With a reckless breath, I slipped the mask over my face, a snug grip that consumed my senses. Everything shifted; familiar rooms morphed into shadowy realms, and the air thickened with whispers, echoing long-forgotten cries. The world outside became muted, replaced by a cacophony of visions shimmering with malevolence. I saw figures, cloaked in night, their faces hidden behind masks that mirrored my own. They wove through eerie landscapes of gnarled trees and twisted pathways, beckoning me to join their eternal ballet.

I lost track of time, or perhaps it lost track of me. The seconds burrowed into minutes, and minutes morphed into haunting eternities. My mind danced on the precipice of sanity, teetering between desire and terror. Each fleeting moment resonated with a whisper of truth: the mask was a gateway, a portal teasing me with glimpses of a life unearthly and unfathomable. I could feel its power coursing through me, a dark elation that sang of freedom—of countless realms to explore, of countless souls entwined with every step.

Yet, deep within, a primal fear ignited, warning me that eternity came at a devouring cost. I envisioned myself forever wandering, unseen and unheard, a mere specter in realms of shadow. Panic clawed at my heart as I wrestled with the truth buried beneath layers of illusion. I wanted to scream, to rip the mask from my face, but my hands felt shackled, bound by the very essence of becoming one with the void.

As I struggled, a surge of memories flooded back—faint images of laughter, sunlight pouring through windows, the warmth of a simple life. I reached for them, craving the taste of normalcy, but the shadows tightened around me, their grip unrelenting. I was slipping away, tethered to a fate carved by the Mask of No Return.

In a final gasp of desperation, I wrenched the mask off, the chill of reality smashing against my skin like ice water. I stumbled back, gasping for breath, my heart rattling in my chest. But I wasn’t alone. The whispering figures loomed in the edges of my mind, forever a part of me. I may have escaped their world, but I could never escape what they had shown me. I had glanced beyond the veil, and with that glimpse came a truth haunting enough to know: the mask did not just swallow the wearer; it left echoes that would never fade.

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Back in the early 80’s in San Antonio, TX my young wife where having financial problems and ended up homeless. At one point we stayed at one of the local camp grounds, in on of the little huts. They were small but comfortable with electricity and air.

One evening we went out to grab a bite to eat and afterwards we decided to go for a walk around the area. It was mainly an industrial area divided by large fields of grass. So we were walking and came upon a large grassy field with a house that looked like it had been moved there, dumped and abandoned.

The house looked pretty large from outside, it didn’t have a foundation it was sitting on concrete blocks. There were a set of stairs leading up to the front porch of the house but not connected to the house, just kinda leaning up against the house. So curiosity got the best of us and we managed to get up those stairs and into the house.

It was wired, the front room of the house was fully furnished, I mean large sofa, loveseat and other chairs and whatnot stands. Shelves with books on it. Pictures were hanging on the wall, dishes in the cabinets, I mean the house didn’t look abandon like the outside. We expected to walk into a empty house, but the house was far from empty. We slowly made our way down the hallway, I was halfway expecting to run into someone staying in the house.

The house had three bedrooms and they were all fully furnished. One of the rooms was a kids room, judging by things on the was I would say a boys room. The other room you could tell it belonged to a teenage girl. The third room was the parents room. My wife looked at me and said “look like whoever lived in the home just up and left with out taking anything more then their clothes”. But how the house got on the lot was a mystery.

The was a closed door at the end of the hallway, painted an ancient shade of black, chipped and faded with age, I thought led to another bedroom or closet. The doorknob, a twisted iron spiral, gleamed strangely in the dim light, almost inviting me to grasp it. As I reached out, a rush of wind seemed to escape beneath the frame, swirling my hair as though the door had exhaled, urging me to come closer. I hesitated, my heart pounding like a war drum in my chest. What waited me behind that threshold? Was it merely a forgotten room, or was it the very embodiment of every dark tale that had ever been told?

I opened the door to see stairs leading down into darkness. I didn’t have a flashlight so I couldn’t see anything below. Then I thought BELOW! I said to my wife “this house was sitting on blocks how could their be a basement”? Apparently this was no ordinary door, it led to something profound and sinister, a dark dimension.

It was starting to get dark outside and the house didn’t have electricity so my wife said “it’s getting dark lets get out of here”. As we were leaving I said to my wife “let me check something out” I walked around the side of the house to see if there was a door visible from the outside of the house, and there it was, with no doorknob, so it looked like if you opened that door from the inside you would be looking outside. But that’s not the case.

Later that night as we sat around a campfire with a couple of friends that we had met since staying at the campground, Fred and and his girlfriend Billy, we told them the story about the house with the never ending basement, they were interested in seeing the house themselves. So we agreed to visit the house again the next day.

Since the house was surrounded by warehouses and businesses we decided to visit the house after 6PM, when most of the business will be closed. A little after 6pm armed with two flashlights from Fred’s car, we sat out to visit the house. Me my wife Fred and Billy. We arrived at the house a few minuets later. I pointed out that the house was on blocks and couldn’t possibly have a basement, and we proceeded inside the house.

We entered the house slowly, searching all the rooms and checking all corners with the flashlights. Retracing the steps of the day before, until we reached the door. I looked around at everyone and said, “we’ll here’s the door”. I reached for the doorknob turned to open it. A lingering scent of damp earth mingled with an unsettling stillness that raised the hairs on my arms. It was almost as if the very walls were breathing, watching me, waiting for the moment I would step inside the door and down the dark stairs. Chilled, yet propelled by a curiosity I could not suppress, I grabbed my wife’s hand she grabbed Billy’s hand, Billy reached back to grab Fred’s hand, and as a group we all stepped inside to the door.

I hesitated, my heart pounding like a war drum in my chest. Suddenly our surroundings had completely changed. I yelled “step back, now” we took a step or two backwards and we were suddenly back into the house. I turned to Fred and said “tomorrow we will come back and try again but we will need some rope”. We all agreed and left.

When we got back to the camp ground, we again grouped around a camp fire to discuss our trip to the house, joined by Fred and Billy’s friend, Lee. We told Lee about the house, he wanted to see the house, so again we all agreed to meet at the camp ground the next evening and go see the house.

The next evening after closing time we gathered at the camp ground with our flash lights and rope, and proceeded to the house. When we got to the house Lee looked around and said “wow” and asked “how could there be a basement in this house, Fred remarked “brotha you ain’t seen nothin yet”. We proceeded into the house and looked around. Everything still looked the same. We slowly walked down the hallway checking the rooms as we go until we reached the basement door. Before opening the door I looked around the area for somewhere to tie the rope, I saw a bed in the last room that looked heavy enough that it couldn’t move. I reached down and tied the rope securely to the bed frame leg.

We tied the rope around each one of us securely and proceeded to the door. I opened the door and we stepped in. Lee said “well I’ll be a son of a bitch” Fred said “I told ya”. Shining the flash toward the floor to see where I was stepping, we took about three steps forward to where the first step down was. Suddenly, a piercing scream shattered the stillness, echoing through the endless dark—a sound so raw, so desperate, that it paralyzed me, and the realization chilled me to my core. we were not alone. We stood there in silence frozen in fear. Just then we heard a soft but stern voice say “TURN BACK, LEAVE NOW YOU DON’T BELONG HERE”.

