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.
Little known fact about me: every person in my family has had a supernatural experience–except me.
The closest I’ve come to having an experience for myself was actually my hubby’s experience while I was sleeping in the same room. I was not conscious, so needless to say, I don’t get to claim that ghost story as my own.
I’m not sure if my lack of experiences is part of why, but I’ve always been fascinated by people’s ghost stories–their retelling of their brushes with the supernatural are one of my favorite things to talk about.
Soooo, I thought I’d blog about it.
I have a short stack of stories from my sisters, hubby, and Mom that I’ll plan to re-tell here over the coming weeks. How about you? Care to tell your #ghoststory? I would love to let you tell it here! Hit me up here, on twitter, or on facebook!