Insomnia

Nothing worse than haveing insomnia......Anybody else awake?

I am! I actually like insomnia on the weekends ^_^

--Bryce~

NOt me i work weekends sat sund and monday. Friday is my only weekend and my husband works so we stay home. But sence i work nights I'm always up with no life lol. I suck so bad ;)

Thanks for leaving that comment on the newest poem. Wasn't sure if i wanted to leave it there or not. Thought it was a bit excplit for this site. I'm still not sure what I even think about it.

Heh, I liked it. I still have to add a new poem into my list I wrote about my ghost kittie that lives in my house ^_^. I don't know when I'll be able to finish my series though, I'm trying to come up with a flawless story-line.

--Bryce~

I really cant wait to read it!!! Ghost Stories are my favorite, although i don't have any real personal experiences :(. But I watched this cool tv program and now i want to go to san antonio texas and check something out. I'm really into that sort of stuff.....call me crazy.

Heh, nah not at all, I find all that sort of stuff fascinating. Ghosts, demons, vampires, angels, all that fun stuff. I like vampires and ghosties the most though :P. So what is in San Antionio that you're wanting to see?

--Bryce~

I guess there is this road that in the early 40's a school bus was crossing train tracks and stalled. Well the train hit the bus and all 10 children died. So the story went that if you turn off your car and put it in nutreul the children will push your car up the hill over the tracks untill youre in a safe place. They demenstrated this on t.v and put powder on the back of the car and there were little childrends finger prints on the bumper. It gave me goose bumps watching it, so now i have to try it out. I seem to do this stuff travel alot to find weird things like this. I just went to niagra falls and the thousand islands to stay in a haunted bed and breakfast. So this will be my next trip

also i collect stories and i can put in a creep ghost storie if your up to reading it.....some of these are where i get my insperation from.

Wicked, I'm always up for a good ghost story and since you get your inspiration from them, they must be good ones. ^_^

--Bryce~

The sealed, seance room at the old farm house.

My grandmothers house is a restored and remodeled farmhouse. The foundation, and most of the downstairs, is unchanged from when the orignal house was built around 150 years ago. All of the materials, the lumber, iron nails, thick door frames, are all the same. For a better mental picture of the house, the downstairs is very similar to the house in the 1990 return of the living dead. The difference is the hidden basement, and the previously sealed room.

Without going into boring detail, a hidden basement was discovered at my grandparents house about 40 years ago, and there was a strangely shaped room down there. No one knew what the room was for, until a local psychic looked at the room and immediately told my grandparents to stay away from it, and to move the antique furniture out of the room.

The psychic, or as the town called her "witch," left the house in a panic repeatedly mumbling "bad people," and "cursed." My grandparents didn't do as she said, and only moved out the furniture when my father and mother bought a house.

Family and friends always thought the old witch was just a crazy woman, until the problems started. Now, no relative on either side of the family will accept the furniture, and some can't even bring themselves to look at it when they're at my parents house.

No one goes in the basement. No one can figure out why the basement has smelled like rotting meat ever since the furniture was moved. There has never been an explaination why the door to the basement will unlock itself, and open. The fresh flowers grandma used to arrange downstairs will always wilt in a day, and everyone who has stayed and been in the bathroom has heard at least once someone knock on the basement door and quietly ask "hello?"

Like my parents house. . .except not as worse.

This is the background story before the serious stuff.

CONT

The death bed/ The silent mirror.

The worst part of the furniture that was moved was an old wooden bed that was painted in a faded, pea soup green, and the matching mirror cabinet. Everyone hated these pieces of furniture after the move.

The bed frame had a huge, plain headboard, and there were pillars in the four corners of the bed that ended in a dull, arrowhead shape. Because of the design of the bed, the mattress would rest just below a thick frame that connected all the pillars. When you laid down in the sunken bed surrouned by its high, wooden walls, you always felt like the bed was swallowing you. About 150 years ago, an unknown relative of the family built this bed, and no parts had been changed since. Every time you rolled on the bed it would creak loudly, moaning under the stress it has had to endure over the decades.

The matching mirror was a huge and flawless despite its age, and the ornate frame for the piece showed no signs of wear. The mirror was attached above cabnets, so an average size man could only see his reflection above his waist. In the room that had both pieces, the mirror faced the bed. The headboard of the bed faced the door, and the mirror was on the same side as the door. If you wanted to see your reflection in the mirror, you had to walk into the room and stand infront of the bed.

