Halloween Scary Story~ (LAME TITLE D8)

[Romano]

Since everyone here must at least know what the 31st of October is, I've come with a great idea to celebrate Halloween! We'll all just post scary stories that we have read, heard, or maybe, share our own scary experiences. You guys can post as many scary stories as you want! Since I think a certain somebody has loads of scary story in store *coughscanadacoughs*

Well, what are you waiting for? Go post your scary stories and scare the other nations to death! Those who post gets cyber cookies courtesy of England~! XD

Me first~! Well, I'm going to tell you of this (not really, maybe)scary experience of mine when I'm still in 6th grade I guess...

It was almost night at that time. Around 6 or 5 PM if I'm not wrong. The sky's already dark, and my aunt still hasn't come to pick me up. The sound of mosque speakers could be heard clearly and I think I'm the only one left in the school. I was waiting for my aunt when suddenly, my natural instinct calls me, and so, I have to go to the bathroom.

I walked from the parking lot and must go through the canteen, which is already empty, after that, my school's cement/concrete field and then finally, the bathroom.

You see, my school building has a bit of colonial touch on it, and the bathrooms there could be quite scary although it's not dark. You could feel a bit scared if you went into it, even though you're in it just for a while. But, because I was in dire need back then, I quickly went to one of the bathrooms there. As I slammed the door shut, I could hear a giggling from outside. At first, I'm still not scared, but then, I remembered that the school's empty now, with the exception to the patrolling officer. I quickly opened the door and went out.

Still, being a curious kid back then, I decided to go to where the giggling come from. At the end side of the toilets, there is a little passage leading to the backside of the toilet, enough for a kid to pass through. I was so sure the giggling come from behind the toilets and, I actually went through it. The passage's not that long, it took maybe just ten steps for me to get to the other side.

It was full of trash, the backside is. I looked around but I found no one. Suddenly, a chill went down through my spine and, I don't know why, but, when I noticed, I was already running as fast as I could.

And thus, is my experience. Not scary, huh? But, put yourself into my shoes and try to imagine it. -shudders- Until now I still don't know where that giggling comes from... But, it sure sounds like an old woman's laugh.

[France]

I suppose to understand my relationship with the supernatural, one needs to know something about my life.

Throughout my childhood, my father worked long hours about an hour and a half away from our home, leaving at five-thirty in the morning and sometimes not coming back until very late at night. He traveled on business often, sometimes going away for months at a time. My mother chose to give up her career to stay at home and take care of me and my younger sister. When I six-years-old, however, my mother had a nervous breakdown, and my parents began to fight violently. So, for many years, I was left to raise myself and my younger sister.

In my family, the women on both my father's line and my mother's line all have their own "ghost" stories, but, for most of them except for my maternal grandmother, they all occurred in times of crisis. Now, I was, admittedly, a really lonely kid. I spent an abnormal amount of time at school because my mother would forget to pick my sister and I up, and I didn't really have a lot of friends because of the way my mother acted in public. It was probably around when I was seven or eight that I began to see ghosts. And, to be totally frank, I hated it.

Imagine: you're eight-years-old and you're waiting in front of the nunnery where you take piano lessons with your sister, waiting for your mother (or someone) to come and pick you up. You see an old nun walking up the pathway, and you say, in the polite fashion you have been taught, <i>hello, sister</i>. The old nun smiles and keeps walking--straight through a glass door. Your sister asks you who you were talking to. You're scared out of your wits, but you smile and tell her it was nobody.

Since then, I've been that strange person who always sees the ghosts in the supposedly haunted houses. I have a strange talent for being able to find people I don't know in a cemetery and know correctly how they died.

I also can identify people I've never met in old photographs because I've met them in dreams. We found a bunch of photos of my Japanese side a couple years back when my grandmother on my mother's side died, and I knew everyone's name, even though most of the people no one else knew until we started doing research. For a year after we found these photos, we didn't know what happened to most of the Japanese side that still lived in Japan. When I looked at the photos, I always feel this weird emptiness, like almost everyone had just... disappeared. They just weren't there anymore.

