This #Ghoststories post is brought to you by a friend of mine who shared his story with me just last week. Thanks Kyle!
“My Dad lived in a house that had been a stagecoach stop in the 19th century. It’s on the National Historic Registry in Missouri. You always felt watched in that house–like, most nights when I was a kid, if the weather was nice enough, I’d sleep out on the porch. It just wasn’t comfortable inside. My bed was original to the house–it has shotgun spray lodged into it. Just to give you an idea.
Anyway, one night when I was in middle school, my dad had some friends over and let me invite a couple of friends over, too. Everybody was hanging out in the living room, just talking and having a good time, the adults drinking some beers. All of the sudden, we start hearing a crashing sound, like glass breaking. A bunch of us got up and followed the sound into the kitchen to find the necks broken off all of the bottles of beer that were sitting on the counter. Beer is pouring down the fronts of the cabinets, onto the floor, and the necks are sitting alongside the bottles, clean broken, no shattered glass.
It was especially spooky because everyone in the house had been in the front room–everyone had heard the noise. We all experienced it together, so it wasn’t one person’s word over another’s. Nobody could explain what had happened. ”
Time for another #ghoststories post, where I tell other people’s (and let other people tell the story of their) brushes with the supernatural–all because I can’t seem to have supernatural experiences of my own.
My sisters are pretty spooky.
They know this, so it’s not like I’m speaking out of turn here.
A lot of spooky shit has happened to them–especially my middle sister. She’ll post a story or two of her own here someday, I promise.
In the meantime, I’m going to tell you about the time a ghost came up the stairs in my family’s old house!
So my sisters are in one of their rooms–the one right by the stairs–late at night. Their up, hanging out and being teenagers when they hear one of my parents coming up the stairs.
Funny, because they thought both Mom and Dad were in bed already.
The stairs are short–five or six steps total–but the sound doesn’t stop.
They proceed to listen to someone walk up the stairs continuously for more than five minutes–growing more freaked out by the second.
Eventually, too scared to sit in my youngest sister’s room any longer, they open the door and dart across the hall–but not before they see our dog, a giant Newfy named Kirby, standing in the doorway to my parents’ dark bedroom, staring down the stairs.
They run into the other bedroom without looking to see what he’s staring at.
Probably for the best.
Welcome to the first edition of #Ghoststories, where I tell/post everybody else’s stories of their brush with the supernatural–because I don’t have any ghost stories of my own. Yep, that’s right: all supernatural happenings cease in my presence. It’s a gift. -.-
Below is the story of the closest I’ve come to a supernatural experience. Enjoy!
Got a #GhostStory to share? Message me and it might be featured on ellebeauregard.com!
My family’s apartment was haunted. I had long moved away from home by the time my Mom and two sisters started living there, but from the minute they moved in, weird stuff started happening. In fact, some of the weird stuff that had happened in their previous home followed them to this new apartment.
So, one night, my husband and I were visiting and decided to stay the night. I was asleep on an air mattress in the living room, with the hubby tucked in beside me. He was awake, watching television while I dozed when he heard someone in the small kitchen just across the way. Assuming it was my mom, he turned to tell her about the cool thing he’d just seen on the T.V.
But there was nobody there.
He then watched the freezer door open, and the kitchen faucet turn on ALL BY THEMSELVES.
He turned off the T.V., sunk down beneath the covers, squeezed his eyes shut, and forced himself to go to sleep.
He told us what had happened the next morning. My Mom just nodded and replied with a story of her own. Then my sister shared one of her stories–and my other sister shared hers.
My hubby never spent the night in that apartment again.