The reason the bed is called the death bed is because family members would always sleep on the bed when they were extremely sick, or going to die. Almost all of my dads family had died on that bed, and by coincidence, a few of my mothers family passed aways as well there. My first experience with the death bed was when I was a child, and I had a bad case of strep throat. I had to sleep on the bed.

I had fallen asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow, but my fever was too strong, and I woke up in pain around midnight. As I lay in the bed, struggling against the pain and facing the wall on the left side of the bed, I heard the bed creak. Not only did I hear the bed creak, but I could feel it move.

I lay motionless until the creak happened again, and I felt someone roll over closer to me. Thinking it may be my mother who might have come in to keep an eye on me since I was sick, I rolled over to see if she was asleep. Someone else was there.

A woman, probably in her thirties, was facing me. She was staring right at me with her eyes and mouth wide open. She looked like she was going to start crying and wail out in pain, but she just stared. Surrounding her eyes and mouth were dark blue circles, and her straight black hair was thrown covered part of her face. Her cheeks were sunk in, and her mouth kept dropping more and more open like the sorrow was becoming too much. I turned away to try and grap a hold of the side bed and pull myself out, and when I looked back she was no longer there. I crawled back into the bed, put the sheets over my head, and didn't move for the rest of the night.

I told my mother what I saw in the morning, and she didn't seem too concerned until I mentioned how sad and hurt the woman looked. My mother, who was sitting at the kitchen table with me, stood up, went to the bedroom where my father was getting ready for work, and starting talking to him. I couldn't make out what she was saying, but he came out soon after and said "don't go in that room again, and you're not to sleep in there again, I don't care how sick you are." I asked if it was because of the woman and he said yes, and then I asked if i'm going to be in trouble and he said "your great aunt is dead, she won't bother you and she was nice woman."

She is the only young woman to die on the bed. She died of some type of asphixiation (sp?) that the farmland doctors couldn't figure out. Apparently she stopped getting enough oxygen being pumped in her blood, and she died being virtually paralyzed and unable to call out for hours.

The good poltergeist stuff is comming up; this is the calm stuff.

CONT

More death bed/mirror

Although this particular mirror (there are three total) never conjured the big problems like the other mirrors, it did something strange always. The room with the bed and mirror had blinds that keep all the light out of the room when closed, and at night, there was no light at all. The room was always pitch black except the mirror, which would glow. It wouldn't project light or illuminate anything, but it would glow brightly despite no light being directed to it at all. If you went to look in the mirror, you could see a clear reflection of yourself, but NOTHING else in the room. It was like you existed in a void.

Death bed silent man

My first encounter with the silent man was about two years after the dead woman on the bed. It was during the day, and I was looking through the mirror cabnet draws for an old stapler. I found the stapler, and I as I was looking at it to see if it needed staples (or if it would work), I heard a man clearly say:

"Hi"

He didn't say it in a friendly tone, but more of "I see you" sort of tone. What's worse is I looked up into the mirror and I was alone in the room. I moved as quickly out of the room as I could, and as I did I heard the same voice, but in a growling, angry voice say:

"Get back here"

I didn't, but whatever it was was now angry, and people started to take notice.

Since the room with the bed was at the end of the end of the hall, you could look right in to the living room from the doorway. Also, you could always see me leave my room since. I remember the first time I left my room and froze in fear as I looked into the doorway of the death bed room. There was something like a man, translucent, crouched down like a panther ready to pounce. I stared into the top of the head of the "man" (because the figure was looking down), until I gathered enough courage to run for the living room where my parents were. As I took off, so did it, and it jabbed me in the small of my back, knocking me down. Over the period of a year, this happened a few more times, and I have scars on my lower back the size of fingertips. There are no fingerprints, but there are unusual and consistent ovalish scars.

Also, since my parents room were right next door to the death bed room, the door to my parents room would slam shut. It would only slam shut when someone was trying to enter or leave the room, sometimes hitting one of my parents in the face with the door. My mother was pissed one day that the doors would do that and I said it was the ghost in the death bed room. She said she knew, and her and my father could hear something laughing through the walls sometimes.

She closed and bolted the door shut until we moved. Occasionally you would hear something knock lightly on the door and ask "hello" very quietly. When we moved, my parents had the bed and mirror destroyed to take care of the problem. Unfortunately we then decided to keep the old music boxes and the buried mirrors.

On a kinda side note: No one had ever experienced anything bad with the bed, or anything with the angry male ghost until it was moved into the seance room in the farm house basement. People don't go down there anymore because something else also knocks lightly on the closed basement door and asks "hello."

The big stories about the old music boxes and the two mirrors are next.

CONT

First the old music boxes.

