Ghost stories

[bluebomber]

Dah-dah-dum-dum-BLAT!
Charlie winced when his wife hit the wrong note on the piano for the thirty-second time that day. He knew it was the thirty-second time because he’d kept count as he went about his daily chores, cleaning the lighthouse, checking the supplies, mending the rowboat.
Charlie blamed himself for his wife's latest obsession. He should never have taken Myrtle to attend the concert when that high-flutin’ concert pianist came to town. But it was a special occasion and everyone they knew was going. So Charlie and Myrtle went too. And Myrtle decided right then and there that what she wanted more than life itself was to play the piano.
Charlie tried to talk her out of it. No one in Myrtle’s family was any good at music. But Myrtle was stubborn. If she couldn’t find a dad-gum way, she’d make one! Before Charlie could count to ten she’d bought a cheap, used piano (that was always out of tune) and hauled it over to the island on her brother Jamie’s fishing boat. From that day on, it was practice, practice, practice. Morning, noon, and night Myrtle sat at the piano with her piano book open, plunking away at the keys. At first, there was not much to hear, and Charlie could ignore the sour sounds. But after a few months, she got better…and a lot worse. There were parts of her song that sounded pretty good; but she never, ever got that one line right.
There was nowhere on the small island that Charlie could go to get away from the sound of the piano, even when he sat in his favorite rocker out in the woodshed with cotton in his ears. Myrtle’s new hobby was the source of much contention between the husband and wife, who had never argued before in their entire lives. Now they argued every day about Myrtle’s piano playing.
“At least try to learn another song,” Charlie begged his wife. But Myrtle was stubborn. “I ain’t going to learn another song until I’ve mastered this one. You’ve got to practice to get better Charlie.” And Myrtle went back to her piano and started playing again. Dah-dah-dum-dum-BLAT/ Dum-dum-BLAT-BLAT-ding.
Things came to a head the day a nor’easter roared down on the island. Charlie and Myrtle were holed up together in the lighthouse hour after hour after hour. Charlie had nothing to do but sit and carve decoy ducks. And Myrtle played the piano. Hour after hour after hour. Around four p.m. Charlie leapt to his feet and shouted at his wife to stop playing the blasted song. Myrtle leapt to her feet and shouted that she was going to practice until she got it right. Something in Charlie snapped. Afterward, he felt bad about the way he chopped up the piano with his axe. After all, it was a valuable instrument. Try as he might, he couldn’t feel bad about doing the same to Myrtle.
Charlie put on his oilskins, took up a shovel and dug a grave out back of the woodshed. He buried all the little pieces of Myrtle with all the little pieces of her piano. He figured she would have wanted it that way. That night, with the nor’easter raging and pounding the island and the lighthouse rattling and shaking wildly in the blast, Charlie got the best sleep he’d had in months. No more piano playing, ever.
After the nor’easter blew itself out, Charlie spent the rest of the day cleaning the blood off the floor and walls of the lighthouse. After that, he did his daily duties and carefully noted in the log-book that Myrtle had been swept out to sea by a huge wave while patrolling the beaches, helping Charlie look for shipwrecks.
In the middle of the night, Charlie was startled awake by a familiar sound. Dah-dah-dum-dum-BLAT/ Dum-dum-BLAT-BLAT-ding. He sat bolt upright with an oath. It sounded just like Myrtle playing on the piano. This was impossible, since she was buried behind the woodshed.
Charlie leapt out of bed and felt around for his axe. Blast! He must have left it in the woodshed. He picked up a large piece of firewood and carefully stepped through the door into the main room. To his astonishment, he saw a glowing green, translucent piano standing in the place where Myrtle had put it. The keys of the ghostly piano were playing all by themselves. Dah-dah-dum-dum-BLAT/ Dum-dum-BLAT-BLAT-ding.
Then he heard Myrtle’s voice from the stairway leading up to the light. “Charlie. I told you and I told you. I ain’t going to learn another song until I’ve mastered this one. You should have listened to me!”
Charlie whirled around and gazed up the stairs. Standing a third of the way up was the translucent white figure of his dead wife. And in her hands, she held his axe.

 

[BeachMomma]

Charlie whirled around and gazed up the stairs. Standing a third of the way up was the translucent white figure of his dead wife. And in her hands, she held his axe.

Creepy! I'd come after you too, if you chopped up my piano!

