The White Death

I am currently sitting in front of my computer, scared witless. Every moment could be my last. My friend is here with me and he is the sole reason why my life is in danger. It may not make sense at first, but let me explain.

It all started earlier today, when a friend of mine burst into my house and slammed the door behind him. His eyes were wide with fear and he stood there with his back against the door, breathing heavily. I asked him what had happened and he told me this story:

He had been living with his Aunt for the past year because his parents were in Mexico. They were doing mission work at a small hospital in Southern Mexico. The previous night, a bedraggled man had stumbled through the entrance of the hospital. He was screaming in Spanish and appeared to be out of his mind with terror.

They brought him over to a chair and let him sit down. As he caught his breath, he told his story in broken English. He claimed that his sister had been killed by something he referred to as “La Muerte Blanca”. He kept saying that it was coming for him next.

Confused, they asked him who or what a Muerte Blanca was. With a look of unfathomable fear on his face, he said that La Muerte Blanca was The White Death. She is the soul of a girl who died years ago. She died by her own hand, he said, alone and unloved. She hated life so much that she wanted to remove all traces of herself from the earth. So great was her desire to completely obliterate her memory, that she returned from the dead as a vengeful spirit, bent on killing all those who knew of her existence.

She is a girl, but not a girl, he said. She’s not dead, but not really alive. She has cold, black eyes that weep blood. She walks without ever actually seeming to move an inch. She stalks her victims like a wild animal, pursuing them across rivers and valleys, trailing them back to their homes. You are never really aware that she is following you, until you hear her telltale knock upon your door.

“She knocks once for you skin, which she’ll use to patch her own decaying flesh. Twice for your hair, which she’ll gnash between her teeth. Three times for your bones, which she’ll fashion into clubs. Four times for your heart, which she’ll tear out of your chest. Five times for your teeth, which she’ll polish and keep in a box. Six times for your eyes, which she’ll pluck out one by one. Seven times for your soul, which she’ll swallow whole.”

“No matter where you go, The White Death will track you down and you will hear her terrible knocking begin on the door. You can try to outrun her, but she’s faster than any mortal man. If you flee from your home while she’s knocking on your door, she will follow you wherever you go.”

The terrified man was certain that this thing had killed his sister. He had tried to tell the police, about The White Death but they would not listen, dismissing it as an old wives’ tale. Next, he had tried to tell his priest, but the priest immediately shut the door of the church in his face and turned him away. The priest had seen The White Death following him, he said, and did not want to get involved.

With his head in his hands, the frightened man said that The White Death follows you forever until you tell someone else about it. Then it strikes. It kills you and begins following the person you told.

After finishing his tale, the man stole a car from the mission hospital parking lot, and vanished into the night.

Apparently, my friend’s mother and father had immediately called his aunt and told her about the stange man they had encountered. They asked her if she had ever heard of the White Death. She said she had not and they proceeded to tell her the story that the man had told them.

The aunt got a phonecall later that night. It was the Mexican police. They told her that the parents had been found dead outside the hospital. They had been torn apart.

My friend’s aunt had immediately called him at school to break the bad news to him. As he cried, she told him she couldn’t understand what had happened. She recounted the whole story to him, telling him about the strange man who had turned up in the hospital just hours before his parents were found dead. She told him how the man had given his parents a weird and disturbing story about something called The White Death.

When he hung up the phone, he had struggled to come to terms with what had happened. It almost didn’t seem real to him. When he got home after school, he found the front door of his Aunt’s house standing open. Inside was a trail of blood, leading into the kitchen. There on the kitchen floor, he found his Aunt’s dead body. She had been torn limb from limb.

He ran out of the house and all the way across town, never looking back, until he reached my house. As he told me this story, I could hardly believe it. Within the space of a day, his mother, his father and his aunt had been murdered. It all seemed too far-fetched.

But before I could utter a word, my friend and I both recoiled in horror as we heard a knocking begin at my front door.