I hated this fuckin' things since the first time I saw them. They were about 100 years old, ceramic (mostly), highly decorated with sky and clouds type themes, and the music that came out of them were perfect. All three of them, the two clouds and soaring ballerina (the top had a ballerina that would twirl when the box was wound), were in perfect condition. They just didn't seem right. The people had left these boxes and everything else their daughter had behind. They were angry with her because she commited suicide, and didn't want a reminder of such a bad child. Wow, what a happy family.

We stored everything she used to have in the attic except the boxes (my mom loved them), and we didn't take down this mirror thing she had in her room. Instead of a full-length mirror, she took mirror squares and glued them almost next to each other on a part of the wall. It was like a broken, full-length mirror that faced the bed. Luckily, I got the room with the horrible mirror.

One day, the dog was chasing one of our cats around, bumps into the dresser that had the music boxes on them, and all the boxes fall to the floor and break. There were only two people that were upset that happened: my mother and the daughter.

We were there only one month after that, and it was a nightmare. Our dog suddenly developed over 50 ulcers in her stomach and died. . .in three days. Eventhough there was no smoke, you and everyone around you would start choking and coughing. Air would rush so strongly by your ears sometimes that you couldn't hear the world around you. People would start sleep walking (the only time ever in this house during this period) and leave the house. You would always wake up outside like it was an eviction of a supernatural kind. Then there was her mirror.

She looked very similar to the girl in the ring (no drowing symptoms, evil whitish eyes, or any of that stuff, but she wore a white night dress and has long, dark hair). I remember being in bed and looking at the mirrors, when I saw her for the first time. It was like the mirrors were really one big, broken window, and she was looking through. Just her upper body because she was like peering around through the mirrors at me, and she was angry. Sometimes she would look scared or worried, but most of the time is was pure anger. I hid everytime I saw something like that, except when I was leaving the room. Sometimes I would be walking out and I would look at the mirror at an angle, and I could see her kinda like hiding behind the wall so you couldn't see her if you looked directly at the mirror.

She apparently appeared in some other mirrors in the house, but I didn't see them. New tennets moved in after us, and then quickly moved away. The house had been abandoned for a few years and was recently torn down.

Next are the antique mirros that used to be buried. (Why my mother and father wanted them, I have no idea.)

CONT

More about the death bed I forgot

Just about everyone that knows the death bed room remembers the mumbling voices. If you left my room at about 1 a.m. about, or noon which is ood, you could hear about 10 people "talking," but it was more like a whole bunch of mumbling voices. If you got to about two steps from the doorway to the room, they would stop but not all at once. It was like someone said "eveybody quiet," and not everybody did right away.

I had a sleep over, and one of my friends got up to use the bathroom at night. He said when he was comming back that he heard the mumbling in the room that I told him about a while ago. However, he didn't go up to the door, but stood there and tried to listen to what's going on (the angry male ghost hadn't appeared yet, so there was no reason to be scared). Eventually, the voices quickly died down and he left about 5 seconds after it was quiet. As he started to walk to my room, the door to the death bed room closed very slowly, and he says he heard something like a giggle.

When he made it to my room he was so scared he was crying.

The mirrors

There are two mirrors, both wall hanging, both originally from scotland in our house. They are both around 150 to 200 years old and in great condition. About 100 of those years they were buried in the ground by one of my relatives. Before he poisoned himself, he said that "they won't leave me alone. There's too many of them. Just leave me alone!" about why he did what he did (the mirrors). It was his dying wish that they stay buried until we move from the land, and then someone has to destroy them. We had to dig them up around 40 year ago, but the family didn't destroy them.

There was no problem with the mirrors until we hung them on the walls.

Five women on my mothers side of the family (where the mirrors are from) have committed suicide. All five had the brown frame mirror in their room.

Two men have gone mad. Both had the metal frame mirror in their room.

I lived (briefly) in one room with the brown, and the other room with the metal frame, and I know what they faced.

The metal frame mirror:

The metal frame mirror is larger than the brown mirror, and it doesnt have a thick frame. The main reflective part is a rectangle about three feet long and two feet high, and this part is "pushed forward" by curved pieces of metal attached to the main metal frame. Think of a rectangle in a rectangle, and the middle rectangle is being raised upwards by metal bars attached to the larger rectangle. Since the reflective part isn't directly connected to the frame, it feels like it has no border like one of those edgeless swimming pools.

This is the watcher mirror.

I have never seen a mirror be so clear in my entire life. It is absolutely flawless despite the years and rough treatment. Unfortunately you notice things with this mirror.

