The internet doesn't have the same mythic reputation for making you soil yourself with fear as, say a dilapidated old mansion, but it really should.
I have read some of the most chilling ghost stories I have ever encountered from my laptop screen glowing in the darkness as opposed to a dusty old tome by candlelight, and because I'm a generous person, I've decided to share them with you lovely people.
So, go grab yourself a change of undies and make sure you're not alone in the house because things are about to get truly terrifying up in here...
She Wasn't Really a Little Girl...
I lived in a house from hell for four years, from age eleven to almost sixteen. There was constantly something happening. Doors flying open and shut, voices, footsteps. Nothing ever stayed where you put it. I was alone there a lot because both my parents worked and I was constantly terrified.
One of the most gut-level disturbing things though was the little girl in my bathroom. Every time I walked past my bathroom door (which was constantly since it was right outside my bedroom) I saw a little girl with blond curled hair and a rose-colored dress. She just stood there, staring, looking like a photograph from 1905. I started keeping the door closed so I could walk by without seeing her, but she was always there when I opened it. Once I stepped in past her, I couldn't see her anymore but I could feel her there. She scared me, but I felt really sorry for her because she was trapped there, just like me, but probably forever.
As the years went by and things in the house continued to get worse, she started seeming... darker. I started feeling like she wasn't really a little girl. I knew there was something ugly in the house and I felt like it was presenting this sympathetic image to me. Then I started thinking I was completely losing my mind.
One day, when I was 14, I had a friend from out of town come stay with me for a week. I hadn't told her anything whatsoever about the house because I didn't think she would come if I did. Right after she got there we were sitting in my room and she left to go to the bathroom. About a minute later she walked back in with a puzzled look on her face and said "So, there's a little girl in your bathroom". "Um, I, yeah she hangs out in there. Blond hair?" "Curls? Pink dress? Yeah. You know that's not really a little girl, don't you?" I almost threw up. I was so relieved and terrified and excited and ready to run out of the house screaming. She wouldn't use my bathroom the rest of the week and I started using it as little as possible without pissing off my parents (who did not want to believe).
Eventually we moved out and I could not have been happier. I distanced myself from it mentally as much as I could. Then, when I was 18, I took another friend on a road trip to pack up a few things I'd left in the house (my parents hadn't managed to sell it, and wouldn't for 5 more years). The minute we got on the property, my friend seemed uncomfortable. When we came around the bend in the long, steep driveway, he went completely white. I could tell something was wrong, but he insisted he was OK, so we got to work. After a while he asked to use the bathroom and I directed him to mine. Not 20 seconds after he left, he came running back in, gasping for breath, andand slammed the bedroom door behind him. He started babbling about a little blond girl who isn't really a little girl. All of a sudden he went dead still, looked me in the eye, and very solemnly said "She's not happy. With you. You left, and you weren't supposed to". We threw whatever we could grab in two trips in my car (after I walked him to another bathroom and waited outside the door) and got the fuck out at top speed.
Vacation from Hell
I was staying in a hotel on a family holiday. The hotel used to be a Georgian gentlemen's residence in the 1700s and still has its Georgian interior today.
When I was sleeping one night, I was woken up by someone stroking my hair. I thought it was my mum until she said it wasn't.
When we were watching the TV, I saw my mum looking at the mirror on the wall and her face turned white. I went to have a shower, and whilst checking the temperature of the water, I saw the figure of a young boy (aged about 12) ducking behind the door.
He had black, floppy hair and was dressed in Victorian clothes. I told my mum and she said she had seen him in the mirror prior to this.
That night, my brother (who was staying in the room above us), was awoken by banging on his door and the sound of children laughing.
He told reception the next morning and he was informed by staff that there were no children present in the hotel at the time.
In the middle of dinner that night, I went upstairs to grab my phone and noticed that it was on top of the wardrobe.
While standing on top of a chair to reach it, something bumped into me and I fell off the chair.
Finding my feet to get up again, an invisible hand stroked my hair. And my phone was lying by my side.
I bolted out of the room.
That night I was awoken by someone stroking my hair again and whispering 'I'm sorry.'
When we told the staff about the goings on, they had said that past guests had reported sightings and sounds of children and that the hotel was once an orphanage.
As told by Katie of East Lothian, England for The Mirror
I grew up in New Mexico and was always very into the outdoors, hiking, camping, rock climbing, etc. One summer when I was 19 I went on a 4 day/3 night camping trip near my parents' house on my own. Might sound weird but I had been to this area many times and it was quite safe. Anyway I brought my camera and took lots of pictures. When I came back and developed my film, there were 3 extra pictures that I didn't take... of me... sleeping. One each night.
None of my stuff was missing or stolen and nothing happened, but it freaked the hell out of me.