We’ve been staring at the door for an hour now, neither of us wanting to open it. The knocking is still going on, growing louder and louder. She never gives up. She never quits. La Muerte Blanca is unstoppable. I think she wants to scare us, my friend and I. I think she wants us to blame each other. And I do – I blame my friend. It’s all his fault. He should never have told about her.

As I sit here in my house, beside my friend, both of us listening to that hideous knocking growing ever louder, I wish a lot of things. I wish she had killed my friend before he reached my house. If he had never been able to tell me about her, I wouldn’t be in danger now. I’m sorry I ever met him.

And I’m sorry for you too. I’m sorry I made you read this story. I’m sorry I ever told you about the White Death. Because now that you know about her, she’ll be coming for you next.

"The Coffin Lid" - from Russia

A moujik was driving along one night with a load of pots. His horse grew tired, and all of a sudden it came to a stand-still alongside of a graveyard. The moujik unharnessed his horse and set it free to graze; meanwhile he laid himself down on one of the graves. But somehow he didn't go to sleep.

He remained lying there some time. Suddenly the grave began to open beneath him: he felt the movement and sprang to his feet. The grave opened, and out of it came a corpse -- wrapped in a white shroud, and holding a coffin lid -- came out and ran to the church, laid the coffin-lid at the door, and then set off for the village.

The moujik was a daring fellow. He picked up the coffin-lid and remained standing beside his cart, waiting to see what would happen. After a short delay the dead man came back, and was going to snatch up his coffin-lid -- but it was not to be seen. Then the corpse began to track it out, traced it up to the moujik, and said:

"Give me my lid: if you don't, I'll tear you to bits!"

"And my hatchet, how about that?" answers the moujik. "Why, it's I who'll be chopping you into small pieces!"

"Do give it back to me, good man!" begs the corpse.

"I'll give it when you tell me where you've been and what you've done."

"Well, I've been in the village, and there I've killed a couple of youngsters."

"Well then, now tell me how they can be brought back to life."

The corpse reluctantly made answer:

"Cut off the left skirt of my shroud, and take it with you. When you come into the house where the youngsters were killed, pour some live coals into a pot and put the piece of the shroud in with them, and then lock the door. The lads will be revived by the smoke immediately."

The moujik cut off the left skirt of the shroud, and gave up the coffin-lid. The corpse went to its grave -- the grave opened. But just as the dead man was descending into it, all of a sudden the cocks began to crow, and he hadn't time to get properly covered over. One end of the coffin-lid remained sticking out of the ground.

The moujik saw all this and made a note of it. The day began to dawn; he harnessed his horse and drove into the village.

In one of the houses he heard cries and wailing. In he went -- there lay two dead lads.

"Don't cry," says he, "I can bring them to life!"

"Do bring them to life, kinsman," say their relatives. "We'll give you half of all we possess."

The moujik did everything as the corpse had instructed him, and the lads came back to life. Their relatives were delighted, but they immediately seized the moujik and bound him with cords, saying:

"No, no, trickster! We'll hand you over to the authorities. Since you knew how to bring them back to life, maybe it was you who killed them!"

"What are you thinking about, true believers! Have the fear of God before your eyes!" cried the moujik.

Then he told them everything that had happened during the night. Well, they spread the news through the village; the whole population assembled and swarmed into the graveyard. They found out the grave from which the dead man had come out, they tore it open, and they drove an aspen stake right into the heart of the corpse, so that it might no more rise up and slay. But they rewarded the moujik richly, and sent him away home with great honor.

Korean Ghost Stories 2009 (전설의 고향 ) trailer

the legend of La Llorona - the weeping woman

This is a story that the old ones have been telling to children for hundreds of years. It is a sad tale, but it lives strong in the memories of the people, and there are many who swear that it is true.

Long years ago in a humble little village there lived a fine looking girl named Maria Some say she was the most beautiful girl in the world! And because she was so beautiful, Maria thought she was better than everyone else.