During the evening, I was getting ready to go out and I was looking in the mirror. I was casting a shadow on the wall behind me and I noticed something strange. If you can imagine your shadow moving its head when you're not moving yours, that's what I got. But it wasn't my shadow really, but something that was hiding in my shadow that kept moving out of my shadow line. I froze for about 20 seconds, and started to move out of the room until I noticed the other shadow's head turn and look in the mirror. I ran out of the room and didn't look back.

Twice before people have seen a human shaped shadow move on its own in the basement of my house.

Also in that mirror I have seen a very faint male-looking head and torso when the lights are off and i'm in bed. The head is looking down and then moves so the ghost is looking at the sky, and then it's gone. If I didn't have such bad experiences when I was a kid, I would crack too at that sort of thing. This mirror always seems to have someone watching you, but it doesn't do anything else.

The other mirror is evil.

The blood mirror

I would rather have the death bed than this mirror. Sure, I don't live at home anymore, but the fact that it exists bothers me. It's called the blood mirror because the seal used to keep the back of the mirror to the frame is blood. Blood isn't like glue so were were able to crack the frame off easily (we were going to save the frame and replace the mirror around the first week we had it, but we put everything back together). One of my mothers relatives (the first woman to kill herself) used to do this with cabnet seals and stuff, so we weren't shocked when it happened, but we were spooked.

She tried to put her blood in everything because she was some type of witch, and she was trying to live forever or something. I know that's going to raise questions but we don't really know because there aren't any records of her anymore or any solid information or basis really in witchcraft. She was probably just plain nuts.

CONT

Ghost stairs

There are three types of ghosts on the stairs. The first is the casual walker, who will walk at a calm pace. Even if you stare at the stairs, whatever it is will keep walking. This doesn't happen to often anymore, but it was really cool when it did.

The second is the clumbsy runner. Someone just takes off and kinda trips and stumbles on the stairs on the way up. It's like a kid running. Very rare to happen.

Both all reach the landing on the second floor and walk towars the blood mirror room, past the metal mirror room. That's how I connect the stairs walkers, but I could be wrong.

The third is horrible.

I was asleep one night and I woke up to a loud thud downstairs. I listened as whatever it was ran full speed to the stairs, up the stairs, down the hall, and slammed into the door with the blood mirror in it and kept slamming. . .where I was sleeping. I started shaking because I just woke up and it sounded like some madman was in the house comming for me and I wasn't ready. My dad comes out of his room and yells "what the fuck are you doing at. . " and trails off. No one was there in the hallway.

The knocker

The knocker comes in two varieties. The knocking with the death bed room is more of someone making a fist, sticking out his or her index finger, and gently rapping on the door. The first knocker with the mirror is nothing like that. It's more of a full fist, all four knuckles rapping on the door. This one comes once in a while and just knocks on the blood mirror door for about two minutes, sometimes during the day.

"knock knock knock" (quickly but gently)
Me: "yeah, what?"
"knock knock knock"
Me: "yeah?"
"Knock knock knock"
Me: "what?!" (I go to answer the door)
I open the door and there's only dead silence.

The second knocker is a full-fist pounding that shakes the door. This has happened twice.

The first time was 10 seconds of beating on the door at 2 in the morning. I go to the door because I think it's an emergency, and no one is there.

The second time I heard the pounding and didn't get up (this was about six months later). Every ten seconds something would pound on the door and pause for about one minute. Then I heard the doorknob wiggle. Scratching on the door. The doorknob shaking slightly.

Then BAM!! One big hit smacks the door and I hear something run downstairs and into the kitchen, where there is no more noise.

Scratching.

Scratching has been heard on many seperate occasions, from either inside the closet or from behind the mirror. I would have to say from behind the closet is scarier to me because I saw the movie House when I was young, and if you've seen that movie you know that a certain part can leave an impression on a kid.

The scratching is very light, and not in one spot. The scratching will go from low in the closet to high like something trying to figure a way out. If you see the orginal haunting, there is a scene when something is trying to get into a door and it sounds just like this. The pounding on the door wasn't similar, but the scratching is dead on.

Behind the mirror you hear scratching sometimes, only around 1 or five in the morning. Sometimes there is a tapping sound, but mostly scratching.

I got more, but I got to take a break for a sec if that's ok.

Why I hate the blood mirror.

Sure it attracts things that knock on the door and run up the stairs. Yeah there's scratching and tapping from the closet and mirror. When you look at it though, it's just noise. The blood mirror, however, is more than just noise.

It could be any day, at any time, with any one in the room, and then it attacks. Since the mirror has no way to directly hurt you, it makes you hurt yourself. I have been quietly watching tv or talking to friends that are in the same room with me and the blood mirror, and you can feel it come alive.