 

[bluebomber]

Peggy and her boyfriend Tommy were driving down a lonely stretch of highway at dusk when a thunderstorm came crashing down on them. Tommy slowed the car and they crept their way past a formidable abandoned house. Plastered all over the fences and trees were no trespassing signs.
A mile past the house, the car hydroplaned. Peggy screamed as the car slid off the road, plunging down into a gully. The car slammed into a large boulder, throwing Peggy violently into the door, before it came to a rest under a pecan tree. Her head banged against the window, and a stabbing pain shot through her shoulder and arm.
Tommy turned to her. “Are you all right? You’re bleeding!”
“Arm, shoulder. Feel bad,” Peggy managed to gasp.
Tommy glanced cautiously at her right arm. “I think your arm is broken,” he said, and he tore a strip off his shirt and pressed it to the cut on her head. “I’m going to call for help,” he said when it became obvious that the bleeding was not going to stop right away. But neither of them had their cell phones.
“That house we just passed will have a phone I can use.” Tommy said.
Peggy’s eyes popped wide open at this statement. Despite her pain, she remembered the creepy abandoned house. “Stay here. A . . . car . . . will come,”
“I can’t stay, Peggy,” Tommy said, “It could take hours for another car to come, and you‘re losing too much blood.” He tore another strip of his shirt and placed it gently on the cut on her head. Then he went out and retrieved a couple of blankets from the trunk to cover her with. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He raced out into the storm, shutting the dented car door behind him.
Peggy drifted in a kind of daze. Something at the back of her mind was making her uneasy. She slid down on to the floor and put her head on the seat, completely covering herself with the blankets, head and all. Feeling safer, she allowed the weariness caused by the wounds to take over and fell asleep.
Peggy wasn’t sure what woke her. Had a beam of light shown briefly through the blanket? Did she hear someone curse outside? She strained eyes and ears, but heard nothing save the soft thudding of the rain, and no light shown through the blanket now. If Tommy had arrived with the rescue squad, there surely would be noise and light and many voices. But she heard nothing save the swish of the rain and an occasional thumping noise which she put down to the rubbing of the branches of the pecan tree in the wind. The sound should have been comforting, but it was not. Goosebumps crawled across her arms – even the broken one -- and she almost ceased breathing for some time as some deep part of her inner mind instructed her to freeze and not make a sound.
She did not know how long fear kept her immobile. But suddenly the raw terror ceased, replaced by cold shivers of apprehension and a sick coil in her stomach that had nothing to do with her injuries. Something terrible had happened, she thought wearily, fear adding yet more fatigue to her already wounded body. Then she scolded herself for a ninny. It was just her sore head making her imagine things. Somewhat comforted by this thought, she dozed again, only vaguely aware of a new sound that had not been there before; a soft thud-thud sound as of something gently tapping the roof. Thud-thud. Pattering of the rain. Thud-thud. Silence. Sometimes she would almost waken and listen to it in a puzzled manner. Thud-thud. Patter of rain. Thud-thud. Had a branch dislodged from the tree?

Peggy wasn’t sure how long she’d been unconscious when she was awakened by a bright light blazing through the window of the car and the sound of male voices exclaiming in horror. A door was wrenched open, and someone crawled inside. She lifted her head and looked up at a young state policeman.

“Miss, are you all right?” he asked and then turned over his shoulder to call for help. Peggy told the officers her story and begged them to look for Tommy. They deftly avoided answering her and instead called the paramedics.

As the paramedics carried her carefully up the slope of the incline, Peggy looked back at the car—and saw a grotesque figure hanging from a branch of the pecan tree. For a moment, her brain couldn’t decipher what she was seeing in the bright lights of the police car parked at the side of the road. Then she heard a thud-thud sound as the foot of the figure scraped the top of the totaled car, and she started screaming over and over in horror. One of the police officers hastened to block her view and a paramedic fumbled for some valium to give her as her mind finally registered what she had seen. Tommy’s mangled, dead body was hanging from the pecan tree just above the car, and nailed to the center of his chest was a No Trespassing sign.

 

[bluebomber]

It was late Autumn and the trees that dotted our old neighborhood

had started to change into their red and gold coats. My children were looking forward to dressing up in their spiderman and princess costumes for Halloween. But it wasn't for another week. As for me, I was busy trying to do repairs around the house. The lights were always going out. I thought it was just electrical wiring and the house was very old. I lived alone with my two small children and I didn't want to frighten them, or maybe I didn't want to scare myself. They were so young and innocent. Thank goodness they were oblivious to the creepy sounds and strange happenings of the house.



