Any good Halloween stories?

[Paschale]

OK...who's got a good Halloween story, of some weird, spooky, unexplained thing that happened to them...it's that time of year!    I don't have much to share, though my mechanic today told me about the "haunted car," that apparently wouldn't ever run on Wednesdays.  He supposedly tracked it down, and some terrible accident happened on a Wednesday with the car, and so it wouldn't ever start on Wednesdays.   :  They supposedly ended up crushing the car--whatever.  It woulda been a bit more convincing if the car wouldn't start on Monday, cuz, as far as I'm concerned, Monday mornings are nightmares anyway!   :D

[Fred]

 :D   BOO !!

[etat]

The  year was 1976.  Almost 30 years ago.  I was working in Camden Tennessee as assistant manager for Fred's.   Pretty much fresh out of high school  It was the fall of the year. Somewhere around Thanksgiving.

Fred's kept me traveling and moving around a lot.  I always liked running back roads and secondary roads and looking at the country.  Getting lost, on purpose and just keeping on driving and looking was always  adventure to me. Gotta come out somewhere, Right?

I had been home, Mississippi, for the weekend.  I decided to take the Trace on my way back and then get off it somewhere and work my way back to Camden one Sunday evening.  Once I got way up in Tennessee the Trace turned into more of a back woods trail and the road wasn't kept up very well.  Didn't bother me at all.  Somewhere up in there I left the trace trying to find a road back to Camden.  

Suddenly the Dang road ended with a sharp turn to the left.  Somebody had TAKEN DOWN THE SIGN and I slid off the road into a clearing  sideways. Hit a few bushes,  knocked one of the tires off the rim and left me with a few dents on the car, and a flat tire.  Might a been addled a bit. I hadn't seen a house, other car, or power lines for miles. Not a good sign.  

 I remember it was hot that day, and I was out of cigarettes.  I walked over to where I'd slid off the road and found the stop sign in the edge of the woods.  It was a gravel road, shady, and spooky.  I headed back to the car, opened the trunk, an started to get the jack out.

 I heard something coming......... clip-clop........  Clip-Clop..........  CLIP-CLOP.............  Getting louder.................  Along with another sound, steel tires on gravel. Then I heard a horse whinny.  Never been a scared of nuthing in my life.  But I snapped to attention.  I wanted to know what was coming....................


To be continued.........................

[sprucebunny]

I need to know more about the "black cat crossing your path" thing. On my way home the other day two black cats crossed in front of me within 5 minutes of each other. They were going the same way; right to left. Then a black dog the size of a cat ran out and ran back. By then I was going real slow.
Any advice? Stay home won't work.
We got laughing last nite about giving out strange things like chop suey or pudding to trick or treaters.A spoonful for you--plop  :D

[Ron Wenrich]

Here in our section of the world, we have a couple of restaurants that have been open for a couple of hundred years.  I've talked to the owners of a few of these.

The one is one of those places where Washington slept.  It used to be a stagecoach stopping place.  They have redone the bar area back to its 18th century appearance.  Back then, if you didn't have enough money for a room, you slept on the bar floor.  

There is a door that leads into the bar from an area where the coaches used to unload the passengers.  When they bought the bar, it was nailed shut.  So, to get back that original ideal, they opened it.

They have never been able to keep the door closed, even with a lock.  In the mornings, the door would often be open.  They had to nail it back shut.

Apparently, years ago, someone left by that door at the same time a coach was coming through.  They were killed.

They also have a spot where a man choked to death on his meal, while his wife watched and never asked for help.  He fell against the wall and died.  They have never been able to get the spot out of the wall.  I've seen that spot.

Another tavern has a ghost.  It likes to tip over water glasses and upset trays.  Some have even said they have seen it.  

If you really want to get creeped out, I've heard the Gettysburg battlefield is a great place.  