The room temperature will drop 40, 50, 60 degrees within minutes so you can see your breath. You can't concentrate or focus on what you were doing. Your eyes can't focus on one point, and you're unaware of what you're body is doing. All you can really hear is your heart pounding at a rythmic pace. Suddenly you, and anyone else around, is in a haze. . .a trance.

When you regain focus, you realize you're bleeding.

The most common thing people will do is scratch themselves with their fingers on their left hand on their right arm or upper chest. Without thinking, people will dig huge gashes into their bodies with just their fingers and not know it. Everytime they will look at the mirror when they realize what they just did.

It doesn't happen often, but when it does it's truly frightening. The best example I have is when I brought my now ex-girlfriend to show her the room because I had told her about all the ghosts in my house. When we walked in I said:

"Here's my old room, and there's the mirror."

And as soon as I said that and pointed to the mirror, the temperate began to drop drastically. I went over to some shelves to see how much of my stuff my little brother had taken since I had left, and I took my eyes off her. When I looked back at her she was staring at a wall, with a desperately sorrowful face, and digging into her right arm. I grabbed her, and as I did I must have woke her up out of her trance. She looked scared until she saw the cuts in her arm and screamed. She was out of the house before I could leave the room. As soon as she left, the room instantly got warmer. It wanted her. . .something about her she liked.

The blood mirror still stands today behind an old dresser. My mother always gets crippling arthritic pain whenever she goes to take down the mirror and get rid of it. The pain is so bad she can't even grip silverware. . .until she decides to do something else. I moved the dresser drawer to hide the mirror, to bury it, so it won't bother anyone else. Some day the dresser drawer will be moved and the mirror will reflect the light of day again, and I know it will be even angrier than it was before I hid it. I pity the person that inherits it then.

Thank God for ebay.

Sorry for the crappy joke. Anyways, I need to clarify some earlier stuff I wrote about so i'll do that in another post if you want me too. Also, i've got some other stories, some of which are my friends if you want them. Thanks for all the support so far.

Oh, and some ghost links for fun:

http://www.guaridadeyog.com/amityvillefotos.htm

http://paranormal.about.com/library/weekly/aa101402a.htm

And a place i'm going to organize a ghost hunt at:
http://bachelorsgrove.com/

In regards to the seance room in the basement:

Furniture from upstairs was moved downstairs, and into the seance room accidentally. The furniture was later moved out when my parents bought a house, and put the death bed and mirror into the third bedroom for guests. I have no idea why they would want to use the family death bed for a guest bed, but I guess it was free.

If you want a mental picture of the basement, here it is. The basement is a simple rectangle, maybe 20 feet long, and 15 feet wide. Then there is a seance room, I forget the specs but it's built for "satanic" type rituals, attached to the basement walls. The seance room is right by the steps up to the basement door.

The basement door was hidden on a wall in the huge downstairs bathroom. The mirror faces the basement door, so you could be looking in the mirror and hear the knocking behind you.

Whatever it is in the basement "talked" to me three times in one day. The first time it knocked and asked hello, the second time it knocked and asked hello but a bit more worried than before, the third time it just angrily "breathed" out at me. If you exhale lightly at first and then exhale strongly and quickly at the end, you can kinda get the idea of what I heard

I'm too far away from home to get the pictures right now, but I should be able to get something by monday. I'll also take pictures of the "dark space" in the basement (where the water heater, furnace, and workbench are) where people have seen the shadow man, and have felt something rub their hand or tap them on the shoulder. The pictures are going to be scans from a polaroid, but you'll get the idea.

I was thinking about having a seance in my house, but there's a lot of bad shit there.

Oh, before I forget. If someone can recommend a good audio recording device, preferably something simple, I can get audio samples from the blood mirror room and the metal frame mirror room at night. You can often hear someone, at different volumes, say "hmm." A lot of people that spend time at the house are always saying "did you say something?"

THE LAST STORY THIS ONE GAVE ME CHILLS FROM HEAD TO TOE......

Oy - great reads, Taco... I hate, however, that you're reminding me of a time in my life I'd have rather forgotten and thought I had. I imagine the best way to try and purge myself of the memories is to share 'em. Come to think of it, the memories surface every now and again, almost like they were testing me to see if I could deal with them yet. Heh. Now, where to begin...?

My father was a military man. Retired back in '95 from the Navy after 20 years of proud service to our country. But before that, we moved often... every 3-4 years or thereabouts we'd pack up and get shipped somewhere new. Early 1989, a wonderful opportunity arose and dad took it. A 16 hour flight later, and we were stationed at N.A.S Sigonella, Sicily. I guess I was about, ohhh 10 or 11 at the time. Those years were blurred save those pinpricks of memory that still haunt me. That still plague my dreams from time to time.