As Maria grew older, her beauty increased And her pride in her beauty grew too When she was a young woman, she would not even look at the young men from her village. They weren't good enough for her! "When I marry," Maria would say, "I will marry the most handsome man in the world."




And then one day, into Maria's village rode a man who seemed to be just the one she had been talking about. He was a dashing young ranchero, the son of a wealthy rancher from the southern plains. He could ride like a Comanche! In fact, if he owned a horse, and it grew tame, he would give it away and go rope a wild horse from the plains. He thought it wasn't manly to ride a horse if it wasn't half wild.

He was handsome! And he could play the guitar and sing beautifully. Maria made up her mind-that was, the man for her! She knew just the tricks to win his attention.

If the ranchero spoke when they met on the pathway, she would turn her head away. When he came to her house in the evening to play his guitar and serenade her, she wouldn't even come to the window. She refused all his costly gifts. The young man fell for her tricks. "That haughty girl, Maria, Maria! " he said to himself. "I know I can win her heart. I swear I'll marry that girl."



And so everything turned out as Maria planned. Before long, she and the ranchero became engaged and soon they were married. At first, things were fine. They had two children and they seemed to be a happy family together. But after a few years, the ranchero went back to the wild life of the prairies. He would leave town and be gone for months at a time. And when he returned home, it was only to visit his children. He seemed to care nothing for the beautiful Maria. He even talked of setting Maria aside and marrying a woman of his own wealthy class.

As proud as Maria was, of course she became very angry with the ranchero. She also began to feel anger toward her children, because he paid attention to them, but just ignored her.

One evening, as Maria was strolling with her two children on the shady pathway near the river, the ranchero came by in a carriage. An elegant lady sat on the seat beside him. He stopped and spoke to his children, but he didn't even look at Maria. He whipped the horses on up the street.



When she saw that, a terrible rage filled Maria, and it all turned against her children. And although it is sad to tell, the story says that in her anger Maria seized her two children and threw them into the river! But as they disappeared down the stream, she realized what she had done! She ran down the bank of the river, reaching out her arms to them. But they were long gone.

Maria broke down into inconsolable grief, running down the streets screaming and wailing.

The beautiful La Llorona mourned them day and night. During this time, she would not eat and walked along the river in her white gown searching for her boys -- hoping they would come back to her. She cried endlessly as she roamed the riverbanks and her gown became soiled and torn. When she continued to refuse to eat, she grew thinner and appeared taller until she looked like a walking skeleton. Still a young woman, she finally died on the banks of the river.




The next morning, a traveler brought word to the villagers that a beautiful woman lay dead on the bank of the river. That is where they found Maria, and they laid her to rest where she had fallen.

Not long after her death, her restless spirit began to appear, walking the banks of the Santa Fe River when darkness fell. Villagers would often heard the sound of crying down by the river, Maria crying for her children.

Her weeping and wailing became a curse of the night and people began to be afraid to go out after dark. She was said to have been seen drifting between the trees along the shoreline or floating on the current with her long white gown spread out upon the waters.

On many a dark night people would see her walking along the riverbank and crying for her loss. And so, they no longer spoke of her as Maria, but rather, La Llorona, the weeping woman. Children are warned not to go out in the dark, for La Llorona might snatch them, throwing them to their deaths in the flowing waters.

The cold passenger: a Thai ghost story

This happened a while ago when my family and me were in our car and we were on our way to our family's friend's house. They lived outside the city and there weren't many houses about anymore.

It was pretty dark outside, but also quite warm really.

On our way there we saw a girl about my age walking along the road in the middle of the night by herself; my parents were pretty worried that something might have happened to her. So they were thinking they might as well ask if she wanted a lift to wherever she was heading to, since we had one seat left which was right next to me. So my dad stopped the car to where she was at, and my parents offered to give her a lift. I thought she was going to say no, since many parents do tell their children never to take lifts from strangers. But to my surprise she said yes and hopped in right next to me.