[bighoss550]

2 of my friends went to gettysburg and claim to have actually seen the "re-enactments" of the war.

they are city types, and they have no real interest in history, so i doubt they would be able to tell u what happened there had they not done research, but they are pretty correct in their description of what they saw coming out of nowhere.......

im far from a believer in ghosts, but stuff like that sure makes ya wonder..... dudenit???


and there is a road that goes down into the woods over by you, ron, called "sleepy hollow road". its off of 54 just south of danville off 80. theres a cool little bed n breakfast down there that i haven't had time to stay at yet but i will 8)

[bighoss550]

The  year was 1976.  Almost 30 years ago.  I was working in Camden Tennessee as assistant manager for Fred's.   Pretty much fresh out of high school  It was the fall of the year. Somewhere around Thanksgiving.

Fred's kept me traveling and moving around a lot.  I always liked running back roads and secondary roads and looking at the country.  Getting lost, on purpose and just keeping on driving and looking was always  adventure to me. Gotta come out somewhere, Right?

I had been home, Mississippi, for the weekend.  I decided to take the Trace on my way back and then get off it somewhere and work my way back to Camden one Sunday evening.  Once I got way up in Tennessee the Trace turned into more of a back woods trail and the road wasn't kept up very well.  Didn't bother me at all.  Somewhere up in there I left the trace trying to find a road back to Camden.  

Suddenly the Dang road ended with a sharp turn to the left.  Somebody had TAKEN DOWN THE SIGN and I slid off the road into a clearing  sideways. Hit a few bushes,  knocked one of the tires off the rim and left me with a few dents on the car, and a flat tire.  Might a been addled a bit. I hadn't seen a house, other car, or power lines for miles. Not a good sign.  

 I remember it was hot that day, and I was out of cigarettes.  I walked over to where I'd slid off the road and found the stop sign in the edge of the woods.  It was a gravel road, shady, and spooky.  I headed back to the car, opened the trunk, an started to get the jack out.

 I heard something coming......... clip-clop........  Clip-Clop..........  CLIP-CLOP.............  Getting louder.................  Along with another sound, steel tires on gravel. Then I heard a horse whinny.  Never been a scared of nuthing in my life.  But I snapped to attention.  I wanted to know what was coming....................


To be continued.........................

LOOK OUT!!!!! ITS A DUTCHMAN!!!!! hahaha

[SwampDonkey]

It was a cool, crisp night in October, along the shoreline road which passed by Tom MacDonald's make shift house. The fog was thick as pea soup that night as Tom stepped out on the porch of his shanty for a breath a fresh air. The leaves of the trembling aspens where dancing in a  brisk fall breeze that night. Tom thought he could here voices from a distance, as kids would often walk from town from the friday night shows in the cinema. He never gave it another thought as he retired inside his house and stiked the fires for the evening. It was getting near 11:00 o'clock, and Tom thought he'd head to bed.

.....Now, the community had always remembered the mysterious disappearence of a young native girl who disappeared one October day while gathering butternuts.  Local folks would always gather butternuts for home made fudge, and even buy some from native folks. It was near Tom's house the young girl was last seen that faitful day, 50 years ago. Often, the local senior folk would tell the story of her disappearence....

It was now after mid night and Tom was awaken by some scratching on the outside walls of his house. Squeeeeek Squeeeeeeekk scrape Squeek. Tom, lived alone and when you live by yourself and here wierd noises it makes for some strange thoughts in one's mind. As the noises became more frequent with the howling winds, all he could think of was the ghost of the missing native girl was coming to get him.

Tom started hearing voices again, and it was now drawing near 12:00 am. He thought to himself ' this can't be folks returning from the show'. He gets up and checks the door and windows to see if they were latched and locked.

Ting, tang, ting, tong !!! went a noise in the dark. It sounded like a noise on the roof. Tom jumped into bed and drew the quilts up around himself and over his head....'Hellooooooow Tom Macdonald', went a young girl's voice, 'hellooooow in therrrre'. The sound of the voice grew nearer. Whack!! went a noise against the wall of the shanty. Tom, by this time was really concurned, as he was alone and no one lived for at least a mile down the road.