Our first home there was an apartment in a complex called "Bellavista" far from the Naval base. There was a waiting list to move into Base Housing that generally ran for about a year and a half's wait. Until your time to move, you had to live amongst the locals wherever you could. Bellavista was a beautiful place... we lived on the upper floor of the complex and had a wonderful view of the countryside off our back balcony. At night, one could look up at the night sky and see a thin trail of fiery red lava slowly ebbing from still active Mt. Etna. And in the morning, everything left out in the open was often found to be blanketed ever so slightly in volcanic ash, almost like a light dusting of snow.

But naturally, as perfectly nice as Bellavista was, it wasn't meant for us for long. The lnadlord's daughter was pregnant, engaged... and homeless. Guess who got the boot? So we moved, with the landlord's assistance, into another home. Motta S. Anastasia, a little cobblestone-streeted town near Catania, and much closer to the Navy base. The day we drove up to the new place, I felt ill. Of course, nothing was thought of this at the time, but I'd swear in retrospect I was being told something. The place was a 3 story house with an apartment on each floor. I really don't remember the neighbors, but both were similarly Navy families. And I can imagine I pissed them off a lot with the screaming.

Dad unlocked the door and proceeded into the small entryway. The cobblestone street gave way to a marbled floor entrance and a matching set of marble stairs up to the second floor, which was our new home. The place was stunningly beautiful. Marble floors... glass french doors into the living room area... balconies attached to nearly every room, save the one that was to be mine. Claw foot bathtub...bidet... all the modern conveniences expected of a home in Europe.

I walked into the room that was going to be mine. Small, simple, square and quite cold. To the left, at the end of the wall was a door covered with a "persiana." Basically, a form of window blinds made from heavy horizontal flaps that was operated via a cloth strap attached to the wall. I pulled it up to see that the door was mostly glass and beyond it was a very small "room" lined with brick along the floor and walls. I opened the door and stepped into the room and looked up to discover the room extended all the way up through the third floor and up to a hole in the roof. There was no covering on the hole either... it went straight into open air. The shaft allowed a fair amount of light to shine into the only room in the house without a window in it, which I thought was pretty damn cool initially.

The chill seemed to come from the room, despite the glaring sun nearly directly overhead. It was then I heard the first whispers. Like... if you were to take a wire brush and softly rub the stiff bristles against your jeans. At the time, I attributed it to echoes off the brick... but I couldn't help but feel weird about it. It wasn't coming from any discernable direction or source... but it surrounded me like a blanket, as if sound could be tangible and touchable. It pressed in gently on my ears like pressure on an aircraft ascending or descending. I turned to leave and I noticed a glinting drain in the middle of the floor. It was obviously for rainwater to drain away but my nausea increased when I saw it. My stomach gnawed at itself as I ran out of there and I swear I saw the drain cover jiggle a bit on my way out. I lowered the persiana quickly and rejoined the family in the living room, shaking and sick as a dog.

Ungh. I'm gonna take a quick break. I feel nauseous anytime I start to remember this crap. Bear with me... I know it's pretty long thus far, and truth be told it's probably me subconciously trying to avoid this. Ick.

Now granted... a little brick room was far from the norm for paranormal ghosty stuff. But try telling that to whatever was in there. Christ. For weeks and weeks, I'd get up the nerve to open the persiana in broad daylight and risk a peek... only to stumble back from the door sick as all hell to my stomach and trembling. I tried telling my parents of course... but an 11 year old's ramblings about a scary brick room generally get chalked up to too many "Freddy" and "Jason" movies. The whisperings rarely stopped at night. They were persistent from the time I laid down until I finally forced myself into slumber. Often, I'd wake up in the middle of the night to silence, and then the whisperings would start up again, as if it was waiting to make sure I was awake.

There was never any real words to the whispering... just a hollow "ksssh sshhhaww hissssshhhhh haaahhh ooooshhhh aaashhhhh" that seemed to repeat, but never in the same cadence. There was no emotion behind it either that I can remember. It wasn't angry, it wasn't sad nor happy. Just there. Always fucking there.