My children were very creative when they played. They often made up games to entertain themselves. But recently I noticed they had started to set a third place at the kitchen table. "Who is sitting here?" I'd ask. They would just giggle. When they played they would divide their toys into three equal parts. "Who is coming over?" I'd ask. "No one" they looked at me puzzled. I thought they were just acting like normal kids. I didn't think too much about it. The yellow brick house with its cracked foundation and creepy sounds was home. Besides I didn't want to move again. I had invested all my money into this house and I liked the fact that it was close to my workplace.



One night, it was unusually windy outside. My children had gone to bed and I walked in their room to kiss them goodnight. Karen slept soundly on the top bunk bed and my youngest, Jimmy was already asleep in the bottom bunk bed. I covered them in their blankets anticipating a chilly night. I could already feel the chill in the room. "This house," I whispered and shook my head. "It's always cold in here."

​

I retired to my room. It wasn't long before I fell into a deep sleep. I dreamed of a huge rock wall. Like an aerial camera zooming out, the pillory in the center of town was revealed. A woman's head stuck out encumbered by the long bolt or wooden bar that also held her arms. The time period looked like Colonial America. Or was I in Salem at the time of the infamous witch trials of 1692? I felt the shame and the discomfort of being held for public viewing. Then I realized, the woman in the pillory was me!



The next thing I remembered was a little girl with reddish brown hair dressed in a long dark dress with a top white collar at the end of a long hallway. She wore a little white cap tied under her neck. I tried walking to her. Her face looked sad and abandoned. I recognized her immediately as my daughter. But she wasn't my daughter Karen from this lifetime. I just knew she was mine. She extended her arms to me. The harder I tried to reach her, the longer the hall got. I was desperately running down this long never ending hallway. She was standing at the end with open arms. I couldn't reach her.



Then from out of nowhere, a sinister low menacing evil voice whispered in my ear, "She's mine." My heart started to pound hard. Paralyzed with fear I couldn't move. I knew instantly that this was demonic.

By now, I knew I was in my room and conscious. But I couldn't open my eyes and I was completely immobile. It laughed in my ear. Then the voice started to say obscenities. I started to pray the "Our Father." I said it over and over and louder and louder until the voice started to fade. But before it left, it threatened me again.



"She's mine.........They're mine."



Oh my God, my children! I woke myself up reciting the Lord's Prayer aloud. Trickles of sweat lined my forehead and hair. I sat up and raced to my children's room. They looked like little angels asleep. They were so still. I stared at my daughter. I stared at my son. Thank God they were breathing. I have never felt so threatened in all my life. I realized my chldren were at risk with this thing that seemed to be living in my house. Who had my children been playing with?

 

[BeachMomma]

Hey! Who let the campfire die? I guess that was me. Sorry! As cold as it is, we need that fire!

OK, that one gave me chills. I'm glad I didn't read it last night. I need to find more ghost stories. I'd love to be able to retell some of the stories we heard in New Orleans, but I can't remember them well enough.

Not to change the subject, but I'm firmly entrenched in the superstitions that I've seen hold true time and time again. As a nurse, I dread full moons with a passion. The past few nights, the moon mocked me as I drove to work. Sure enough, the days that followed weren't just bad; they were ugly. The last three shifts that I've worked, somebody has tried to die. We got them through the immediate crisis, but I'm pretty sure one in particular has passed away by now. That patient happened to be in the same room that another patient was in when I first started working as an RN - the first patient that I saw die after I became a nurse.

The first patient, I'll call him Jim. We knew Jim was dying; the other nurses had watched him deteriorate for almost a year. In the month that I knew him (the last month of his life), Jim deteriorated so quickly. Every shift that I worked with him, I could tell a marked difference in him between the beginning of the shift and the end. In twelve hours, he went downhill that fast. The day he passed away, his room was full of family members, and he was assigned to one of my coworkers. He was a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate), so we weren't to do anything when his time came. I stood at the desk and watched his heart on the monitor. I watched it go from 50 beats/minute - sinus bradycardia - to 40, then 30, then 20, and finally become agonal then asystole.

I've seen a lot of patients die during my career in health care. Intellectually, I know that they are no longer in pain and can't feel anything we do to/for them. Still, as I helped his nurse prepare his body for transport, I couldn't help but be just as gentle as I would if he could feel everything I did to him. I removed tubes and monitor electrodes gently - talking to him as I always did. I told him what I was going to do before I did it - like I always did. I talked to him about no longer being in pain, no longer suffering.