...Then Tom came to his scenses and thought to himself, 'This is Holloween, Dang prankster kids'. So, he rises to his feet and peeks out the window in the door, then out one of the windows to see if he can find anyone. It was so foggy you could barely see beyond the porch. He says to himself, 'if these are pranksters, then I got my own surprise'. SO he gets out the old 12 guage and loads a couple shells. He steps outside onto the porch, easy like so's not to make any noise. HeI loads a shell in a chamber and fires into the air. Boom!! when the gun. Immediately after, some local kids voices started screaming and he could here running down the road. Tom yells,' that'll teach you pesty prangsters from scaring an old man outta his wits!'


Ok, that's the best I could do for ya on the spur of the moment. :D :D

[etat]

Just around the curve from where I was sure enough it was a horse and buggy coming, steel tired wheels.  Didn't much look like a 'dutchman', looked more like a young kid, (younger than me anyways) and already starting to try to grow a beard.  I said hello and he just sorta grunted at me, didn't say much.  So..........I went back to the car and started jacking it up.  He sat there a minute watching, and then pulled his rig up beside me  and still hadn't really said nothing.  

I'd heard of amish folks but hadn't never been around em at that time. As  I said it was all pretty strange to me.  But that's what I figured he was, Amish. Or so I thought at the time anyways.

As I worked I'd talk to him some, but he wouldn't really talk back.  And that was sorta getting on my nerves. The sun was bearing down and I was getting hot and sweaty.

Knowing that he probably didn't, but I had to ask, I inquired if he had any cigarettes. I could see him thinking for a minute, and suddenly he pulled out a tobacco pouch, and some rolling papers.  As I hadn't ever done any of them roll yer own cigarettes I asked him if he'd do it, and he did.  I lit er up, took a deep drag and let me tell you, that was some pretty stiff tobacco.  Even worse than trying to smoke a camel, without a filter.

By this time I had the flat tire off the car and was putting on the spare.  And then..................


To be continued............................

[etat]

Memory of an accident in a Uniontown, Pennsylvania cemetery:
    Here lies the body
    of Jonathan Blake
    Stepped on the gas
    Instead of the brake.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
In a Silver City, Nevada, cemetery:
    Here lays Butch,
    We planted him raw.
    He was quick on the trigger,
    But slow on the draw.
------------------------------------------------------------------
Lester Moore was a Wells, Fargo Co. station agent for Naco, Arizona in
the cowboy days of the 1880's. He's buried in the Boot Hill Cemetery in
Tombstone, Arizona:
    Here lies Lester Moore
    Four slugs from a .44
    No Les No More.
----------------------------------------------------------------
In a cemetery in Hartscombe, England:
    On the 22nd of June
    - Jonathan Fiddle -
    Went out of tune.
-------------------------------------------------------------
 Anna Hopewell's grave in Enosburg Falls, Vermont
    Here lies the body of our Anna
    Done to death by a banana
    It wasn't the fruit that laid her low
    But the skin of the thing that made her go.
--------------------------------------------------------------
  In a Georgia cemetery:
    "I told you I was sick!"
------------------------------------------------------------
John Penny's epitaph in the Wimborne, England, cemetery:
    Reader if cash thou art
    In want of any
    Dig 4 feet deep
    And thou wilt find a Penny.
------------------------------------------------------------
 On Margaret Daniels grave at Hollywood Cemetery Richmond, Virginia:
    She always said her feet were killing her
    but nobody believed her.
---------------------------------------------------------------
  Owen Moore in Battersea, London, England:
    Gone away
    Owin' more
    Than he could pay.
------------------------------------------------------------
Oops! Harry Edsel Smith of Albany, New York:
    Born 1903 - Died 1942
    Looked up the elevator shaft to see if
    the car was on the way down.
    It was.
--------------------------------------------------------------
In a Thurmont, Maryland, cemetery:
     :
    Who was fatally burned
    March 21, 1870
    by the explosion of a lamp
    filled with "R.E. Danforth's
    Non-Explosive Burning Fluid"
-------------------------------------------------------------------
In a London, England cemetery:
    Here lies Ann Mann,
    Who lived an old maid
    But died an old Mann.
    Dec. 8, 1767
----------------------------------------------------------------
 In a cemetary in England:
    Remember man, as you walk by,
    As you are now, so once was I,
    As I am now, so shall you be,
    Remember this and follow me.
        - To which someone replied by writing on the tombstome:
            To follow you I'll not consent,
            Until I know which way you went
 

[SwampDonkey]

 

[SwampDonkey]

THE DUNGARVEN WHOOPER

The following Copied From A Poem By Michael Whalen, the well-known Miramichi poet.