We found, last year, that the family home in the Kobe region of Japan had been directly bombed in the firebombing in 1945. Hiroshima, where some of the family worked, was, of course, atomic bombed several months later. And, for me, it leaves these pictures of my family--of people I know the names of by instinct--totally empty.

Not really a ghost story, exactly, but a strange occurrence of the supernatural. ^^;[/color]

[Romano]

-hides behind a blanket- It's not that scary... not that scary... But I'm still scared! D8

That nun part is scary... although, somehow, I already knew it would end with you discovering the nun is a ghost.

Good work, France~ You just made me unable to sleep. XD

Next story please? :3

[Spain]

^^; I have a morbid fascination with ghosts and yet... I can't call myself a sensitive, not in the least. But I suppose that's for the better.

When I was in high school, I spent a few days in Sacramento for a conference. They housed the members in a youth hostel, which was a massive Victorian that had been built by a flour merchant and eventually became a funeral parlor before being converted to a hostel. Several people had in fact died in the house, including the original owner, and the manager told us that they had in fact had several ghosts (supposedly a medium went through and also banished them). Incidents included the weighted front door opening in the middle of the night (in front of the manager) and very silently closing a little after.

At this time, I was very sick with the flu and it took me a while to get to bed. In my room, there were two bunk beds, pushed against the walls, and one single bed that was in the center, against the windows. I took the single one.

In the middle of the night, I woke up suddenly, and I couldn't move. I had the distinct impression that someone was staring at me. My eyes were able to move though and I could tell that there was no one physically there. But I had the feeling that someone was leaning over me, staring at me. Someone male, who was vaguely concerned and vaguely bemused. I was terrified but after about a minute of this, I managed to turn over and close my eyes and finally get to sleep.

^^; Kinda lame, really.

[aurora]

The Dungarvon Whooper

Setting: Dungarvon River, New Brunswick, Canada

An old story that takes place in the Maritime province of New Brunswick along the shores of the Dungarvon river, said to be named by a man that went by the name of Michael Murphy that hailed from Dungarvan, Ireland.

But, our story lies not with the river itself or how it gained it's name. No, it floats around the hard working lumber jacks, felling trees in the woods surrounding it... Going out in the early mornings of the fall, and not returning home till early spring began to peek through the treetops...

It was not an easy life, certainly not in the mid-eighteen hundreds. And the hard working men could not live on fresh air alone, they needed a good strong breakfast to get them through the day. This particular group had a fine cook who is said to have gone by the name of Ryan. Although, some recounts say that was the camp boss's name.

But, that is not the focus of the story of course. A name is a name, and after all the years gone by the poor souls will have to make do with what ever we dub them... And I read it was Ryan so we'll stick with that...

So, the cook named Ryan was a bright young man, said to be of a suitable stature and strength. But admittedly he was a finer cook than a lumber jack.

But his lungs were also among the best, as a lumberjack you need a good set of lungs. It would be quite troublesome I would think if you finished tipping a tree and no one hears your warning call. Imagine, squishing a few of your partners in the process... No, that wouldn't be pleasant at all. So his voice was a rather good selling point for becoming a part of the camp.

Still, he was valued far more as a cook. Which he spent a great deal of his time among the other men doing. The boss of the camp stationing him to make the meals and feed the preferred lumber jacks up for the day.

Now, it doesn't sound as much of a job as trekking through the woods to chop down trees. But it wouldn't be fair to claim that. Not when the cook has to wake up well before four a.m. Before the rest of his fellow camp members and put together a rather expansive breakfast. Usually pork and beans(never said it was fine cuisine, before you ask...). Not to mention pancakes of course!

His lungs came in handy for this job as well though, it took a great holler to wake the rest of the camp and alert them to their breakfast being ready.

Now getting back on topic, Ryan was a man who was very tight with his money. So tight in fact that it was on his person at ALL times. He kept it close on a money belt under his clothes, it was hard to say why he was so miserly about it. Some stories say he was a skinflint, but it was thought to be that he was saving up funds to make a good life for his love and bride to be.

But, the poor young man would never get the chance... It was not uncommon knowledge that he had such a large sum of money on him... Indeed, the camp boss himself probably knew... It was said that one day came that the boss stayed behind, telling his men that he had work to do around the camp, and he wanted them to go on without him. Warning them that he wanted a good days work out of them before sending them off.

