1912. Woodland ghost

Whenever Russell went to stay with his grandmother she would tell him stories. Grandmother never read from a book; her stories were real. They were about things that happened in the old days, like when the river flooded and washed away their woodshed, or how the cat got stuck up a tree and the fire brigade came with a big ladder and rescued the cat.

This time Grandmother told Russell something true but a little scary. It was how a ghost appeared one night to her uncle. Her uncle was now dead, but when he was young he was walking home one evening and suddenly a ghost appeared from behind a tree in the woods. Her uncle got a huge fright, but then he calmed down a bit.

The ghost told him that he was enchained in the afterlife unless he could help a person on earth for a whole year. This was because when on earth the ghost had been mean and selfish, so he had to earn his eternal happiness another way.

Russell’s grandmother’s uncle said he was happy for the ghost to help him for a whole year. So the uncle invited the ghost to stay in his home.

The thing was, the ghost was not a nice ghost. It was a trick he was playing on the uncle, and within a month the uncle had completely disappeared. Just like that. It was suspected that he was murdered by the ghost and then the ghost inhabited the uncle’s body. “My uncle began to act very strange,” Grandmother told Russell. “We knew it wasn’t really him.”

Russell told Grandmother that he didn’t believe in ghosts. “The story can’t be true,” he said. “You made it all up.”

Grandmother assured Russell that it was true and he must be careful when he walks through the woods in the evening.

“Pooh!” said Russell. “It’s nonsense.”

Goodness! It was already evening. Russell would be late for dinner. He took the shortcut home through the woods.

“I like it when history repeats,” smiled Grandmother.

1663. A day too early

(Thanks to Maddie for the starting sentence.)

I woke up at 3:13 a.m. to the sound of persistent scratching that came from the wall above the furnace.

“Too early!” I called out. “You’re a day too early! It’s not Halloween until tomorrow.”

The poltergeist, or whatever it was, took no notice. The scratching continued.

These noises were an annual event. Strange noises appeared every Halloween, but this time they were a day too early. Nor had I ever heard them at night before. The first time it happen I was terrified out of my skin. Now that it’s occurred on Halloween for the last nine years I find it more annoying than anything else. There are footsteps, and a little bit of giggling, the sounds of a boiling kettle whistling and of water flushing, and scratching, scratching, scratching. I have never heard any speaking. It seems that poltergeist don’t like to talk.

And then I heard it! A faint and muffled voice. “Help! Help!” followed by more scratching. “Help! Help!”

“Too early!” I called out again. “You’re a day too early! It’s not Halloween until tomorrow.”

The noises stopped. The call for help faded away. I went back to sleep.

The next morning, quite early, there was a gentle knock on the door. It was a distraught woman. Had I seen her husband? Every year he came to clean my chimney at this time. She remembered because it was always on Halloween. But this year he was two days early because of a daughter’s wedding, and she hadn’t seen him for two days.

1453. The last scream

It was very spooky. Within seconds of Natasha getting wet in the shower (this is at night time) the bathroom light would go off. It started only about a month ago, and occasionally. Now it happened automatically, every time.

“Blow it,” thought Natasha, not as yet equating the event with supranatural causes, “I shall walk dripping wet across the bathroom floor and turn the light back on.” She did just that. But no sooner had she got back into the shower the light went out again.

Next above the sound of water falling, she heard “hee hee hee”. It was a woman’s voice. It was coming from the direction of the light switch. Natasha began to feel scared. The “hee hee hee” had certain nasty overtones.

Natasha stepped immediately out of the shower, strode to the light switch, turned it on and reached for a towel. All the bathroom towels had gone. Not even the usual hand towel was there.

And then she saw it. OMG! She saw it! Natasha screamed. That scream was the last sound ever to come out of Natasha’s mouth.

Hee hee hee!

1448. I don’t believe in ghosts

Sally was as practical as they come. She lived with her partner, Paul, in an isolated cottage fairly deep in the forest. When she moved in with Paul, several years ago, he had warned her that if you’re going to live in such a place you must be immune to the dark and to things that go bump in the night. No good, once nightfall comes, getting worked up in the imagination.

Sally said the warning was unnecessary. “Who do you think I am? Do you think I believe in ghosts?”

Recently of an evening, looking out the window, she saw a spectre, a shape, quietly moving among the trees.

“Paul! Paul!” she called. “Quick! Come and look at this!” But by the time Paul came down the stairs the phantom had gone.

“I’m not sure what I saw,” said Sally. “It obviously wasn’t a ghost, I don’t believe in ghosts, but it certainly was a shape.”

Over the next few weeks, Sally continued to see the spectre. Once, when Paul was there she was looking at it, but Paul said he couldn’t see a thing. Sally started to think she was going nuts.

Things got worse. She became obsessed with the apparition. It was taking over her life. Evening after evening her fear grew.

“I can’t abide it any longer,” said Sally. “I’m leaving.” And she did. She got in her car and drove off to her mother’s in town.

Not long after, Naomi moved in with Paul. They had met several months earlier at Paul’s work, at the Scientific Institute’s Department for the Development of Lasers and Holograms.

861. Face at the window

Roger reckoned he saw a face at the window. He was sitting watching television one evening, and he looked over and saw this horrific face staring at him through the window.

Everyone said he was nuts. It’ll just be a passer-by, someone suggested.  It might be a thief, suggested another. It was a terrible face, said Roger. It was the devil.

Everyone laughed at that. Yeah, right. The devil!

Roger saw the face again, and again. He said the face grew uglier and more terrifying every time he saw it. He was going mad. A friend stayed over, and the face didn’t appear. Then when the friend left, the face appeared.

It’ll just be a passer-by. Just a passer-by. Roger was found blubbering in a corner, whimpering like a sick dog. He never recovered. Just a passer-by.

But it couldn’t have been a passer-by; Roger lived on the forty-seventh floor.

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750. An ordinary Friday

Cosima glanced up at the shelf where she kept her bottles of medicinal pills.

“That’s funny,” she thought. “They’re all empty. There were pills in those bottles yesterday.”

And then she heard it… a faint whimper; more of a pianissimo shriek. It came from behind the…

Oh my God! OH MY GOD! THERE! OH MY GOD!

And to think, the day had started out as an ordinary Friday.

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