In a panic, we turned and moved as one back to the door, with a swift breath, I twisted the knob and pulled. The door groaned as if awakening from a long slumber. The house was pitch black except for the light from the dim lights from the surrounding buildings and our flashlights. I said “this is impossible we were in there only a few moments, it doesn’t get dark until about 9PM and when we went in it was around 6:30PM”. Looking at my watch it said 10PM, what seemed like a few minutes was actually 3 and a half hours. Had we lost complete track of time? Lee made his way to the bedroom to untie the rope, and we hurried outside the house and untied ourselves.

We got back to the camp grounds, we really didn’t know what to think about what happened inside the house. I said “I need a beer”. My wife said “maybe that’s what happened to the people that lived in the house, maybe they got lost in that. portal and couldn’t get out”. We chilled the rest of the night and spoke no more about the house.

After a couple of days we were sitting around shootin the shit and brought up the house, we decided that the next day we would visit the house. A little after 6PM the next day we sat out for the house. It didn’t take us very long to reach the area where the house was located. It was a nice fall breezy evening. It was so nice out that I didn’t even realize that we were walking pass the area where the house was, but the house, the house was gone.

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Once upon a time, in a small town nestled in the mountains, there was a legend that sent shivers down the spines of all who heard it. It was said that a mysterious ghostly figure roamed the woods, known only as “The Lady In The Chiffon Dress.” This mysterious ghostly figure was said to have no face that frightened unsuspecting victims to death if looked upon.

The townspeople lived in fear of this mysterious ghostly figure, locking their doors and windows tight each evening. But one brave young girl and a practicing solitary witch named Lily, was determined to uncover the truth behind the legend and dispel the evil from the woods. Armed with nothing but her wits and a flashlight and a long handle mirror, she ventured into the dark woods one moonlit night, determined to confront the “mysterious ghostly figure.”

As she crept through the shadows, Lily heard a strange, whistling wind sound coming from behind a gnarled old tree. Peering around the trunk, she came face to face with the mysterious ghostly figure itself.

Lily remembered not to look at the apparition, so she quickly turned around, facing away. Lily pulled out a long handle mirror looking back over her shoulder. She saw the mysterious ghostly figure floating in the wind.

With her back still turned, Lily held the mirror, and shined her flashlight over her shoulder at the mysterious ghostly figure. Lily chanted 13 times “Ashes to ashes, Spirit to spirit, Take this soul, Banish this evil” at the end of her chanting the mysterious ghostly figure let out a screeching that could be heard throughout the dark woods, and disappeared in a burst of flames.

It was over and Lily never spoke of the incident to anyone. To this day the townspeople are still locking their doors and windows tight each evening. But Lily knew that the mysterious ghostly figure was gone to never return!

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I stood in the dimly lit living room, the air thick with unease as shadows dance along the walls, shifting restlessly. My father’s voice lingers in the air, an echo of a time when the world felt less foreboding. “It was a bargain,” he had said, his eyes glinting with excitement as he unearthed the cursed television set from the depths of a dusty thrift store. A relic from a bygone era, it was heavy and ornate, its screen tarnished but still flickering with the promise of vintage charm.

I remember the day he brought it home, it was 1965 I was eight years old at the time, the scent of stale popcorn wafting from the box as he proudly placed it in front of the old couch, a smile stretching across his face. Little did I know, that smile would soon twist into something far more sinister. The instant he plugged it in, the air crackled—not with electricity, but with something darker, something that slithered into my heart like a creeping fog. I felt it, that thick, suffocating presence, but my father dismissed my concerns with a laugh, insisting the set was merely misunderstood.

The first night, the television hummed to life, casting eerie shadows that danced across my pale skin. I felt drawn to it, as if the screen were a portal, pulling me into its depths. The channels panned from static to grainy images of forests at twilight, filled with whispered messages that made my skin crawl. It was only after the sun sank beneath the horizon that I began to notice the change in my father. Long minutes of silence stretched between his words, his laughter replaced by an unsettling stillness. At dinner, I caught him staring at the flickering screen, eyes glazed as if he were ensnared in a trance, while the images twisted and churned in the depths of that malevolent glass.

As the days passed, the television became a sentient beast, consuming more of my father with each passing evening. Striped shadows invaded our home like bad news; an unsettling calm cloaked my life in despair. My mother grew distant, her face etched with concern as she tried to pull my father from the abyss, but his gaze remained locked on the screen, as if it were whispering sweet nothings only he could hear.

I stood at a crossroads of dread and disbelief. my childhood was cracking like fine porcelain, the echoes of laughter muffled beneath the weight of that accursed object. And then came that night—the night when the screen erupted into frenzied chaos. The image twisted into a chaotic whirlpool, and out of it, voices clawed their way into my consciousness, shrieking for release. My father’s laughter warped into a chilling cackle that chilled me to the bone, and in that horrifying moment, I realized the truth: it wasn’t just a television set; it was a prison, and my father had become its unwilling warden.

With heart pounding in my chest, I grabbed the remote control, trembling as I aimed it at the cursed device. Before I could press the button to shut it off, a terrible surge of energy pulsated through the room. The shadows writhed, walls began to shudder, and for an instant, it felt as if the very fabric of reality began to unravel.

In that moment of near-despair, I saw my father—truly saw him—trapped behind glass, fighting against the very thing that possessed him. I pressed the button, and just like that, the haunting laughter was silenced, but the echoes of the cursed television lingered, a reminder of the darkness that once held sway over our home. I never spoke of it again, but the specter of that night sits in the recesses of my mind, waiting, watching, whispering a haunting tale of my father and the cursed television set that forever altered the course of our life.

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This happened several years back. My parents were out of town. Some friends came over to my house to party, you know get drunk and high, they knew I always had the best weed back then. One of my friends Darrel, had a brother that was old enough to buy alcohol, so he brought some alcohol and more weed over to the house.

We rolled up several joints to smoke, that’s what we called them back then before their were blunts. So anyway we got ready to fire up and realized we didn’t have a lighter or matches. We searched everywhere and nothing. I said let’s just run down to the corner store, the guy down there knows me well and will sell me one.

So it was about 11pm, we all piled into my car and off to the store we went, so it was me Darrel, and our two friends Virginia and Jennifer. We got to the store and ran into another friend, we called him Box, and he had two girls with him Sherl and Lila. Box and I went into the store and I got the lighter and left out of the store. Box came out a little behind me with two six packs, don’t ask how he was our age.

We were all out in the parking lot talking when another friend pulled up her name was Bonnie. We decided to go down to the local park to party, I had to go back to my house to pick up our party supplies it was right on the way.

We got to the park with Box in the lead car, and Bonnie behind me. Box lead us to the very back of the park. It was a baseball field at the end, but only one light lit the parking lot. Then box said follow me, we pulled all the way down to where the parking lot ended and made a left turn into a road that didn’t seem to be a road but took us around to the back of the baseball field.