Now there was something very weird and strange about her. She had a long brown hair tied back very neatly and she was wearing a clothing which looked could posh but also looked from the lates 1900's. Her body looked terribly pale and she had scratches on her and not to be very rude but she even stank quite very badly.

I was telling myself not to stare at her because I knew how rude that would've been, But somehow I just couldn't stop... There was just something really strange about the girl sitting next to me that really gave me goose bumps and made my hair behind my back raise.

While I was trying to move around properly around my seat, my arm accidently brushed against hers. What I experienced from that was that she was terribly freezing, it was like touching ice.

She didn't even seem to notice me at all, staring at her, since she was just staring straight ahead.

My parents tried asking her questions like what she was doing out in the middle of the night all by herself... But the girl didn't really seem answered. She just kept staring straight ahead. So my parents just gave up asking.

My sister was sitting at the back of the car right next to me on my left. She was trying to tell me something but I couldn't really tell what because she kept pointing and making faces like she was really scared of the girl too.

Then when we parked right outside the girl's house, my parents made me get out of the car to open the door for her. So I did what I was told. When I got out of the car I looked around to find nothing around but a really old house that seemed to be from the lates 1900's. When the girl got out of the car, she walked right up to her the house without knocking the door or even opening the door... She went right through...

'Where the Tides Ebb and Flow' by Lord Dunsany (1878-1957)

I dreamt that I had done a horrible thing, so that burial was to be denied me either in soil or sea, neither could there be any hell for me.

I waited for some hours, knowing this. Then my friends came for me, and slew me secretly and with ancient rite, and lit great tapers, and carried me away.

It was all in London that the thing was done, and they went furtively at dead of night
along grey streets and among mean houses until they came to the river. And the river and the tide of the sea were grappling with one another between the mud-banks, and both of them were black and full of lights.

A sudden wonder came in to the eyes of each, as my friends came near to them with their glaring tapers. All these things I saw as they carried me dead and stiffening, for my soul was still among my bones, because there was no hell for it, and because Christian burial was denied me.

They took me down a stairway that was green with slimy things, and so came slowly to
the terrible mud. There, in the territory of forsaken things, they dug a shallow grave.

When they had finished they laid me in the grave, and suddenly they cast their tapers to the river. And when the water had quenched the flaring lights the tapers looked pale and small as they bobbed upon the tide, and at once the glamour of the calamity was gone, and I noticed then the approach of the huge dawn; and my friends cast their cloaks over their faces, and the solemn procession was turned into many fugitives that furtively stole away.

Then the mud came back wearily and covered all but my face. There I lay alone with
quite forgotten things, with drifting things that the tides will take no farther, with useless things and lost things, and with the horrible unnatural bricks that are either stone nor soil.

I was rid of feeling, because I had been killed, but perception and thought were in my unhappy soul. The dawn widened, and I saw the desolate houses that crowded the marge of the river, and their dead windows peered into my dead eyes, windows with bales behind them instead of human souls.

I grew so weary looking at these forlorn things that I wanted to cry out, but could not, because I was dead. Then I knew, as I had never known before, that for all the years that herd of desolate houses had wanted to cry out too, but, being dead, were dumb.

And I knew then that it had yet been well with the forgotten drifting things if they had wept, but they were eyeless and without life. And I, too, tried to weep, but there were no tears in my dead eyes. And I knew then that the river might have cared for us, might have caressed us, might have sung to us, but he swept broadly onwards, thinking of nothing but the princely ships.

At last the tide did what the river would not, and came and covered me over, and my
soul had rest in the green water, and rejoiced and believed that it had the Burial of the Sea. But with the ebb the water fell again, and left me alone again with the callous mud among the forgotten things that drift no more, and with the sight of all those desolate houses, and with the knowledge among all of us that each was dead.