Jim taught me a lot that day about being a nurse. It isn't about starting IVs, passing medicines, and reading heart rhythms. It's about having a heart. That day, I learned to hug and cry with bereaved family members. I learned to tell them how much their loved one had come to mean to me. More importantly, I learned to listen to them as they talk about their loved one. I learned how to determine when they need to talk and when they just need a silent hug. I learned how to be a better nurse - and a better person.

 

[bluebomber]

A little boy, named James Davidson, was given a small doll from his parents. The doll was a gift from a great aunt who had now passed. James was instantly disconcerted by the doll, which had creepy, little black eyes that seemed to watch him around the room and an adverse grin on her face. Nevertheless, James had to accept the doll, as he was well brought up and did not want to upset his parents by refusing to take it. His parents told him that the doll's name was Ivy, which made James even more frightened of it; it seemed to make it more human.

Even so, it was just a doll, not even reaching above his knees, so to put his mind at rest, he hid Ivy in the drawer at the bottom of the stairs. It wasn't until a week later, when James was lying in bed, that he heard a noise, a shuffling sound that went on for a few minutes. Than, a brief dragging noise and finally, a scuttling, like light footsteps running very fast. James was paralyzed with fear, his knuckles turning white from clutching his blanket. Then, he heard a voice - soft and eerily childlike - quiet enough not to wake his parents. James always slept with the door open and the lamp in the hall on, as he was still a little scared of the dark. Therefore, he could hear more through his open door.

James heard the voice say "James, I'm on the first step..." and than a loud scrabbling again, as whatever was speaking apparently turned around and returned to wherever it had come from.

The little boy didn't sleep a wink that night, but laid in fear until the break of dawn when his mother got him up for school and when he tried to explain what had happened, his parents passed it off as 'just a dream'.

The next night, James fought against sleep, but eventually drifted off, only to be woken again by the sinister voice: "James, I'm on the fifth step..." James was crying by now, and again, he didn't sleep that night. The next night, James decided to shut his bedroom door and reluctantly slept without the light on.

Just as he was about to doze, James heard the noise, and than the voice; "James, I'm on the top step..." James knew that his door was closed, but he was still terribly afraid.

His heart pounding, he slowly got up to investigate; he screamed.

James' parents found his body at the bottom of the stairs. They guessed he was on his way to the bathroom without switching on the hall light and had fallen down the stairs, breaking his neck. Ivy, the favorite family doll, was found beside his body - smiling that sinister smile of hers.

 

[BeachMomma]

I'm really starting to dislike dolls!

 

[bluebomber]

Mental note : find more doll stories.

 

[BeachMomma]

Doll stories work for me. That's still better than clown stories. And NO, I will NOT watch IT with you again!

 

[RubenesqueAphrodite]

Nothing long to post here, but a little creepy nonetheless.

We live in an old farmhouse, circa 1890, and I believe three different families have lived here before we took the place over.

I've never seen anything spooky, but I've smelled stuff. I've been out on the porch and suddenly I will smell perfume. Not flowers, but perfume. I think it's weird..

Two days ago I was walking through our den and I swear I smelled tobacco. Not cigarette smoke but a sweet pipe tobacco. I used to love when my father smoked his pipe. It was always such a warm, inviting scent. So, for me to suddenly smell it in this house where no one is smoking was odd.

In any event, I think we have a pair hanging out in the house, a man and a woman, or maybe my olfactory nerve is going blinky...who knows..

 

[MaxSmith]

My great-grandmother, Granny, used to tell me that I was special because I could sense spirits. I don't know about all that, but I know that but I know that on several occasions I have "felt" things in certain places, but twice in my life I've wondered if she were right.

The first is when Granny died. I was a freshman in high school and I was in English class. We were reading Romeo and Juliette. No one sat in the desk in front of mine. All of the sudden, I heard a buzzing in my ears and I remember looking up and seeing her sitting backwards on the desk. She said she was on her way out and just wanted to stop by and say goodbye. I blinked and then she was gone, along with the buzzing sensation. After school, Mom came to pick me up from school (something she did every day). As I got into the car I asked her what time Granny had died. She hadn't said anything to me, yet. She looked shocked but told me. It was about 15 minutes before I saw her in my classroom. I'd still like to know who she went to visit before me.

The second was when my parents lived in a house that had been built in the 1930s in a small town. The gentleman who built the house had been diagnosed with cancer and was in the very late stages. He sent his wife to town to get groceries one afternoon. While she was gone, he went to the basement and committed suicide. Years later, everytime I went to their house, I could feel someone in the house. It wasn't an ominous or bad feeling, just a presence always there like someone quietly walking up behind you and you sense them there before you turn to see him.