No one is quite sure what transpired that day, but when they returned that evening they found Ryan on the floor, dead... Some recounts say his head was busted open, others say he was just dead, I've even heard telling of one where boiling fat or wax was poured down his ear but I think that was more an attempt to make the story seem scarier...

For now, we'll go with he appeared to be bludgeoned by something, it seems like a more likely cause of death to me... When asked, the camp boss simply said something probably to the effect of. "I think he was sick... He collapsed and hit his head. There was nothing I could do for him...!"

Of course, the men questioned him... Ryan had looked fine that morning when they left, and he had to have fallen pretty hard to cause the damage done to his head... But their boss brushed it off, making dark excuses... But they all suspected him... For the belt of money was gone from Ryan's waste. Surely it hadn't disappeared into thin air right...?

It was still winter and the grounds were frozen quite solid, there would be no way to give Ryan a proper burial till the spring thaw rolled around. And their boss wanted to keep the man's death oddly quiet, so they buried him in a snow drift to bury when the ground was softer. The cold snow would keep his body from rotting too badly until the time came.

They put up a reminder(I've read that it was a toque or belonging of Ryan/one of the men) to help them remember where he was buried, and left the poor dead man till spring rolled around... However, when they returned the site, the sign was still there, but Ryan was not... His body was gone without a trace...

They tried to reason with themselves, the body had been dragged away by a bear or animal that was starving... Surely that was it... Or so the camp boss tried to convince them.

They, still quite skeptical, questioned him on it. There weren't really any bears known of in the area... Everyone had to wonder if he had already done away with the body, But what proof did they have...? The boss threw other animals into the equation, and continued to skirt around the topic of what might have happened to Ryan's body...

Moment's later, a terrifying whooping screech was said to have torn through the woods around them. Unearthly, not human... And not quite animal... The men were scared out of their minds, what on earth had that sound been...?

The boss grinned, and used the sound as fuel for his excuses. Telling them it was a wild cat, and probably the one that had taken poor Ryan's body away. But again, who could believe him... It certainly hadn't sounded quite like an animal... Some say it sounded like a devil, unholy and evil...

A few more excuses were thrown around as the boss tried to calm them. These were lumberjacks, hard and brave men! But they were utterly terrified of the sound they had just heard... It did not help when a second whoop tore through the air. More excuses from the camp boss, who himself was becoming increasingly nervous, more skepticism...

Finally, a third whooping scream tore through the air, echoing and dieing around them slowly. And when it had finally faded to nothing... The camp boss dropped dead... Right there, on the spot. Still, and unmoving...

But that was not the last time they heard the terrible whooping sound, it continued on. As they buried the camp boss in the grave intended for Ryan. It continued to wail and whoop through the short prayers that were given around the filled grave, unforgiving, unmerciful..

The camp members all knew there would be no laying this spirit to rest... He had died violently, his life stolen, and all his hopes and dreams would never come to be... He would never be with the woman he loved, and his body would never be found, he would never have a proper grave...

The man abandoned the camp, too afraid to remain in the obviously haunted woods... The whooping would never cease... Indeed, a priest, by the name of Father Murdoch, even took up the challenge to calm and rid the forest of the spirit. But his efforts went to waste. To this day, the woods still cry out... Ryan, the Dungarvon Whooper, still screams for justice against the wrongs done to him...

Ok, I'm still not 100% satisfied with my retelling of the Dungarvon Whooper. The original I read is MUCH better. But there you have it folks :3 a story from my home province! Someday, I want to go there, and see the area for myself, see what I feel when I walk the woods, or hear...

Next time I'll post up one of my own personal experiences :\ I'm not sure if they are worth noting though.