One night, after about 2 months of this, I was awoken by a particularly horrifying dream. I seemed to start having those dreams after we moved in... I had never had constant nightmares prior. But I awoke from the dream with the feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong. Immediately my eyes darted to the door... and saw that the persiana was up. Now, European goons with experience, back me up... Persianas are about the noisiest damn things to have in a house. They're generally metal slats hooked in with metal hooks that grind and squeak loudly in protest as they're pulled open. There was no way in hell that the persiana, which was always closed, could have been opened without waking up everyone in the house. But sure enough, it was open about 3/4 of the way up the damned door. A bit of moonlight reflected off the bricks in the shaft and into my room with a dull bluish tone. I lay there for hours, paralyzed in my bed, but unable to look away from the door, lest there be something there when I looked back. Eventually, I just conked out...

The next morning crept up finally and I was freed from my paralysis. I ran to the door amidst a wave of nausea and pulled the persiana shut as fast as I could. There was a light dusting of volcanic ash on the brick floor and I'd swear I could make out footprints or scuffing in it. Mom, still asleep at the time, yelled at me from across the hall after hearing the noise, but I couldn't care less.

Over the course of the next 3 months, it was the same routine. The whisperings never faltered. The persiana would be found at least 2 to 3 times a week opened, and the blackness of the room would stare out at me in my bed. Then one night, it was different. I still have nightmares of this incident and it makes me cringe and want to curl up in a ball still whenever I conjure it up. I had awoken again in the midst of a terrible nightmare. And sure enough, the persiana was up, but this time it was all the way up. The moonlight was barely filtering in that night, but I'd swear I could make out something there in the room. It felt like I was at just the right angle for me to see whatever it was, and if I were to move the slightest bit, I'd lose sight of it. It was a small sphere that shimmered like a soap bubble does. But it was so faint I could barely make it out. I watched as it hovered there for the longest time. It began to shrink like some TVs used to do when you turned them off... shrink into a tiny dot of light.

But before it winked out, it flashed and expanded. It did so at an alarmingly fast rate and solidified into the form of a woman. She looked to be in her early to mid thirties, dark curly hair... definitely a local Sicilian. When she became "whole" and a solid image, she began shrieking and pounding on the glass doors with both fists. Her head swiveled wrong on her neck, shaking back and forth like if you put a teakettle on a stick and shook the stick around. Her eyes were completely black and full of anger and hatred... The skin around her mouth flapped loosely, giving me glimpses of her teeth and tongue and her hair was tossing around violently. Some sort of liquid oozed in small spurts from the corners of her mouth and flecks of whatever it was flew as she shrieked. Her screaming was horrific and nonsensical, and all I could do was scream back. My dad charged into the room to my bed, thinking I was having a nightmare. She shrank back from the door and... ugh. She slithered down the drain somehow. She twisted and distorted and I'd swear I could hear her bones splintering and cracking as she wound herself down into it. It was awful and to this day, dad says he's never heard anyone scream so inhumanly before. I often ask him jokingly if he meant from me or her.

Break time again. Most of the worst is over now... Christ. I'll not be sleeping tonight...

Sadly, no... I never could find out what it was that had happened there. Anyone that knew anything about the place spoke only Italian. And I do recall the landlord and especially his wife staring at me when they would come for maintenance or the likes. They looked sadly at me it seemed, too... like they felt sorry for me. I remember one day, it was pretty early in the morning after a particularly dreadful night. I heard knocking at the front door, so I ran to answer it, thankful for the distraction. The landlady must have seen it in my eyes because she cupped a hand over her mouth when she saw me and tilted her head, shaking it. "Bambino..." is all she said and walked in to talk with my mother.

quote:
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Now that I've made my peace, what were the dreams you would have? You never once mentioned them.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ugh... the dreams were always terrible, and it was hard to tell whether they came from my own imagination and subconscious or if they were from the drain lady. There was never any certain sequence of events like a story. My normal dreams are generally like that. A story or a logical, albeit absurd procession of events or dialogue. But these nightmares were flashes or terror. Like waves, they would build and break... Hot, red, angry visions of flesh, blood, and bone or of hideously deformed beasts or people.

I still speculate what could have happened in such a tiny space... I used to entertain the thought that it was a woman that lived in the house. I forgot to mention, but to add to the disturbing nature of the whole thing, she was nude. Anyhow, I used to have really strong daydreams and would envision she had been punished by someone close to her. They had taken her to the top of the roof and flung her down into the shaft and left a hose running water into it to slowly drown her... this of course being before a drain had been installed. As a result of the fall, her legs had been broken so she slowly drowned, painfully and unable to move much at all to escape the rising water. The drain looked oddly modern in the brick shaft... maybe that was the significance. Had there been a drain, she'd not have died. I wish I could explain the nausea though... it'd hit me like a ton of bricks every time I stepped near that door. It increased when I'd try and close the persiana, as if she wanted me to see. As if she didn't want me to shut her out. After I'd have those daydreams, I'd almost feel sorry for her...