My dad was an utter and complet skeptic -- until one night he was in the house alone, asleep. He said that he was awakened from a deep sleep with someone shaking his foot. He said that there was a man standing at the end of his bed who told him to stop snoring because he was disturbing the dead.

 

[MaxSmith]

Doll stories work for me. That's still better than clown stories. And NO, I will NOT watch IT with you again!

I don't blame you... clowns are some bad mojo. They are all evil.

 

[BeachMomma]

OK, so speaking of clowns.....this isn't a ghost story, but it is a good indicator of how I feel about clowns.

At one of the hospitals I used to work for, my friend and I tried to go to lunch together every day. She was very aware of my intense dislike for clowns. Our department was on the 2nd floor; the cafeteria was on the 4th floor. We went to get our lunch, intending to take it back to our department's lounge to eat.

This day in particular, the elevator was full. We chatted as we rode, oblivious to all the people around us. I had 2 to go trays - one with a salad and the other with my meal - stacked together in one hand and my coke in a 32 ounce to go cup in the other hand. We heard the elevator ding that it was on the 2nd floor. Still chatting, we stepped off the elevator. I got off first. When I glanced up, I found myself face to face with a clown.

Two to go boxes full of food went flying, as well as my coke - most of the coke now covering the clown. The funniest part, though, was that I screamed bloody murder. My friend nearly peed herself laughing. The others in the elevator HAD to think I'd lost my mind. The clown pulled up his sleeve to show me his skin underneath in the hopes that it would relieve my fear. It didn't. I wouldn't pass him until he backed away from the elevator doors.

When my friend finally quit laughing - and retold the story to everybody in our department who would listen - she told me who the clown was. Our hospital chaplain. I dumped a 32 ounce coke on our hospital chaplain.

Yup. Clowns are definitely bad mojo.

 

[BeachMomma]

Oh, one more thing. My boss at that hospital decided at one point that when we had a pediatric patient (a child), the chaplain would come to the procedure room, dressed as a clown, to stay with the child until he or she went to sleep for his procedure. When she told us the new department policy, I spoke up. "I absolutely refuse to have a clown in my procedure room. If that's what we're going to do, you'll have to assign somebody else to work the pediatric cases."

She agreed that as much as they bothered me, it wouldn't help the child at all if they could sense my fear, so she'd have someone else do those procedures. Enough people had a clown phobia that she had to scrap the idea completely. She did come up with another idea to help alleviate the pediatric patients' fears before their procedures, but it didn't involve clowns. At all.

I have to think it's probably a good thing. I can't imagine anything worse for a child - who's already scared because they're in the hospital and having to go to sleep for a procedure - and who also doesn't like clowns. Talk about adding the proverbial insult to injury.

 

[papadoc19]

OK, so speaking of clowns.....this isn't a ghost story, but it is a good indicator of how I feel about clowns.

At one of the hospitals I used to work for, my friend and I tried to go to lunch together every day. She was very aware of my intense dislike for clowns. Our department was on the 2nd floor; the cafeteria was on the 4th floor. We went to get our lunch, intending to take it back to our department's lounge to eat.

This day in particular, the elevator was full. We chatted as we rode, oblivious to all the people around us. I had 2 to go trays - one with a salad and the other with my meal - stacked together in one hand and my coke in a 32 ounce to go cup in the other hand. We heard the elevator ding that it was on the 2nd floor. Still chatting, we stepped off the elevator. I got off first. When I glanced up, I found myself face to face with a clown.

Two to go boxes full of food went flying, as well as my coke - most of the coke now covering the clown. The funniest part, though, was that I screamed bloody murder. My friend nearly peed herself laughing. The others in the elevator HAD to think I'd lost my mind. The clown pulled up his sleeve to show me his skin underneath in the hopes that it would relieve my fear. It didn't. I wouldn't pass him until he backed away from the elevator doors.

When my friend finally quit laughing - and retold the story to everybody in our department who would listen - she told me who the clown was. Our hospital chaplain. I dumped a 32 ounce coke on our hospital chaplain.

Yup. Clowns are definitely bad mojo.

 

[bluebomber]

“Oh you’re here, you’re here!” A cheerful voice calls out to you as you step out of the horse-and-buggy. It’s so dark you can’t tell who or what is talking to you. You turn around to rush into your transportation but come to realize that its horses had run off and you were abandoned. You swivel your body around attempting to get a look of the person—the thing, talking to you. “We’ve been expecting you!” a second voice chimes in. You’re officially scared out of your mind and you attempt to turn around to run into the deep forest. In response, a couple of torches flash bright and you’ve come face to face with your captors.