[Poland]

WARNING: This story is more depressing than scary xD
Okay, so~~~ *gets out flashlight*
So on my mum's side of the family, I am Filipino-Spanish-- my maternal great Grandfather was Spanish and my maternal great Grandmother was Filipino... Their family was super rich in the Philippines...
Anyway, my grandmother was their middle child. She was really smart and expected to do great things, but at 16 she eloped with my grandfather after her parents and she had this violent fight. She broke my great-grandfather's heart by leaving and he left the rest of his family (he had six kids including my grandmother), leaving them to fall to poverty.
A few years later, when my grandmother had already had two or three kids or something, she came into contact with one of her sisters. She told her sister of how good her life was, and her angry sister told my great grandmother about it. My great grandmother, who supposedly came from an island practicing a sort of witchcraft, became really angry when she heard that her selfish daughter had just left them, after making her husband leave and her family poor, and she cursed my grandmother and her descendants...
My grandmother left my grandfather after having 6 kids with him. He became a drunk and was pretty abusive to his kids... She came down with diabetes...
My youngest uncle was only 15 when he went out with his friends, curved wrong on a dark street, and died a terrible death in a car accident. Later my older uncle-- who was really gifted; he was really smart and could even fly airplanes-- came down with schizophrenia. My other uncle got lost at sea. My aunt got married to an abusive husband, her baby came out prematurely and almost died...
My grandfather was finally murdered at like, 50. My grandmother died a year later of cancer.... One of my cousins has just been diagnosed with bipolar disorder...
Basically all sorts of things, really. I dunno, a lot of bad things happen to a lot of families but... I think it's a curse....

[Romano]

Now, for some folklores~!

Okay, I'll tell you about Leak, or Leyak in English spelling. It's a kind of mythological creature that takes the form of a head flying with their inside organs still attached. They usually fly around in order to find a pregnant woman and when they've found her, they'll suck the baby's blood. Leyak have the form of a normal human in the day, but when it was night...

Next folklore would come when I have the guts to write it. ( I am alone in the house now... " )

[France]

Okay, so, following my first post here, I have one of my more frightening stories for you all. I hope you enjoy it!



The Family in White

When I was very small, my family used to live near to a very rundown graveyard. Everyday, on the way back from school, we used to drive by it, and I would always expect to see someone there--either visiting the graves or cleaning the weeds and trash. There never was.

I went back to my old neighborhood to visit some friends when I was in middle school. The bus system was really crappy in the area (buses ran about 30 minutes to every hour depending on your luck), so, after lunch with my friends, I walked back to bus stop. The particular bus stop I had to take was right across the street from that old, dilapidated graveyard, and, after the bus didn't come for ten or fifteen minutes, I was bored and stared to pay attention to it.

To my surprise, I saw that there were people in the graveyard for once. This pleased me because I had always thought how lonely it must be for all the people buried there to be forgotten by their families. It was a relatively young family, and they looked like they had just come from Church. Now, I should have noticed something was wrong by then because there wasn't a church for several miles and they were wearing all white and long sleeved-dresses in the summer.

They were all standing around one of the larger gravestones--a woman, a man, and a young girl--seemingly brushing away leaves and cleaning it. It was a rather picturesque scene, and the girl was very enthusiastic. She had a wide-brimmed white hat that matched her mother's, and I was a little jealous of it; I'd always wanted a hat like that.

It was when they moved away from the gravestone that things became eerie. The father seemed to lag behind as his wife and daughter bounded ahead, limping and then fading away. The mother reached past a few rows of the mismatched gravestones and then disappeared as well. The girl, with her white, wide-brimmed hat, started crying and then disappeared as well.

I don't think I ever wanted the bus to come as much I did then.[/color]

[aurora]

Here is my own most memorable experience with ghosts... Romano already heard it, but I figured I would put it up here.

I'm a very... Sensitive person... I can usually feel the moods and feel the atmosphere of those around me.. I usually know when something is wrong, even if things seem fine. The same goes for the other things... In a sense anyways.. If a place is inhabited by spirits I usually feel them. Not usually see them I admit... Which is weird but that's how it is. At the place called French Fort Cove, I can feel things there from time to time, a presence other than whoever is with me at the time. But It's usually the same in grave yards and areas where similar things happened.

I sometimes feel I might just be a bit... Unbalanced, I probably belong in a mental ward anyways lol. Maybe I am just observative... But my theory was proved a little further when I was in Ireland. I honestly had never heard of Glendalough while I was there but it felt like the cove, only... More so... I wasn't made aware of it's history until I felt/heard things and asked about it.