We turned the cars around for easy exit. Box brought his car to a stop, and got out and so did all of us, Box said no one can see us back here if they pull in, meaning park rangers. To our left was the baseball field, to the right was thick brush.

By this time it was about 11:45PM, and we broke out the beer and weed. We had broke into three groups standing by the cars, were having a good time, laughing and talking, smoking and drinking.

Some time had passed, it was maybe 12:45 or 1AM I’m not sure, I was high on the weed and tipsy from the beer, the music had stopped and was switching to the next song, when I heard what I thought was the crackle of brush under someones feet, like walking, and it seems everyone heard the noise, everyone stopped talking, looking in the direction of the noise and around at each other.

The music had resume playing, so I reached over and turned it down. With everyone still looking in the direction of the noise and seeing nothing, we heard that crackle again.

With not another word being said everyone broke for a car. I yelled everybody not in a car is gonna get left. I got into my car started it up and sped off looking calling roll-call Virginia, Jennifer, Darrel? I heard were here! Okay I got who I brought.

Looking in the rear view to see if I could spot Box’s and Bonnie’s cars. I did see Box’s car behind mine, but I didn’t see Bonnie’s car. We pulled up to my house, Sherl and Lila were with Box, but where was Bonnie? I ask Box if he saw Bonnie’s car behind him when we took off. He said he saw her lights come on and then went off. I asked if anyone have Bonnie’s cell, Sherl said she did and would text her to see if she was okay.

We went into my house and continued to party. Sherl said Bonnie was not answering the text, and when she called someone answered the phone but didn’t say anything and just hung up the phone. She said she would call her tomorrow.

It was 3AM and we were so stoned we started falling asleep. We lived in the same neighborhood so Box Volunteered to drop everyone off. We said our good nights, they left and I went to bed.

Later the next morning around 8AM my phone rang it was Sherl saying she had been texting me sense 7AM, I was still loaded from the party, I said what’s up? Just then she said Bonnie’s missing, and her phone says she is out of the area, her mom ask me if I had seen her, so I told her we were together in the park and that was the last time I saw her, has called the police, her car was found at the park where we were last night, with her backpack and phone in it, and her mom and dad are going bat shit crazy.

After that night Bonnie was never seen or heard from again. There was an investigation but Bonnie was never found. Her a bouts are still unknown. We never went back to that park after dark.

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A while back I met a very classy sexy beautiful older woman, lets call her Jane. We had several dates that I thought went very well, but every-time I dropped her off and tried to come for a nightcap she refused. She said she was not ready to take our relationship to the next level. Something about her just made me want her more and more.

After one of our dates she told me she wanted to put things on hold. That it wasn’t me it was her. That made me furious, so I decided to do something that I now realize i shouldn’t have done but! ! dabbled in black magic, I had obtained books, different items etc. I had been doing some rituals for some period of time.

On one of our dates, I had managed to get a strand of her hair. She had excused herself to go to the ladies room after we had eaten dinner. And there it was, a strand of her hair just laying there on the back of her chair, so I picked it up and folded it up up in one of the table napkins. I’m not sure what I was thinking when I did that.

It had been a week or so since we had last spoke. So I decided to do a ritual to bind her to me. I took a glass jar, tied our two pieces of hair together, I did a binding ritual, put the two pieces of hair in the jar and sealed the jar closed with candle wax, and waited.

The next day I had to go outta town on personal business. But I didn’t have to wait long for the results of the ritual. The next day she called and said she found herself missing talking to me and wanted to get together for another date.

Two days later I returned to town and called her. We arranged to meet for dinner and drinks at 8PM at a restaurant near my loft, which was different from our usual dates where I would go and pick her up.

That night was great. After dinner as I was getting the check she said “how about we go to your place for a night cap” I was elated, from this point I could tell my ritual was working. That night we talked, had more drinks and made love. It was everything I thought it would be.

After several months my dream relationship with Jane developed into a nightmare. Jane had started to get very jealous over little things. If we were out in public and I looked around Jane would accuse me of looking at another woman. She had said that I wanted someone younger now that we were sleeping together. I tried to convince her that, that wasn’t the case.

Jane begin following me. When I had meetings outside the office I would catch a glimpse of what I thought was her car following me. I would call her cell and ask did I just see your car at such and such a place, and she would say nope that must be your other woman.

As time went on our relationship just got worse and worse, so I decided to break the ritual jar and hopefully break the binding spell. Don’t get me wrong I wanted to continue with the relationship just not like this. We had been together now for sometime so I thought that by ending the spell we would just continue to see each other just without the jealousy. Boy was I wrong.

About two days after breaking the jar, I had not heard from Jane so I decided to give her a call. She seemed upset so I ask “what’s wrong” she answered “you know what you did”. Okay now at this point I was thinking “there’s no way she knew what I had done” so I asked “what did I do”? and she just hung-up on me.

Two days later Jane called me sounding very happy, ask me how was I and If I would like to get together on the next day for dinner. Now by this time I thought the storm had passed, so I said “yes that sounds great” so again we agreed to meet at the restaurant near my loft for dinner and drinks.

The next day came and I was excited about having dinner with Jane. We had agreed to meet at the restaurant about 8PM, she called me that afternoon to tell me she would be running a little late about fifteen minuets because of work. I said “fine see you there”.

I was leaving work at around 5:30 and I saw what looked like Jane’s car again, but I thought that couldn’t be her car, so I blew It off. I did the 3S’s when I got home. Shower, Shit and Shaved. So I was good to go. It was about 8pm when I left my loft on the way to the restaurant it was only about 5 minuets away. I parked and went inside the restaurant asking for a table for two and let the Maître d‘ know I was expecting a date..

As I sat down I saw Jane coming through the door. She spotted me and told the Maître d‘ that she was with me. She had a big smile on her face as she got to the table. I got up to pull her chair out, and asking her “how are you”? She responded “I’m great and you”? I responded “I’m good”.

We had a great meal and great conversation. It was as if no argument or anything had happen. We finished up and I asked for the check. We were on our way out of the door and again she said “how about we go to your place for a night cap” I said “meet you there”.

That night Jane and I made love like it was the first time. Later As we lay there she said in a sweet low voice “I love you, I can’t see myself longing for anyone but you”, I was surprised by the statement and speechless. There was a long moment of awkward silence. You see as much as I wanted Jane in the beginning, I mean doing a ritual and all of that, but the truth was I wasn’t in love with her, we were just dating.

I sat up on the side of the bed looking out of the window next to the bed. She asked me “did you hear what I said”? I responded “yes of coarse I did” and again there was that awkward silence. “Well” she said “aren’t you going to say something”? “Don’t you love me”? I didn’t know what to say or do at that point. Without turning around to face her I said slowly “Jane, I’m very fond of you but”. She cut me off at that point, “but you don’t love me”.