Far within the forest scene, where the trees forever green
From a contrast to the beech and birches grey,
Where the snow lies white and deep, and the snowbirds seem to sleep,
And cease their sweetest singing all the day,
Where the mighty monster moose, of limbs long and large and loose,
Through the forest sweeps with strides both swift and strong,
Where the caribou and deer, swim the brooks so crystal clear,
Where the deep and dark Dungarvon sweeps along.

Where the black bear has his den, far beyond the haunts of men,
Where the muskrat, mink and marten fill the streams,
Where the squirrel light and free, swiftly springs from tree to tree,
And the lovely snowwhite rabbit sleeps and dreams,
Where the sounds of toil resound, far across the frozen ground,
And the thousand things that to the woods belong,
Where the saws and axes ring, and the woodsman wildly sing,
Where the dark and deep Dungarvon sweeps along.

In a lumber camp one day, while the crew were far away,
And the boss and cook were in the camp alone,
A sad tragedy took place, and death won another race,
When the young cook swiftly passed to the unknown.
From that day of long ago, comes this weird tale of woe,
The sad and solemn subject of my song,
When this young man drooped and died, in his youth and manhood's pride,
Where the dark and deep Dungarvon sweeps along.
When the crew returned at night, what a sad scene met their sight,
There lay the young cook, silent, cold and dead.

Death was in his curling hair, in his young face pale and fair,
While his knapsack formed a pillow for his head.
From the belt about his waist, all his money was misplaced,
Which made the men suspect some serious wrong.
Was it murder cold and dread, that befell the fair young dead,
Where the dark and deep Dungarvon sweeps along.
When they asked the skipper why he had made no wild outcry,
He turned away and hid his haughty head.

"Well, the youngster took so sick, and he died so mighty quick,
 I hadn't time to think," was all he said.
A tear was in each eye, each heart heaved a heavy sigh,
While through each breast the strangest feeling throng,
Then each reverent head was bared, as his funeral they prepared,
Where the dark and deep Dungarvon sweeps along.

Fast fell the driven snow, while the wildest winds did blow,
Till four feet deep it lay upon the ground,
So that on the burial day, to the graveyard far away,
To bear the corpse impossible was found.
Then a forest grave was made, and in it the cook was layed,
While the songbirds and the woodsmen ceased their song,
There the last fairwells were said, o'er the young and lonely dead,
Where the dark and deep Dungarvon sweeps along.

Then the crew to camp returned, their dear comrade still they mourned,
While the shades of night were falling o'er the hill.
All that long and fearful night, all the camp was in affright,
Such fearful whoops and yells the forest fill.
Pale and ghastly was each face, "We shall leave this fearful place,
For this camp unto the demon does belong.
Ere the dawning of the day, we shall hasten far away
From where the dark and deep Dungarvon sweeps along."

Since that day, so goes the word, fearful sounds have long been heard,
Far around the scene where lies the woodsman's grave.
Whoops, the stoutest heart to thrill; yells, the warmest blood to chill,
And send terror to the bravest of the brave,
Till beside the grave did stand, God's good man with lifted hand,
And prayed that He these sounds would not prolong,
That these fearful sounds would cease, and the region rest in peace.
Where the dark and deep Dungarvon sweeps along.

Since that day the sounds have ceased, and the region is released,
From those most unearthly whoops and screams and yells.
All around the Whooper's Spring, there is heard no evil thing,
And around the Whooper's grave deep silence dwells.
Be this story false or true, I have told it unto you,
As I heard it from the folk lore all life long,
So I hope all strife shall cease, and our people dwell in peace,
Where the dark and deep Dungarvon sweeps along