In the mournful wall behind me, hung with green weeds, forsaken of the sea, dark tunnels appeared, and secret narrow passages that were clamped and barred. From these
at last the stealthy rats came down to nibble me away, and my soul rejoiced thereat and believed that he would be free perforce from the accursed bones to which burial was refused. Very soon the rats ran away a little space and whispered among themselves. They never came any more. When I found that I was accursed even among the rats I tried to weep again.

Then the tide came swinging back and covered the dreadful mud, and hid the desolate
houses, and soothed the forgotten things, and my soul had ease for a while in the
sepulture of the sea. And then the tide forsook me again.

To and fro it came about me for many years. Then the County Council found me, and
gave me decent burial. It was the first grave that I had ever slept in. That very night my friends came for me. They dug me up and put me back again in the shallow hold in the mud.

Again and again through the years my bones found burial, but always behind the funeral lurked one of those terrible men who, as soon as night fell, came and dug them up
and carried them back again to the hole in the mud. And then one day the last of those men died who once had done to me this terrible thing. I heard his soul go over the river at sunset.

And again I hoped. A few weeks afterwards I was found once more, and once more taken out of that restless place and given deep burial in sacred ground, where my soul hoped that it should rest.

Almost at once men came with cloaks and tapers to give me back to the mud, for the
thing had become a tradition and a rite. And all the forsaken things mocked me in their dumb hearts when they saw me carried back, for they were jealous of me because I had left the mud. It must be remembered that I could not weep.

And the years went by seawards where the black barges go, and the great derelict
centuries became lost at sea, and still I lay there without any cause to hope, and daring not to hope without a cause, because of the terrible envy and the anger of the things that could drift no more.

Once a great storm rode up, even as far as London, out of the sea from the South; and
he came curving into the river with the fierce East wind. And he was mightier than the
dreary tides, and went with great leaps over the listless mud. And all the sad forgotten things rejoiced, and mingled with things that were haughtier than they, and rode once more amongst the lordly shipping that was driven up and down.

And out of their hideous home he took my bones, never again, I hoped, to be vexed with the ebb and flow. And with the fall of the tide he went riding down the river and turned to the southwards, and so went to his home. And my bones he scattered among many isles and along the shores of happy alien mainlands. And for a moment, while they were far asunder, my soul was almost free.

Then there arose, at the will of the moon, the assiduous flow of the tide, and it undid at once the work of the ebb, and gathered my bones from the marge of sunny isles, and gleaned them all along the mainland’s shores, and went rocking northwards till it came to the mouth of the Thames, and there turned westwards its relentless face, and so went up the river and came to the hole in the mud, and into it dropped my bones; and partly the mud covered them, and partly it left them white, for the mud cares not for its forsaken things.

Then the ebb came, and I saw the dead eyes of the houses and the jealousy of the other
forgotten things that the storm had not carried thence. And some more centuries passed
over the ebb and flow and over the loneliness of things for gotten. And I lay there all the while in the careless grip of the mud, never wholly covered, yet never able to go free, and I longed for the great caress of the warm Earth or the comfortable lap of the Sea.

Sometimes men found my bones and buried them, but the tradition never died, and my
friends’ successors always brought them back. At last the barges went no more, and there were fewer lights; shaped timbers no longer floated down the fairway, and there came instead old wind-uprooted trees in all their natural simplicity.

At last I was aware that somewhere near me a blade of grass was growing, and the
moss began to appear all over the dead houses. One day some thistledown went drifting
over the river.

For some years I watched these signs attentively, until I became certain that London
was passing away. Then I hoped once more, and all along both banks of the river there
was anger among the lost things that anything should dare to hope upon the forsaken
mud. Gradually the horrible houses crumbled, until the poor dead things that never had
had life got decent burial among the weeds and moss.

At last the may appeared and the convolvulus. Finally, the wild rose stood up over mounds that had been wharves and warehouses. Then I knew that the cause of Nature had triumphed, and London had passed away.