Sitting in silence, Jane rose up and started to gather her things. I said “Jane you don’t have to leave” she didn’t respond. She stepped into the bathroom and closed the door, and I heard the shower start. She came out and got dressed without saying a word. Once she was done she went downstairs into the main part of the loft where she was gathering the rest of her things. I put on my clothes and went downstairs behind her again I said “Jane you don’t have to leave”.

I didn’t know what to say or do at this point, I was just standing there waiting for her to maybe say something. She laid her coat down and started looking for something in her purse, I thought she was looking for her car keys. I turned to reach for my keys as I said “give me a minuet I will walk you out”.

As I was unlocking the door I heard a “click” now anyone that has been around guns, which I have knows the sound of a revolver when you pull back the hammer. I swung around to see myself facing down a chrome plated snub nose 38. I calmly said “Jane what are you doing, you don’t want to do this”.

Jane responded “so you don’t love me”? I turned to move out the front door when I heard a loud “pop” and felt a burning sensation on my right upper-arm, then I heard another “pop”.

I ran out the front door and right into my neighbor across the hall he was just arriving home, and just happen to be a police officer. He already had his gun out saying “freeze” I moved slowly to the side back against the wall so that he wouldn’t shoot me. I said “shes trying to kill me”.

He moved slowly into the loft, and I heard him say “mam put the gun down turn around and put your hands behind your back and don’t move”. By that time another officer had arrived who was with my neighbor. A few minuets later the paramedics arrived.

Jane was taken into custody without incident. I was taken to the hospital, turned out my wound was just a graze, the second shot had missed me all together, but where the bullet landed, investigators determine that Jane was aiming for my head but missed.

Jane was charged with attempted murder and received 10 years.

To this day I still practice my magic, but no more binding spells for me.

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Who Was Miss Susie?

Miss Susie was not just any ordinary person. She was known as the neighborhood Babysitter. She resided in a charming old house that whispered stories from the past. This house was known for its creaky floors, rustic charm, and, of course, the mysterious presence that haunted its staircase. As a kid I was once one of those children and I can tell you, standing at the base of the stairs you could sometimes hear the the sound of the creaky stairs as if someone was walking down the stairs.

The Ghost on the Staircase

The staircase in Miss Susie’s home wasn’t just a passageway between floors; it was a living part of the house’s history. Many have claimed to see a ghostly figure gliding down the steps. They say it felt like stepping into a scene from a classic ghost story. Picture this: dim light, the sound of soft footsteps, and the chill of the air. This gives the staircase an eerie yet fascinating reputation.

Stories from the Neighbors

Neighbors have shared numerous accounts of encounters with the staircase ghost. Some say they’ve seen a woman in white, her dress flowing as if caught in a gentle breeze. Others talk about hearing soft whispers or feeling a sudden cold draft that sends shivers down their spine. These stories aren’t just fabricated tales; they’ve been passed down through generations, adding layers to the home’s rich history.

What Could the Ghost Want?

Everyone wonders why spirits linger in certain places. The staircase ghost isn’t different. Some believe she may have been searching for something lost long ago, while others think she’s simply watching over the house. Imagine a grandparent keeping a loving eye on their family, ensuring safety, even from the afterlife. Miss Susie once said she believed someone may have left money somewhere under the staircase.

The Impact on Miss Susie

For Miss Susie, the ghost wasn’t a source of fear; rather, it was as if she was part of the family. It’s like having a quirky roommate who keeps to themselves but still makes their presence known. Sometimes, Miss Susie even talked to her. Who wouldn’t? After all, life is full of surprises, and having a ghost in the house is one of the most unexpected twists!

Visitors and Their Reactions

People often visit the lot where Miss Susie’s house once stood out of curiosity. The staircase ghost draws thrill-seekers and believers alike. Some come armed with cameras, hoping to capture the unexplainable. Others simply want to feel the thrill of where a ghost once said to reside. It’s like a mini-adventure, a taste of the unknown.

The Legacy of the Staircase Ghost

The staircase ghost has gained a life of her own, becoming a local legend. She symbolizes the mystery of life and death, reminding everyone of the stories that linger in old homes. Just like a favorite book, her tale is one that gets better with time, captivating anyone who hears it.

Final Thoughts

Miss Susie is gone now and where the house stood is now a vacant lot. Some say you can still hear whispers of history and mystery in the wind. The ghost who haunted it added a unique touch to the home, weaving a story that encompasses love, loss, and the unbreakable bonds of family. So, the next time you hear about Miss Susie and her staircase ghost, remember: some tales are meant to be shared, and some spirits are meant to linger.

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Early Morning Fishing Trip

My dad always told me that the best time to go fishing is early in the morning. And he was right! We would always catch a bunch of fish to last us a few days and share with our neighbors.

Setting Up Camp

One cool Saturday morning in September, my dad, my friend Anthony, and I headed to the lake at 4 AM. It took us about half an hour to get there. When we arrived at the lake around 4:45 AM, we found a secluded spot to set up camp for the day.

Unloading the Car

Before Anthony and I could run off into the woods, my dad stopped us and asked for help unloading the car. We took out the flashlights, snacks, radio, lawn chairs, fishing rods, and bait. My dad set up his rods while asking if we wanted to stay there or find another spot.

Finding a Spot

Anthony and I decided to find another spot. We grabbed some sandwiches, bait, and fishing poles. We walked along the bank of the lake until we found a shady spot to set up our lines.

Exploring the Area

As the day went on, my dad caught five trout while Anthony and I had no luck. We decided to take a break from fishing and go exploring. The brush around the lake was pretty thick with trails all through it. As we where walking through the trails we came upon a stream about 60 or so feet wide, running from so other part of the lake. We started playing a game of skipping rocks until Anthony spotted something floating in the stream

Discovery of a Dead Cat

As it got closer we could tell it was some type of furry animal. As it floated close to the bank of the stream Anthony grabbed a long tree limb and tried to steer it closer to the bank. He managed to pull it close enough to the bank so that it was partially out of the water. Anthony kept picking away at the animal turning it over until we could tell it was a dead cat. The eerie thing about the cat is that it’s dead eyes where wide-open. I’m not sure how long we had been gone, it was starting to get dark and I knew my father would be ready to leave soon so we decided to head back to camp.

Encounter with Glowing Eyes

As we were walking back through the small trail, Anthony was walking behind me and said “I heard something”. I said “we’re on a creepy trail its getting dark of course you heard something” trying to make a joke to mask my sudden fear. We had both stopped and was looking back. I quickly said there’s nothing back there lets keep going.

We kept walking, a little further and faster, when we both heard something behind us and stopped suddenly looking back behind us. There in the brush was two pair of glowing red eyes staring back at us. I shined my flashlight in the direction of the red eyes it was the dead cat and he had a friend it was a dog just standing there. We took off running, after running about ten feet almost reaching camp we looked back and there was nothing chasing us.

When we reached the camp we told my father what had happen, he just laughed and said “it was probably just some wild animal”. Anthony and I just looked at each other we knew better. It was a spooky experience we would never forget.

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Hey guys, so I’m a student at this really old prestigious university and I never used to believe in ghosts or anything like that. But let me tell you about my dorm room experience. I’ve been living in this dorm for about a year now and some weird stuff has been happening.