You aren’t exactly face to face; actually, you have to stretch your neck back so far it feels like it will snap off just to make eye contact. The two people who were talking to you are on stilts made to look like they have extremely long legs. They’re both wearing bold and outrageous colors—and the colors aren’t just on their clothes. The person to the left has hair so yellow that you can see its’ brightness in this dim lighting, her hair is up in a long messy ponytail. Her partners hair is equally crazy; so pink it could be on a neon sign and so very poufy and curly.

“Tonight we’ll be showing the sad fate this world can carry” The pink one says—the creepy part is that the yellow one finishes her sentence, as if this was planned. “Children that God has abandoned, left to be ridiculed by humanity” The two smile simultaneously and the pink one carries on “Children who can’t even carry the trembling limbs they were born with” The yellow ones face flickers to that of an insane persons. The pink one hands you a crumpled flyer. “Sometimes their tongues allow them to cry out” she tells you. “Sometimes they smile as they dream of their mothers embrace.”

I rip my eyes away from the duo and examine the flyer, the writing is crude and the drawing looks like a child’s. The picture on the paper depicts a circus tent and the writing says: Dimwood Circus. You look back up at the two and suddenly understand that they are both carnies. You look behind them and see the tent that is shown in the picture. “Come with us” They both take each of your hands and pull you into the tent; you can’t help but agree to enter.

The tent isn’t like a regular carnival, it has no animals or trapeze artists…it just has dark cages for viewing. You look around when you feel the emptiness in your hands and realize the carnies abandoned you. The flyer in your hands is crushed as you hold onto it for security. The sounds in the carnival are not pleasing; there are cries of insanity and pleas to be raised from this perdition. You feel sick to your stomach as you walk gradually to the first cell.

What you see is something you did not prepare your gut for; you’re sick to your stomach and run to the corner to relieve the ache. You return to the cell when you feel the tiniest bit better. The woman you see in the cell is something…cruel...Inhumane-- there are no words to describe what has happened to the poor girl. This is not an act of God; this is by the hand of man to demonstrate the brutality in humanity. The girl is pale and disease-stricken; she is tied to the bars of her prison by a leash... a leash for God sakes. That’s not even the worst part… the innocent woman was surgically altered into a freak. Her bottom half is that of a goat; vulgarly stitched on by a rookie hand. You need to leave, to move on.

The next cell returns the sick feeling to the pit of your stomach. This one isn’t about half human-half animals, yet it’s still extremely repulsive. The man is sitting in his cell without arms, and surrounded by…meat. There would be nothing off-putting about this if you had just walked away. You had to stay one more second though; you just had to witness this. The man… crawls to a corner in his cell, and he picks up an object in his mouth. He turns around and in his mouth is a human arm—A god forsaken arm. You need to leave this place.

You’re positive you’ve seen enough, you’re sure you have. You turn around to find the door, any type of exit, when you come to see a two headed being. The…thing has one normal body, and two male and female heads. They…or it…takes your hands, “Please don’t leave us” they say. The heads both smile and you notice all of the carnies are around you now, each deformed thing in a crowd. You fall to your knees as they begin to discuss their plans for you. You should have left earlier.

In the tent, you’ll find him. He’s an added item to the freak collection. He’s just a dirty night clown. He’ll never be dirt-free.

 

[BeachMomma]

Hello, Papa! Welcome to our campfire! Help yourself to a s'more, claim a hammock, and tell us a scary story. Actually, come sit by me; I haven't read it yet, but I know BB's latest story is about clowns. *If* I gather the courage to read it, I'm gonna need somebody close by when I get skeered.