From 3 until 13 I lived in a nice home out near yosemite national park, nothing super spectacular about it, 4 bedrooms, a den, dining room, the norm. Just down a little dirt road and (if you've ever been around those parts you'll know) miles away from civilization. My whole childhood I was visited by this girl in white, she never spoke, I would just wake up at night and see or feel her there. I asked my dad and his response every time was 'the men in our family can see ghosts.' My rational of this (I'm a skeptic, I remain that to this day but the story I'm telling made me question) was that we had some sort of mild schizophrenia running through our family. It didn't bother me, she didn't look like other people. There was something 'off' about her. After my father died my mother decided to sell the house and went through a realtor. We never once had contact with the buyers, only knew them by name. The buyers had a son who went to the same school as our old neighbors (dear friends of the family) and the son apparently came to school without sleep repeatedly, complaining that there was a girl who watched him at night and that he needed to get out.
Ugh, shivers up my spine every time I remember this.
It Was a Hole Cut Into the Night
Okay, this may take a bit of doing so bear with me.
Army base, Soest, West Germany (as was). A still, dark, autumn evening, must have been warm because it was the kind of temperature you don't notice. Me (13) and a mate (15) just dossing around before I had to go in.
Behind the flats where we live was a green area with a play area. Only one street light so it was very dark compared to our street and the well lit main route through the camp, which was about 80-100 metres away from where walking.
No traffic, nothing. It was never busy and this was on a weekend evening so literally, no traffic and no one out and about as far as we could tell. Which suited two teenagers just fine, thanks. Bear with me, this is important.
So, we're heading between our respective blocks of flats and into the darkened park area.
And we stop dead.
On the main road, moving right to left was a figure. Vaguely person shaped, but undulating and waving like cloth under water, it glided along the middle of the road.
Based on what it obscured behind it as it moved, I'd estimate it to be between 8-10 foot. But at the very least it was larger than average man size. This shape, this thing, was not walking, there was none of the slight up and down motion of walking. It just glided, smoothly, at a fast walking pace I'd guess.
And it was black.
Not someone-wearing-black-clothes black. It was a hole cut into the night. No reflections, no shadows or shades. Just blackness.
It seemed like a lifetime as I soaked this detail up. In reality it couldn't have been more than 2 or 3 seconds.
I whispered, breathed, "Do you see that?"
My friend, in a whisper, replied.
And the fucking thing changed direction.
The last image I have, before we broke and ran, was of it rising up as it came over the kerb. This is what makes it real for me. This is something that had mass, that obeyed at least something of the physical world.
It moved from the brightly lit road into the same darkness in which we stood.
We broke and ran for our lives.
Back onto our street and into my mate's block. The fucker then bolted back to his own home, leaving me wondering how the hell I was going to get to my block.
After a while, the fear of the repercussions from my dad for being late in overrode my fear of what might be out there, in the night. So I ran, eyes straight ahead, the ten or so metres to my own front door.
I was in too much trouble for being late to ever say anything when I got home.
Sometimes, when I'm walking and the night is warm and still and quiet, I think about it and I wonder what I'd do if I ever saw it again. Run away? Or face it down and maybe solve a 30 year old mystery?
Honestly, I just don't know.
The Paper Boy
This didn't happen to me, but it happened to my aunt and it's so freaky I'll never forget it.
My aunt and uncle bought a cool old Victorian in a small town about forty miles away from Austin. It was really a pretty awesome old place and had a historical marker in the front lawn and everything. My aunt and uncle moved for job reasons years ago, and the house is now a successful Bed and Breakfast. Why anyone would pay money to sleep there is beyond me, though.
When my aunt and uncle were still living in the house, their daughter and her young son also lived with them. Chad, the son, was about seven at the time.
One day, my aunt was home alone - uncle and her daughter were both at work, Chad was a school, the lady who cleaned the house had already come and gone for the day. My aunt was in the study, working a project or something. In this house, if you sat at the desk in the study, you had clear view of the foot of the stairs.
She was sitting there on the computer, when she looked up and saw a young boy sitting a the foot of the stairs, staring at her. He was about the same age as Chad, and she assumed he was a friend from school. She asked the kid his name and he didn't answer. She thought he was weird, so she told him he needed to be in school or to go on home. She looked down for a second, and when she looked up, he was gone.
When Chad got home from school that day, she told him one of his friends had been in the house. He said no way, all my friends were at school with me. She described the boy, and Chad got real quiet. He said, oh yeah. I know him. He comes out of my closet to play sometimes at night. Unnerved, my aunt and cousin told him to go play outside and stop telling wild stories.
A couple of months later, my aunt was doing research on the history of the house and found out that a young boy, aged eight, had died there of leukemia in the 70's. She found an old newspaper article about his death, with a picture she recognized. He was the same boy who had been staring at her on the stairs that day.