I’ve come back from class a few times to find my computer desk moved in front of my door and my laptop on the floor. Like, how did that even happen? And my stuff keeps getting moved around when I’m not even there. It’s super creepy because I always lock my door and I live on the second floor.

I’ve been having trouble sleeping and feeling sick when I’m alone in the room. I’ve been having these scary nightmares and sometimes I wake up feeling like someone is watching me. One time, I swear I felt someone touching me while I was sleeping.

I talked to my old roommate who used to live in the dorm before me and he said he experienced some weird stuff too. Then he dropped a bombshell on me – apparently, a student died in the room a few years ago under suspicious circumstances. And the university never told me about it!

After hearing that, I asked to move to a different dorm room. The lady at the front desk said they can’t seem to keep that room occupied. Yikes! I’m definitely not staying there any longer.

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Legend has it, that the train tracks out on Shane Road, like many ghost stories, starts with a tragic accident. According to locals, a school bus full of children stalled out on these tracks and a train plowed through them, killing everyone except the teacher. Overcome with grief, she came back out to the spot the next day to wait for another train to take her life as well.

As the woman sat in her parked car on the tracks, a mysterious force began pushing it uphill to safety. Once the movement stopped, the teacher got out of the car – and found children’s hand prints on her dusty back bumper and trunk. Supposedly, anyone stalled on the tracks will be saved by the ghostly children as well.

So anyway the year was 1975 the crew and I had been to the ghost tracks many times before, but this trip was different and stopped us from going ever again.

It was a clear cool Halloween night. I left the house about ten PM to pick up the gang. There was first my girl Pamela, my buddy Leroy then there was Lillie and Tyshawn.

We stopped at regular store stop to pick up some provisions and powder to dust the truck of the car. At about 11:30PM we made a right turn onto Shane road and unlike any other time an eerie feeling came over me.

I steered the car half way down Shane road and up to the tracks my buddy and I got out of the car to sprinkle the powder on the truck and bumper of the car as usual so we can search for finger prints afterwards.

My buddy and I got back in the car, I announced ok folks here we go. I pulled the car up on the tracks and came to a stop, put the car in neutral and cut off the car lights and engine. It was very quite. We waited for what seemed to be a longer then usual time for the car to start moving, but it didn’t.

Suddenly a mysterious fog begin to engulf the car. One of the young ladies from the rear seat whispered what the hell is going on? No one responded. We sat there for another minute or so as the fog begin to thicken it was getting hard to see, and my buddy said I got a bad feeling about this, lets not wait any longer lets go. Everyone agreed that this was enough for the night.

I put the car back in park and proceeded to start the car. Realizing my worse fears the car simply clicked, I made sure to car was in park and tried again, nothing. I also tried to turn on the car lights but they wouldn’t come on.

Suddenly there was a loud whistle that sounded remarkably like a train. I remember thinking no this can’t be. About that time we heard another train whistle but this time it sounded a hell of a lot closer. I was looked to my right and to my left when my buddy yelled a TRAIN!

Looking back to my right I could see a bright light on the track barreling down on us, I again tried to start the car, it wouldn’t start. Hearing the train whistle getting louder and the train light moving toward us at a fast pace, I yelled EVERYBODY OUT! I was thinking we could push the car our-self’s but the car doors wouldn’t open, none of the car doors would open. I yelled WHAT THE HELL?

We weren’t sure how close the train was in the dark thick fog. Setting there in pure fright I kept trying to start the car. Then my buddy yelled PUT THE CAR IN NEUTRAL! I yelled WHAT? again he yelled PUT THE CAR IN BACK IN NEUTRAL!

So just setting there, the car wouldn’t start, doors wouldn’t open, hell the windows wouldn’t even let down. I slammed the car gear back into neutral. The train whistle getting louder and louder the train light moving closer, the car begin to very slowly move forward inching over the tracks little by little up over the top and down the other side.

As the car started to roll down the other side of the tracks I steered the car to the right and we costed a little further and rolled to a stop.

At that point the car lights came on. A voice whispered from the rear seat said where’s the train? There’s no train on the tracks. The train whistle had stopped and the train lights were gone as well.

As the fog begin to clear I put the car in park and the car started by itself, with no problem and we sped outta there.

Talking and driving, we didn’t stop to check for prints until we got back to our store at the corner of Pecan Valley and Rigsby. Everyone got out of the car to see if we had our print evidence, and there they were, little prints on each side of the trunk and bumper.

My buddy yelled LOOK! and there in the middle of the trunk where two very strange looking, very very large hand prints with long skinny fingers. Not a kids hand print and not human!

As I said this trip was different, and stopped me from going ever again. Ghost fog, ghost train, ghost kids and strange hand prints. I haven’t returned to the ghost tracks to this day and never will.

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In the dimly lit corners of retro gaming lore, the name Polybius evokes a shiver of unease. Legend has it that this arcade cabinet, which supposedly appeared in the suburbs of Portland during the early 1980s, was no ordinary game. Some say it was a tantalizing blend of mesmerizing graphics and hypnotic sounds, designed to entrall players and lure them into its pixelated depths. But beneath the neon facade lay a darker truth; whispers of sinister government experiments tainted the air, hinting at a nebulous connection to mind control.

As you lean closer, imagine the players who lined up to test their skills—each of them unaware of the nightmarish fate that awaited. Reports trickled out of the arcade, tales of seizures, amnesia, and a disturbing sense of dread that washed over those who dared to play. With each session, they became increasingly entranced, ultimately drawn into the very fabric of the game’s code, like moths to a flame. Did they vanish into another dimension, or were they merely victims of an elaborate psychological ploy?

The legend grew, intertwined with urban myths and half-remembered anecdotes, feeding a collective curiosity that refuses to fade. Even now, as you sit alone in the stillness of night, allow the question to linger: Was Polybius merely fiction, or does something more sinister reside just beyond the glow of your screen? As you ponder the unknown, remember—some legends are meant to remain shrouded in mystery, forever watching from the shadows.

The first time I heard about the legend of Polybius, it was whispered between friends over a flickering campfire, the flames casting eerie shadows across our faces. We were huddled close, exchanging stories that made our skin prickle and our hearts race. As the tale unfolded, dread seeped into the air, thick and heavy. Polybius, they said, was no ordinary arcade game. It was rumored to be a government experiment, a sinister creation released in the early 1980s, designed to manipulate the psyche of those who dared to play it.

My curiosity spiked as the fire crackled. The game, they claimed, had bright, hypnotic colors and a mesmerizing soundtrack that lured players into a trance. Stories spoke of its addictive nature, a siren’s call to those who found themselves drawn to the glowing screens in dimly lit arcades. I listened intently as my companions described how players would emerge altered, their minds labyrinthine mazes of thoughts unrecognizable, haunted by ceaseless visions that blurred the line between reality and the digital construct.