 

[BeachMomma]

BB, this one is for you. Borrowed from allnurses.com

I did, however, work at an Independent Living/Assisted Living facility for almost 4 years, and in almost every department, save for nursing and housekeeping. Anyway, this past fall semester, I was working security. My general duties, included answering phones, helping residents, making exterior rounds, shoveling snow(I swear we had one of the snowiest wintersI can remember when I worked this position), and locking up the building at 2100. On one such night, I had just finished locking up the building. I let myself back into the office to record the temps from the coolers in the kitchen and such. As I'm writing, out of the corner of my eye, I see a man, who I thought lived at the East End of the building. He doesn't move too quickly, but not overly slow. Needless to say, if I wanted to I could have caught him going down either hall quite easilly. As soon as I saw the man, I put down my pen and went right out into the hall. Nobody in the east end, nobody on the west end, and nobody on the mezzanine. The only way he could have gotten away is if he ran... that's how quickly I dropped my pen and investigated. I was eagerly anticipating the night janitor clocking on... In another occurance, I had finished up rounds, I'd say it was about 2145, I settled in with one of my text books at the front desk to study some material from my nursing theory lecture. I didn't see any movement out of the corner of my eyes, but I heard the DISTINCT sound of one of those aluminum(I dunno what material, but the little silver ones) going over tile. the only tile in the WHOLE building is right in the front lobby, and in the kitchen. Nobody was around... again, I was eagerly anticipating the night janitor coming on, so I could clock out and get the heck outta there.

I've heard some firsthand accounts from several of my friends from the kitchen, where, oddly enough, I began and ended my employment. Anyway, we had a cook who pretty consistently came in hungover for the saturday morning shift. This was a problem in and of itself, and it has/still does happen to several of our "early morning" cooks. "Chucky" would put the large mixing bowl for eggs, or whatever, on the large stainless steel counter, and go back into the walk in cooler to get whatever neccessary ingredients he needed. He would come back out and the bowl would be spinning down the counter. Several other cooks have told me about how they'll be prepping stuff for lunch and dinner and various items for meals throughout the week, we have a large rack that holds all of our chafing dishes, lids, and on the side we hang all of our ladels... Well, one by one, the ladels come off, as if flicked by somebody. One of the cooks, who I love dearly gave me this advice, should I encounter this spirit myself(I often worked early on the weekends)Just put a cup of regular coffee out in the serving area, and it will stop. Apparently there was a little old man who would throw things until the early morning cook, or server, would get him his coffee. It's a good thing to know that there are things you can do to quell odd goings on!

 

[BeachMomma]

This happened yesterday at work.

We had a hospice patient who passed away around 11am yesterday. The nurse who had been taking care of him had never had a patient expire before, so she didn't know exactly how to handle everything. She very kindly allowed the family to stay with the deceased person as long as they wished.

Six hours later, the family finally left. She gathered up a couple of aides and they went to clean the body and prepare it for transport to the morgue. By that time, rigor mortis had already set in. Both aides and the RN were freaked out, to say the least, by trying to clean a stiff, cold body. That wasn't bad enough.

After the excitement was over, the RN brought her computer and sat by me to do her charting. She tried to remove the deceased patient's name from her patient list on the computer. No matter what she tried to do, that name would not be deleted. The more she tried to get rid of his name, the more agitated she got. I tried to help her get it off her list, but I couldn't do it either. She got so upset that the charge nurse started laughing at her. I mean, the charge nurse laughed till she cried. She was bent over double. I'd managed not to laugh until the charge nurse cracked up so badly, but then I lost it too.

The sad part is that I was laughing because the whole time we tried to get his name off the patient list, all I could think of was......ooooooohhh! I gotta post this to the ghost stories thread! We can't figure out why that name wouldn't come off of her patient list. When I left last night, she was still complaining about it. She stil hadn't gotten it off of her list, and she's convinced that's his way of haunting her forever.

 

[dutchrain]

The sad part is that I was laughing because the whole time we tried to get his name off the patient list, all I could think of was......ooooooohhh! I gotta post this to the ghost stories thread! We can't figure out why that name wouldn't come off of her patient list. When I left last night, she was still complaining about it. She stil hadn't gotten it off of her list, and she's convinced that's his way of haunting her forever.

That would have happened to me too. At the most un-appropriated moments I get the most un-appropriated things in my mind...

I remember accompanying my parents to a funeral, and at the moment the priest mounted the pulpit and lay his hand on the microphone, I glanced at my dad, saw him burying his head in his hands... I could only grab my handkerchief and do the same. I glanced at my mom, saw her glaring at us... And that gave me the rest.

I nearly suffocated, I kept my breath, I closed my mouth, pressed my hanky half in my mouth, all to keep me from laughing out loud.

Just the night before my dad and I watched a movie on TV in which a priests climbed a pulpit, had to stabilize the wooden canopy, hold on to the pillar, hold the swaying microphone, all due to the pulpit being old and in-stable... It was a funny movie (Louis de Funès)...

When walking to the graveyard my mother had to start it all again: In a very hushed voice she managed to scold and hiss angry at us...