The last man in London came to the wall by the river, in an ancient cloak that was one
of those that once my friends had worn, and peered over the edge to see that I still was there. Then he went, and I never saw men again: they had passed away with London.

A few days after the last man had gone the birds came into London, all the birds that
sing. When they first saws me they all looked sideways at me, then they went away a little and spoke among themselves.

“He only sinned against Man,” they said; “it is not our quarrel.”
“Let us be kind to him,” they said.

Then they hopped nearer me and began to sing. It was the time of the rising of the
dawn, and from both banks of the river, and from the sky, and from the thickets that were once the streets, hundreds of birds were singing.

As the light increased the birds sang more and more; they grew thicker and thicker in the air above my head, till there were thousands of them singing there, and then millions, and at last I could see nothing but a host of flickering wings with the sunlight on them, and little gaps of sky.

Then when there was nothing to be heard in London but the myriad notes of that exultant song, my soul rose up from the bones in the hole in the mud and began to climb heavenwards. And it seemed that a lane-way opened amongst the wings of the birds, and it went up and up, and one of the smaller gates of Paradise stood ajar at the end of it.

And then I knew by a sign that the mud should receive me no more, for suddenly I found that I could weep.

At this moment I opened my eyes in bed in a house in London, and outside some
sparrows were twittering in a tree in the light of the radiant morning; and there were tears still wet upon my face, for one’s restraint is feeble while one sleeps.

But I arose and opened the window wide, and stretching my hands out over the little garden, I blessed the birds whose song had woken me up from the troubled and terrible centuries of my dream.

Mae Naak - A Thai Ghost Story

There is no Thai who does not know Mae Naak. While mentioning her can make young children run and scream hysterically in the "Nang Naak game", mothers invoke Mae Naak's name to quiet their crying infants; otherwise, the ghost might break their necks and eat their heads with chilly sauce. The gothic tale of Mae Naak Phra Khanong has been filmed more than twenty times; moreover, every one of them is a box-office hit. Thai youths grow up watching her ghostly tale on television.

Whether Nang Naak was a real person or just a fabrication is still as mysterious as the myth itself. There is no historical evidence of her existence. However, most Thais tend to believe her story is genuine, or at least some parts are. Popular legend tells that she was born in the Phra Khanong area of Bangkok about a hundred and thirty years ago during the later period of King Rama IV (1851 - 1868) and died of childbirth complications some eighteen years later in the early part of King Rama V's regime (1868 - 1910). Others assume that she lived during the reign of King Rama III (1841 - 1851). Some believers even date her presence back to more than two hundred years ago in mid-eighteen century Ayutthaya.

Likewise, the detailed background of Nang Naak also varies from one tale to another, from being an ordinary farm girl to the daughter of the village chief. Nonetheless, her doomed fate and horrible deed stay the same. It begins as a love story. A teenage girl named Naak falls deeply in love with a handsome young man, Nai Maak. Some sources state that the couple are childhood lovers who grow up together, while another version take on the more tragic flavor of "Romeo and Juliet" in which their romance is opposed by Nang Naak's wealthy and powerful father, for Maak is of poorer and lower origin. No matter how harsh or smooth the situation is, they eventually manage to be together. Shortly after they get married, Nai Maak is conscripted for military service, involuntarily leaving his pregnant bride behind with tear and fear. The dutiful wife waits for her lover's return, but that day never comes in her lifetime. Haplessly, Nang Naak dies during labor along with her unborn child. Although they are buried instantly according to local tradition, her strong spirit refuses to perish. When Nai Maak comes back from the war, the ghost of Nang Naak disguises herself and her "infant son" as humans. Their uncanny reunion is sweet but brief. Despite her arduous effort to blind Nai Maak to reality, Nang Naak cannot prevent him from learning the truth of her death. The revelation itself provides one of the most memorable scenes in the story when Maak sees his wife grotesquely stretching her arm through the floorboard of their elevated house to pick up a fallen lime, or a knife in another version, on the ground.