The legend took a darker turn as they spoke of the inexplicable disappearances associated with Polybius. Gamers, entranced by their high scores and the game’s relentless difficulty, vanished without a trace. Each anecdote layered onto the last until they formed a sinister tapestry of apparent madness, anxiety, and despair. It wasn’t merely a game; it was an entity, a malignant force that thrived on players’ fears and weaknesses. Some said it was the embodiment of addiction itself, while others speculated that the government had infused it with nefarious technology, monitoring behavior and twisting minds for a grander, sinister plan.

As the night deepened, a chill clawed its way up my spine. I felt an inexplicable urge to seek out this game, to experience its allure for myself. Driven by the thrill of potential madness and dark fascination, I resolved to find an arcade, one that still housed this infamous relic. My friends warned me against it, their voices low and trembling, but I was drawn in like a moth to a flame—obsessed with the desire to uncover the truth behind the legend of Polybius.

Days turned into a fevered search, and at last, I located a dusty, forgotten arcade tucked into a corner of the city. The air inside was stale, almost suffocating, as if time itself had paused in the presence of the ominous machines. In the farthest corner, lit only by the pale glow of a flickering screen, sat Polybius. I could feel its pull, tangible and electric, as I approached and placed a quarter in the slot.

As the game began, I lost myself in the kaleidoscope of colors and sounds. It was exhilarating yet unsettling. Minutes turned into hours, and with each level I conquered, a strange sensation swirled within me—a mix of euphoria and unease. My heart raced as I became aware of shadowy figures in the corner of my eye, lurking just out of sight. The laughter of my friends faded, replaced by a haunting melody. Something was watching me. Something was waiting.

I don’t know how long I played. An eternity, perhaps. But when I finally emerged, the world seemed altered, cloaked in a smothering cloak of dread that wasn’t there before. I glanced over my shoulder, half-expecting to find the arcade and its dark secrets waiting to drag me back into the depths. I had embraced the legend of Polybius, and it was not ready to let go. What had I become? What had I unleashed? In the shadows, the whispers grew louder, echoing the faint spark of madness that lingered just beneath the surface of my mind.

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The Boogey-Woman Of Broward County: Unmasking the Legend

Who is the Boogey-Woman?

Broward County has its fair share of urban legends, but none quite capture the imagination like the Boogey-Woman. This figure, often woven into local lore, has scared children and intrigued adults for generations. But who is she, really? Is she just a story, or is there something more?

The Boogey-Woman of Broward County

Missing my bus from the concert one Saturday night, I found myself walking alone in the dark on a residential street. I suddenly hear footsteps approaching. As I turn to see what or who was behind me, a woman with a misshapen face appears. Terrified beyond words I turn to run.

The Origins of the Legend

The Boogey-Woman isn’t just a tale told around campfires. Her origins are murky, blending facts and folklore. Some say she started as a warning for kids to behave; a way to keep them from wandering too far from home. Others believe her story draws from real events that became exaggerated over time. The dark shadows of Broward County’s history add layers to her tale.

Why Does She Scare Us?

The Boogey-Woman is more than a figure; she symbolizes our fears. What’s scarier than the unknown? This creepy character preys on our imaginations. Kids hear stories about her lurking in the woods or peeking through windows. These tales feed anxiety, tapping into the natural human fear of what we can’t see. It’s like seeing a shadow in the corner of your eye and wondering if it’s just your imagination.

Modern Interpretations

In today’s world, the Boogey-Woman transforms with technology. Stories spread quickly through social media, keeping her legend alive and evolving. Where once tales were told in person, now they’re shared in videos, memes, and beyond. This modern approach keeps her relevant, drawing in new admirers and fearful listeners alike.

The Boogey-Woman in Pop Culture

Movies, books, and TV shows often borrow elements from the Boogey-Woman mythos. She’s the ultimate antagonist, representing everything dark and scary. Filmmakers use her to tap into our primal fears, tying her to themes of vulnerability and danger. Characters either confront her or fall victim, mirroring how we handle fear in our own lives.

Lessons from the Legend

While she embodies fear, the Boogey-Woman also teaches valuable lessons. Stories like hers remind us to stay close to community. They encourage open communication and awareness. When kids hear her tale, it’s not just about fear; it’s about understanding boundaries and knowing the importance of sticking together, especially in the face of uncertainty.

Conclusion: Embracing the Mystery

The Boogey-Woman of Broward County will continue to haunt our minds and our stories. Whether she’s a cautionary tale or just an urban myth, her impact on the community is undeniable. Embrace her mystery, and who knows? You might just find a piece of yourself within the shadows. After all, legends remind us that stories can both terrify and unite us as we navigate the unknown together.

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In the heart of Bexar County, Texas, lies a mysterious legend that has captivated the imaginations of locals for generations. The Legend of the Converse Werewolf is a tale that has been passed down through the years, with whispers of a creature that lurks in the shadows of the small town of Converse.

According to local lore, the Converse Werewolf is said to be a supernatural being that takes the form of a half-man, half-wolf creature. It is said to roam the outskirts of town, preying on unsuspecting victims who dare to venture out at night. Some claim to have heard its chilling howls in the dead of night, while others swear to have seen its glowing, yellow eyes peering out from the darkness.

The origins of the Converse Werewolf date back to the early settlers of the region, who spoke of a curse that was placed upon the land by a vengeful witch. Legend has it that the witch, betrayed by the townspeople, called upon dark forces to exact her revenge. In doing so, she cursed the land, creating the monstrous creature that would come to be known as the Converse Werewolf.

While many dismiss the legend as mere superstition, others believe that there may be some truth to the tales. Some locals claim to have encountered the creature themselves, recounting harrowing tales of narrow escapes and eerie encounters. Skeptics point to the lack of concrete evidence as proof that the legend is nothing more than a fanciful story.

Despite the skepticism, the legend of the Converse Werewolf continues to endure, passed down from generation to generation as a cautionary tale of the dangers that lurk in the shadows. Whether fact or fiction, the legend of the Converse Werewolf serves as a reminder that sometimes, the things that go bump in the night may be more than just figments of our imagination.

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Chain mail, a form of superstitious message that has been circulating for years, has been causing panic and fear among individuals who receive them. These messages often claim that if the receiver does not forward the message to a certain number of people within a specified time frame, something bad will happen to them. Despite the lack of concrete evidence to support these claims, many people still fall victim to the fear-mongering tactics employed by these chain messages.

One such story that has been circulating involves a girl who was pushed into a sewer by her peers and suffered severe injuries as a result. The girls responsible for the incident falsely claimed that the victim had simply tripped and fallen, leading to a lack of accountability for their actions. However, the victim allegedly returned to seek vengeance on her tormentors, resulting in a chilling series of events that left many in shock.

Another story tells of a boy named David who received a chain mail message but disregarded it, only to later disappear without a trace. The message seemed to foretell his fate, leading many to speculate about the connection between the chain mail and his mysterious disappearance. While no concrete evidence linking the two has been found, the fear instilled in those who receive these messages is undeniable. See below!

# # #

“Hello, I am Carmen Winstead, I am 17 years old. Did I mention that I am dead?

Once you have started reading, don’ t stop or you will have bad luck until the day you die.