But my strongest encounter, and the only one really worth noting, was probably in a haunted apartment in Nova Scotia. My once friend had invited me to spend a week there at the apartment. It wasn't like an apartment... More like a house with two floors that had been separated into two. It had three bedrooms, all down one end of a hall, the living room and kitchen at the other end of the apartment. The kitchen has a door that opens and leads downstairs to the lower floor at the farthest end of the room. The entrance to the kitchen was in the living room.

And that's about all the floor plans y'need for this to make sense...

I was already aware that the apartment was haunted, things were known to jump and fly off the shelf. Salt and pepper shakers thrown across the room and the like. I never gave it much thought, and I sort of forgot soon after I was told, which had been months before. My place of rest would be the pull out couch in the living room. My friends room mates were gone, one to a friends house and the other was in Ireland for the summer. So it was just us.

The first night we spent most of it watching anime and playing video games. I didn't go to bed till quite late, after I pulled out the couch and got situated for the evening I turned off the lights and tried to sleep. Then proceeded to not sleep... I wasn't tired to be honest, and my friend snored like a friggen motor bike at the other end of the apartment. So I knew where they were for the entire night o_0...

Things were quiet for awhile, aside from the snoring. Before too long things started to feel off. I started to hear a creaking from downstairs as if someone was coming up the steps from the apartment below. Which was impossible since no one was renting it, the owners had the keys, and they lived in Toronto at the time... I vaguely heard the door knob to downstairs turning in the kitchen, and the sounds of the apartment floor creaking again occasionally. I felt something move by my head and at first saw nothing...

Then, I turned a little further as I felt something coming back I saw what it was that had me feeling so off. I'll admit I was terrified for a moment before I calmed down. This... Man... Was drifting back by the head of the couch I was using as a bed, to wards the kitchen. This was probably the only time I've ever seen a spirit so clearly. I couldn't really make out the finer details. But he had messy hair, and was of medium height. I could feel him looking at me as he drifted back, the street lamps out side sort of illuminated him from behind.... It was a creepy effect. Then he just disappeared as he approached the entry to the kitchen.

I don't think he meant any ill even if I felt him watching... I think he was more confused as to who the hell I was. My once friend didn't have company over that stayed in the living room, and neither did the room mates apparently. So I think being there surprised him. At least that's what I decided when I was in a better frame of mind. When I mentioned the experience in the morning I was asked repeatedly why I didn't come and get them XD.

I'm a very... self sufficient sort of person. I like to handle things on my own and even if I might have felt better to have someone to wait up with me for the rest of the night, I was still comfortable enough to brush it off. And as I said, I didn't feel in danger or anything... I just ended up plugging my ears with headphones and listening to music to block anything else out for the rest of the week so I wasn't as disturbed again lol.

So that's pretty much it lol.

[England]

So, since everyone nag me to write it... I will write.

Okay... I need to tell you first that I don't quite remember what happened before, and after. I guess I will just describe the ghost and where she is.

Well... I remember that I see her just out of the blue. She's just like... There, at once. And I don't even feel it's strange. She just standing there, looking at me and smile. She's not hostile and both of her hands are on the front. She wears Japanese red kimono with flowers as the motive. She has a long hair.

I think that's it... Dang, it's so short... Wish I can make it longer somehow.

[America]

This story may not be that scary, but it creeped me out to be there personally.

So as the story goes, I was going on a fishing trip around part of the Marshall Islands, the country that I live in, which lasted for about five days in total. The boat that we were on was a sail boat and already in bad condition, with a crack down the middle due to my friend being the careless idiot he is. It was all fun though, just spending days in and out spear fishing, bottom fishing, power snorkeling...practically just having fun. It was around night time, the moon clear, starts bright in the sky when I fell asleep along with many of the other occupants of the boat. This included the person who was driving the boat.

So when I woke up, which was still quite late in the night, I noticed that we were beached on a small island that I personally never had seen in my whole life. Confused, I woke everyone else up, which was about three other people. My friends didn't know where we were, so we ended up going down on the beach to sleep since it was more comfortable than the boat. We couldn't simply push the boat back into the water because it was considered as a hazard to start up a boat at night time. (Especially with being so close to one of the most shark invested places in the whole Pacific). Anyways, I'm prolonging the story...