"The two of you are impossible, I never can be sure the two of you won't make me look bad, you two are simply ridiculous, even at a funeral you can't behave, I will throw the TV out of the window as soon as we are home!"


I do hope the name was gone this morning though...

 

[BeachMomma]

I would've done the same as you, and my Mom would've reacted the same way!

We *think* somebody put him in the system as deceased (essentially discharged) before she was ready to finish her charting. I've had that happen to me too, but I could always remove the name from my patient list even after they were discharged. They've been screwing with our system lately, so it's probably just a glitch.

She'll freak if she can't remove that name soon though. LOL Unfortunately, I'll laugh my ass off at her. Her nerves were stretched thin yesterday; she lost her cool quite a few times. I felt bad for her, but it was funny at the same time.

Dead bodies really don't bother me. I've been around enough of them over the years that it's not a big deal. It never occurred to me that they hadn't taken the time to prepare the body when the man first passed away. At some point during the day, though, both aides and the RN came to me freaking out. I guess none of them knew what to expect after several hours. It was only after everything was said and done that the RN admitted to me that she'd never had a patient die before. What a way to learn. It's a lesson she'll never forget though!

 

[BeachMomma]

I don't like it when people fall, leave AMA (Against Medical Advice), or die on my shift. It's just too damn much paperwork. So when I have patients that I suspect their death is imminent, I pray through the entire shift - Just let them live till 1930. (That's 7:30 p.m. and quitting time for you normal folks. *grin*) Over and over again, all day long, just let 'em live till 1930.

I typically work 2 day rotations. I'll work 2 days, have 2 or 3 days off, then work 2 more days. When we work a rotation, our department likes to assign the same nurse to the same group of patients. By the second day of the rotation, I know my patients almost as well as I know my own family, and I can detect subtle changes in their condition very easily.

I've mentioned before in this thread that nurses tend to be quite superstitious. It may not be based on evidence, but when we see the same things happen over and over again, we do tend to take it seriously. Case in point:

This happened on two back to back rotations out of my last three. So, in other words, I've had one good shift after these two. Each rotation, I had an elderly, sick female patient. I knew her death was imminent. One was a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate), but the other was a full code. The first lady was the DNR. The second day I took care of her, I could see changes that indicated her imminent demise. I prayed my little mantra all day. I warned the night shift nurse that night during report that I expected her to die soon. I expected her to die within 24 hours, but she made it almost 48 hours before she gave up.

The next rotation, I worked the weekend and had a pitiful little elderly lady. She wasn't a DNR, so I hounded her doc to declare her DNR. Her family had said those were her wishes as well as theirs, but for reasons known only to him, the doc didn't want to make her DNR. I pestered that doc all weekend, to no avail. I prayed my little prayer all weekend. She died on Monday, mere hours after the doc declared her DNR.

I've become known as the "Black Widow" of our department. The night shift nurses don't want to follow me. The aides don't want to work on my side. The boss floated me to pediatrics yesterday in hopes that I'd lose my streak. I hope it worked. I don't really mind helping people to their final reward, but constant death watches become tiresome - not to mention depressing.

 

[RjThoughts]

I can tell several stories, from living in a house that was haunted when I visited it as a kid, sleeping over with my grandfather or staying long into the night talking to my grandmother. There were always "somethings" in the house:

The ghost of a little girl that died in front of the house in the 1920s when she was visiting her dad who was working on it;

In the playroom, the cold spot, the shadow that would travel quickly from the spot to you, if you weren't supposed to be up late at night while visiting.


And now, as I own it, I am visited by the spirits of my grandparents, they letting their presences known mostly by smells - Grandpa Joe by unfiltered Camel cigarettes, Grandma JOan by the sweet smell of percolated coffee.

The "thing" in the playroom is no longer something feared. Now, it's just a shadow that loves to creep out my son when he's up late playing computer games. The little girl will visit as well: You'll hear her laugh along with us during a funny tv movie or show, or appear to a guest sleeping on the couch.

 

[BeachMomma]

Hi RJ. Welcome! That's a little sad and yes creepy. What do your guests think about it? Do you warn them or just enjoy the show?

It's cute that she watches tv with your family, but it has to be a little weird. Does everybody hear her laugh?

 

[TheLM]

One of the rooms in my unit is haunted... Equipment will fly out of the door, stuff hits the walls/falls to the floor when it shouldn't, and the ecg monitor sometimes displays a flatline on the telemetry station... Even when it is turned off.

One of the night secretaries refused to go in there after papers blew into her face one time.