A few years ago, a group of girls pushed me down a sewer to embarrass me. When I didn’t come up, the police came and the girls told them that I tripped and fell. Everybody believed them. By the time I had reached the hospital, I had a fractured neck, 4 leg injuries and a torn-off face.

That same day, the same girls decided to have a sleepover. At 3AM, I walked into their room and silently stared. One girl woke up and was about to sleep, so I killed her, before killing her friends.

A boy named david received this message. He just laughed and deleted the message. That night while he was showering, he heard laughter – my laughter.

The next day when his mom came to wake him up for school, he was gone. There was a note on his bed that seemed to be written in his own blood that said, “YOU WILL NEVER SEE HIM AGAIN.” No one has found him since as he is with me.

A girl named Kate received this message and immediately sent it to 25 people, 10 more than needed. To this day, I watch over her and her loved ones and protect them from danger.

Send this message to 15 people by the end of these 24 hours. Your time starts….

NOW!

There are consequences to every action: You will be killed: You will see me but not die: You will feel something on you at 3AM: You are safe.”

# # #

Despite the ominous nature of these chain mail messages, there are those who choose to forward them in the hopes of warding off bad luck or harm. One such individual named Kate forwarded the message to more people than required, leading to a sense of protection and security for herself and her loved ones. While the validity of these claims remains highly questionable, the fear and paranoia generated by chain mail messages continue to persist.

In conclusion, it is important for individuals to approach chain mail messages with skepticism and critical thinking. While the stories may be compelling and the consequences dire, there is often little to no evidence to support the claims made in these messages. By resisting the urge to succumb to fear and superstition, individuals can avoid falling prey to the manipulative tactics employed by chain mail messages. Remember, the power of critical thinking and rationality is far more potent than the fear generated by superstitious beliefs. Stay safe, stay informed, and beware chain mail.

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A School Story

Two men in a smoking-room were talking of their private-school days. ‘At our school,’ said A., ‘we had a ghost’s footmark on the staircase. What was it like? Oh, very unconvincing. Just the shape of a shoe, with a square toe, if I remember right. The staircase was a stone one. I never heard any story about the thing. That seems odd, when you come to think of it. Why didn’t somebody invent one, I wonder?’

‘You never can tell with little boys. They have a mythology of their own. There’s a subject for you, by the way —“The Folklore of Private Schools”.’

‘Yes; the crop is rather scanty, though. I imagine, if you were to investigate the cycle of ghost stories, for instance, which the boys at private schools tell each other, they would all turn out to be highly-compressed versions of stories out of books.’

‘Nowadays the Strand and Pearson’s, and so on, would be extensively drawn upon.’

‘No doubt: they weren’t born or thought of in my time. Let’s see. I wonder if I can remember the staple ones that I was told. First, there was the house with a room in which a series of people insisted on passing a night; and each of them in the morning was found kneeling in a corner, and had just time to say, “I’ve seen it,” and died.’

‘Wasn’t that the house in Berkeley Square?’

‘I dare say it was. Then there was the man who heard a noise in the passage at night, opened his door, and saw someone crawling towards him on all fours with his eye hanging out on his cheek. There was besides, let me think — Yes! the room where a man was found dead in bed with a horseshoe mark on his forehead, and the floor under the bed was covered with marks of horseshoes also; I don’t know why. Also there was the lady who, on locking her bedroom door in a strange house, heard a thin voice among the bed-curtains say, “Now we’re shut in for the night.” None of those had any explanation or sequel. I wonder if they go on still, those stories.’

‘Oh, likely enough — with additions from the magazines, as I said. You never heard, did you, of a real ghost at a private school? I thought not; nobody has that ever I came across.’

‘From the way in which you said that, I gather that you have.’

‘I really don’t know; but this is what was in my mind. It happened at my private school thirty odd years ago, and I haven’t any explanation of it.

‘The school I mean was near London. It was established in a large and fairly old house — a great white building with very fine grounds about it; there were large cedars in the garden, as there are in so many of the older gardens in the Thames valley, and ancient elms in the three or four fields which we used for our games. I think probably it was quite an attractive place, but boys seldom allow that their schools possess any tolerable features.

‘I came to the school in a September, soon after the year 1870; and among the boys who arrived on the same day was one whom I took to: a Highland boy, whom I will call McLeod. I needn’t spend time in describing him: the main thing is that I got to know him very well. He was not an exceptional boy in any way — not particularly good at books or games — but he suited me.

‘The school was a large one: there must have been from 120 to 130 boys there as a rule, and so a considerable staff of masters was required, and there were rather frequent changes among them.

‘One term — perhaps it was my third or fourth — a new master made his appearance. His name was Sampson. He was a tallish, stoutish, pale, black-bearded man. I think we liked him: he had travelled a good deal, and had stories which amused us on our school walks, so that there was some competition among us to get within earshot of him. I remember too — dear me, I have hardly thought of it since then!— that he had a charm on his watch-chain that attracted my attention one day, and he let me examine it. It was, I now suppose, a gold Byzantine coin; there was an effigy of some absurd emperor on one side; the other side had been worn practically smooth, and he had had cut on it — rather barbarously — his own initials, G.W.S., and a date, 24 July, 1865. Yes, I can see it now: he told me he had picked it up in Constantinople: it was about the size of a florin, perhaps rather smaller.

‘Well, the first odd thing that happened was this. Sampson was doing Latin grammar with us. One of his favourite methods — perhaps it is rather a good one — was to make us construct sentences out of our own heads to illustrate the rules he was trying to make us learn. Of course that is a thing which gives a silly boy a chance of being impertinent: there are lots of school stories in which that happens — or anyhow there might be. But Sampson was too good a disciplinarian for us to think of trying that on with him. Now, on this occasion he was telling us how to express remembering in Latin: and he ordered us each to make a sentence bringing in the verb memini, “I remember.” Well, most of us made up some ordinary sentence such as “I remember my father,” or “He remembers his book,” or something equally uninteresting: and I dare say a good many put down memino librum meum, and so forth: but the boy I mentioned — McLeod — was evidently thinking of something more elaborate than that. The rest of us wanted to have our sentences passed, and get on to something else, so some kicked him under the desk, and I, who was next to him, poked him and whispered to him to look sharp. But he didn’t seem to attend. I looked at his paper and saw he had put down nothing at all. So I jogged him again harder than before and upbraided him sharply for keeping us all waiting. That did have some effect. He started and seemed to wake up, and then very quickly he scribbled about a couple of lines on his paper, and showed it up with the rest. As it was the last, or nearly the last, to come in, and as Sampson had a good deal to say to the boys who had written meminiscimus patri meo and the rest of it, it turned out that the clock struck twelve before he had got to McLeod, and McLeod had to wait afterwards to have his sentence corrected. There was nothing much going on outside when I got out, so I waited for him to come. He came very slowly when he did arrive, and I guessed there had been some sort of trouble. “Well,” I said, “what did you get?” “Oh, I don’t know,” said McLeod, “nothing much: but I think Sampson’s rather sick with me.” “Why, did you show him up some rot?” “No fear,” he said. “It was all right as far as I could see: it was like this: Memento — that’s right enough for remember, and it takes a genitive,— memento putei inter quatuor taxos.” “What silly rot!” I said. “What made you shove that down? What does it mean?” “That’s the funny part,” said McLeod. “I’m not quite sure what it does mean. All I know is, it just came into my head and I corked it down. I know what I think it means, because just before I wrote it down I had a sort of picture of it in my head: I believe it means ‘Remember the well among the four’— what are those dark sort of trees that have red berries on them?” “Mountain ashes, I s’pose you mean.” “I never heard of them,” said McLeod; “no, I’ll tell you — yews.” “Well, and what did Sampson say?” “Why, he was jolly odd about it. When he read it he got up and went to the mantelpiece and stopped quite a long time without saying anything, with his back to me. And then he said, without turning round, and rather quiet, ‘What do you suppose that means?’ I told him what I thought; only I couldn’t remember the name of the silly tree: and then he wanted to know why I put it down, and I had to say something or other. And after that he left off talking about it, and asked me how long I’d been here, and where my people lived, and things like that: and then I came away: but he wasn’t looking a bit well.”