So when we laid down on the sand, we all attempted to fall asleep. It took us about a good thirty minutes for our eyes to start feeling heavy, but we heard a small scratch. At first, I thought it was just me being paranoid though I was not a truly avid believer in ghosts. So I tried to close my eyes again and I heard a louder scratch, which happened to come from the ground under me. I started to get freaked out, because it sounded as if the scratches were like fingernails against wood. Once again, I tried to fall asleep, not wanting to disturb my friends from their attempts at slumber. It was another ten minutes before I heard another scratch, louder than before and a soft weep of a woman, which made all of us jump. At first, I thought it was just one of my friends, but then I realized that I was the only female in the trip. Since I so avidly believed that ghosts did not exist, I tried to fall asleep again and I didn't hear the noises for another hour. They came again though, sounding more desperate as we heard the constant scratching of nails against wood under the sand that we were on, weeps of sorrow, insanity, and pleading of more than just one person. We all heard the voices of old men, women, and even children, weeping in a language that fell unknown to our ears. Aware of what I was hearing, I jumped back onto the boat along with my friends and tried our best to fall asleep again, trying not to remember what we just heard.

When morning came, we looked at the island that we were beached on and saw just about twenty feet away was a graveyard, filling up a great expanse of the small beach. This is when I realized that this was King's Island, which is considered as a island where all the Marshallese royalty were buried after their deaths. There were many stories before that reported the same thing, hearing scratches against wood and screams or crying. After getting off the island, we went straight back to the island that we lived on, more frightened then we had ever been.

[aurora]

The Headless Nun of French Fort Cove

Setting: Miramichi, New Brunswick, Canada

This story is one I find more sad than scary... It takes place in the town that I've spent most of my life, in a walking park that is very dear to my heart. Of which I finally managed to go and get some really pretty fall shots of :3..

The time line of the following events took place around the mid-eighteenth century in a small Acadian settlement that was lead by Charles des Champs de Boishebert. It was a time when the British forces threatened to over run and invade the area at any given time... Not to mention they were fighting an inner war, the people suffering from a plague of leprosy.

There was a particular Nun who cared for the community during this time, said to be named Sister Marie Inconnus. She was a very well liked, trusted member of the settlement. She cared for the sick Acadian's, as well as the near by Mi'kmaq people. Her kindness and honest feelings of duty sadly lead to her untimely death...

To protect the settlements riches, they gathered them together and entrusted Sister Marie, and a couple other woman with said valuables. Bidding them to hide them for safe keeping until things calmed down. Not long after the treasure was safely hidden away, the other women were said to have died of scurvy. Leaving Sister Marie as the only one who knew the whereabouts of the treasure.

One night she was on her way back from helping a Mi'kmaq woman with a rather difficult pregnancy when she was ambushed on a bridge by two men. Some stories say they were highway men, some stories say they were simply settlers who had gone made with leprosy, but at any rate they demanded she divulge the location of the treasure...

When Sister Marie refused, they were said to have beaten her terribly in their rage, resulting in the poor womans decapitation. Her head was said to have fallen, or been thrown, into the river below. When her body was discovered soon after the next day, the settlers searched for the womans head but unfortunately it was never found.

Her remains were returned to France, but her spirit never went for the journey. It remains in the cove, wandering the forest and trails alone and headless. It has been said she cannot move on for two reasons. One of which is that she is still searching for her head, and will ask travelers to help her search. The second is she still guards the treasure, which still is hidden and was never recovered. Any who seek it out have been said to meet her, and should be prepared to meet with misfortune...

There are many recounts of this story online and off, some things are different but they all end similarly. I personally have always been curious at the idea of the treasure being found, but at the same point I would never seek it out simply because the woman died protecting it... And out of my own rather odd respect think it should remain where it is until the poor soul is given the peace needed to move on... But I am a little crazy :\

Pictures can be found here: s675.photobucket.com/albums/vv111/Crimson_Specter/French%20Fort%20Cove/

Warning, tons of trees. So many in fact that the world looses all meaning :\...

:\ because I don't want to stretch the page out here D: ...