After that one big incident, she never much bothered me anymore. There was still the whispering... and the persiana opening about twice a week. One night I tried to stay awake the whole night to try and catch her opening it. It was a little after 2 am that I drifted off for about a minute. When I opened my eyes, the damned thing was opened. I looked at the clock and only a minute had passed...

She looked solid to me... like she were just a regular person, save the strangeness of how her body moved and that goddamned screeching she made. There may have been a slight hazy shadow to her, but other than that nothing of significance

I'll try and give you what I can remember. Now that it's daytime, it's a little easier to conjure up her picture in my head. She was smallish in stature... about 5'6" or so. Thick, but not fat... about 33-38 years old I would guess. Her hair was long and dark... either black or dark brown and curly. Not tight curls, but a looser spiral curl. She had thick, black angry eyebrows. Her brow was furrowed and the lines in her skin were very visible even from where I lay. All of her skin seemed "loose" for lack of a better word. As she violently pounded on the door, all her skin seemed to ripple just a millisecond or two behind what her bones were moving if that makes any sense. She wasn't fat, and it wasn't like rolls of flesh rolling... it was more her skin that rolled.

Her neck showed no visible signs of injury, but the way her head lolled around on her shoulders was inhuman. And yes, it seemed like it was broken and flopping around. As I aluded to earlier, the best analogy I can come up with is to go get a broom and stick a teakettle or a cooking pot on it upside down. Now jerk the broom back and forth in front of you. An old roommate of mine did that once and I nearly threw up, remembering the awful woman. Now couple that imagery with her loose-skinned arms pounding really fast in a staccato rhythm and you have one very scared little boy.

Her screaming reminded me of what mythical harpies or banshees would sound like. Extremely high pitched, almost like wind when it whistles through a tight spot. But the sheer volume of it was maddening. Not to mention it was a full sound... not hollow. Mmph. Best as I can describe it. Something that had gusto, from down deep inside whatever it was. Her tongue lolled around lazily in her mouth and now and again I'd get a glimpse of her teeth. They were white and very crooked... at least initially they were white. A few seconds into the screaming she started like... drooling or something. It was a thick, dark colored liquid. Anyone remember the "brown stuff" sketch from Kids in the Hall? Very akin to that. It oozed from the corners of her mouth and splattered against the glass as she screamed. The next day, there was nothing on the glass at all.

I wish I was any sort of an artist that I could draw for you what she looked like...

Black and empty and angry... When they focused on me, that's when the screaming and pounding started. If anything, they were the calmest part about her

Wow, ok, I got them all copied to a Word pad. I might be a fast reader, but not -that- fast :P. I'll start reading them soon too. Right now I'm having to clean a cut I made with my dagger on accident. (I collect sharp objects)

--Bryce~

Yeah I copied them over from the awful forums. These are 2 seprate stories. Ones about like haunted furniture. And ones about a haunted hause. That one is where I got haunted Villa from. If you read them at night with the lights turned off your not gonna want to go to sleep because the shadows are going to scare the bejeus out of you. But I just took some Nyquil *broncitus* and its kicking in. So i'm going to try to get some sleep. Anyways have fun reading those stories lol..........Hope they don't scare you to much.

Heh, I'll try not to let them, g'night, and nice talkin to ya~

--Bryce~

ahhh insomnia is the worst sh!t in the whole wold, i hate it

But i do sit ups when I can't sleep so i have a nice flat tummy XD

love
XxFeEBeDeExX

this is strange but i like insomnia. i love being the only one awake. my favorite thing to do is go for walks. i go to a nearby cemetary and meditate. strange i know but its the only time and place where i can get total peace and quiet. i used to be scared when i would go for walks but not anymore. my max amount of sleep each night usually is four hours. and those few hours aren't spent together. i usually sleep for a half an hour, wake up for an hour, same pattern but its really rare for more than four hours.im usually here when I cant sleep

I Suffer From a Form Of Chronic Insomnia, I Take Over The Counter Sleeping Pills For It Though xoxo-Nikki-xoxo

man i hate insomnia! the only thing i can do is watch tv. and thats boring when theres nothing good on.
i would go to a cemetary because i live down the road from one but my parents would freak if they woke up and couldnt find me.
actually, now that i'm thinking of it, that might be pretty funny. lol

my dad lives on the other side of the counrty, and once my mom lays down, the world is dead to her. i don't really worry about freaking my parents out. lol. and those ghost stories were really freaky. yeah no sleep here either now.