‘I don’t remember any more that was said by either of us about this. Next day McLeod took to his bed with a chill or something of the kind, and it was a week or more before he was in school again. And as much as a month went by without anything happening that was noticeable. Whether or not Mr Sampson was really startled, as McLeod had thought, he didn’t show it. I am pretty sure, of course, now, that there was something very curious in his past history, but I’m not going to pretend that we boys were sharp enough to guess any such thing.

‘There was one other incident of the same kind as the last which I told you. Several times since that day we had had to make up examples in school to illustrate different rules, but there had never been any row except when we did them wrong. At last there came a day when we were going through those dismal things which people call Conditional Sentences, and we were told to make a conditional sentence, expressing a future consequence. We did it, right or wrong, and showed up our bits of paper, and Sampson began looking through them. All at once he got up, made some odd sort of noise in his throat, and rushed out by a door that was just by his desk. We sat there for a minute or two, and then — I suppose it was incorrect — but we went up, I and one or two others, to look at the papers on his desk. Of course I thought someone must have put down some nonsense or other, and Sampson had gone off to report him. All the same, I noticed that he hadn’t taken any of the papers with him when he ran out. Well, the top paper on the desk was written in red ink — which no one used — and it wasn’t in anyone’s hand who was in the class. They all looked at it — McLeod and all — and took their dying oaths that it wasn’t theirs. Then I thought of counting the bits of paper. And of this I made quite certain: that there were seventeen bits of paper on the desk, and sixteen boys in the form. Well, I bagged the extra paper, and kept it, and I believe I have it now. And now you will want to know what was written on it. It was simple enough, and harmless enough, I should have said.

‘“Si tu non veneris ad me, ego veniam ad te,” which means, I suppose, “If you don’t come to me, I’ll come to you.”’

‘Could you show me the paper?’ interrupted the listener.

‘Yes, I could: but there’s another odd thing about it. That same afternoon I took it out of my locker — I know for certain it was the same bit, for I made a finger-mark on it — and no single trace of writing of any kind was there on it. I kept it, as I said, and since that time I have tried various experiments to see whether sympathetic ink had been used, but absolutely without result.

‘So much for that. After about half an hour Sampson looked in again: said he had felt very unwell, and told us we might go. He came rather gingerly to his desk and gave just one look at the uppermost paper: and I suppose he thought he must have been dreaming: anyhow, he asked no questions.

‘That day was a half-holiday, and next day Sampson was in school again, much as usual. That night the third and last incident in my story happened.

‘We — McLeod and I— slept in a dormitory at right angles to the main building. Sampson slept in the main building on the first floor. There was a very bright full moon. At an hour which I can’t tell exactly, but some time between one and two, I was woken up by somebody shaking me. It was McLeod; and a nice state of mind he seemed to be in. “Come,” he said,—“come! there’s a burglar getting in through Sampson’s window.” As soon as I could speak, I said, “Well, why not call out and wake everybody up?” “No, no,” he said, “I’m not sure who it is: don’t make a row: come and look.” Naturally I came and looked, and naturally there was no one there. I was cross enough, and should have called McLeod plenty of names: only — I couldn’t tell why — it seemed to me that there was something wrong — something that made me very glad I wasn’t alone to face it. We were still at the window looking out, and as soon as I could, I asked him what he had heard or seen. “I didn’t hear anything at all,” he said, “but about five minutes before I woke you, I found myself looking out of this window here, and there was a man sitting or kneeling on Sampson’s window-sill, and looking in, and I thought he was beckoning.” “What sort of man?” McLeod wriggled. “I don’t know,” he said, “but I can tell you one thing — he was beastly thin: and he looked as if he was wet all over: and,” he said, looking round and whispering as if he hardly liked to hear himself, “I’m not at all sure that he was alive.”

‘We went on talking in whispers some time longer, and eventually crept back to bed. No one else in the room woke or stirred the whole time. I believe we did sleep a bit afterwards, but we were very cheap next day.

‘And next day Mr Sampson was gone: not to be found: and I believe no trace of him has ever come to light since. In thinking it over, one of the oddest things about it all has seemed to me to be the fact that neither McLeod nor I ever mentioned what we had seen to any third person whatever. Of course no questions were asked on the subject, and if they had been, I am inclined to believe that we could not have made any answer: we seemed unable to speak about it.

‘That is my story,’ said the narrator. ‘The only approach to a ghost story connected with a school that I know, but still, I think, an approach to such a thing.’

The sequel to this may perhaps be reckoned highly conventional; but a sequel there is, and so it must be produced. There had been more than one listener to the story, and, in the latter part of that same year, or of the next, one such listener was staying at a country house in Ireland.

One evening his host was turning over a drawer full of odds and ends in the smoking-room. Suddenly he put his hand upon a little box. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘you know about old things; tell me what that is.’ My friend opened the little box, and found in it a thin gold chain with an object attached to it. He glanced at the object and then took off his spectacles to examine it more narrowly. ‘What’s the history of this?’ he asked. ‘Odd enough,’ was the answer. ‘You know the yew thicket in the shrubbery: well, a year or two back we were cleaning out the old well that used to be in the clearing here, and what do you suppose we found?’

‘Is it possible that you found a body?’ said the visitor, with an odd feeling of nervousness.

‘We did that: but what’s more, in every sense of the word, we found two.’

‘Good Heavens! Two? Was there anything to show how they got there? Was this thing found with them?’

‘It was. Amongst the rags of the clothes that were on one of the bodies. A bad business, whatever the story of it may have been. One body had the arms tight round the other. They must have been there thirty years or more — long enough before we came to this place. You may judge we filled the well up fast enough. Do you make anything of what’s cut on that gold coin you have there?’

‘I think I can,’ said my friend, holding it to the light (but he read it without much difficulty); ‘it seems to be G.W.S., 24 July, 1865.’

A School Story by M R James

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