The supernatural romance then transforms into a macabre horror. The terrified husband runs away, and the scary ghost follows. There are many gory accounts of how Nang Naak chases, harasses, and even kills whoever comes between Maak and her. In order to get rid of the gruesome spirit, the villagers resort to all the possible religious means including exorcist and voodoo shaman, which soon prove to be futile.

Another rendition states that Maak remarries after the death of Nang Naak. The jealous ghost is enraged, and she terrorizes the new couple along with the miserable community. In all versions, Maak finally takes refugee in the Mahabute temple. Defying the monks, Nang Naak persists and pursues. At last, a gifted young novice from far away comes to the village and rests her tormented soul.

Certain versions claim it is the venerated Somdej Phra Puttajan from Thonburi who seizes the fierce spirit, whereas some editions combine the two together as the heroes. In all cases, the Buddhist representative imprisons Nang Naak in a ceramic pot and drops it in the river. In some of the renditions, the skull of Nang Naak is made into a belt buckle by the monk, which passes into the possession of the Prince of Chumporn and then disappears.

Maak nevertheless, becomes a monk in some versions, and in others, he begins a new family and lives happily ever after. Yet this otherworldly saga of love and revenge does not end there. Numerous stories about Mae Naak's reappearances are widely and frequently spread, from Bangkok to Pattani, casting her in many roles from being a guiding angel to an enraged ghost.

The story of Mae Nak Phra Khanong (or simply Mae Nak) is a well known and popular Thai ghost story. The story, as told, happened during the reign of King Mongkut, concerning the beautiful Mae Nak (literally "Miss Nak"), a native of Phra Khanong in Bangkok, and her husband, Mak.

With Nak pregnant, Mak is called off to war (in some versions of the story the war is against the Shan tribe, while others are not specific), and is severely injured. While he is being nursed in central Bangkok, both Nak and the child she is carrying die during childbirth. When Mak eventually returns home, however, he is cast under a spell and finds his loving wife and his new child waiting for him and nothing wrong. Neighbours, who try to tell Mak of the death of his wife and to warn him that he is living with her ghost, meet with grisly ends.

One day, while Nak is preparing nam phrik, she drops a lime down to the cellar. In her haste, the ghost extends her arm to pick the lemon from the upper floor through the floor's hole, not knowing that Mak saw the whole event. Terrified, Mak realises she is a a ghost, and connives to flee. At night, Mak lies to Nak by saying that he wants to get out of the hut to urinate at down floor. He then breaks a little hole in an earthen jar which is filled with water, so that Nak will think that he is urinating, and Mak flees.

After discovering her husband's leaving, Nak pursues him. Mak sees his wife's ghost and conceals himself in a Blumea bush. It is traditionally believed that ghosts are afraid of Blumea. Mak then runs to the temple of Wat Mahabut, where Nak cannot enter the holy area. Nak subsequently terrorises the people of Phra Khanong as she expresses her anger with them for helping Mak to leave her.

Eventually, Nak's ghost is exorcised by a powerful exorcist, who confines her within an earthen pot which is thrown into the river.

There are several versions of the story at this point. In one, an old couple, new residents to Phra Khanong, acquire the ghost pot while fishing, while in another it is two fisherman (age and residency unknown) who dredge up the bottle. Nak is then freed by the unwitting couple, or the fisherman (depending on which version you read).

Eventually, Nak is suppressed by the venerable monk, Somdet Phra Phutthachan (To Phrommarangsi), and again there are several versions of the story. In one, the monk confines her within the bone of her corpse's forehead, and binds that bone within his waistband (and, according to a legend, the waistband passes through the hands of various persons and is currently in the possession of royalty). In another, the monk foretells that in a future life Nak will be reunited with her husband, and so the ghost voluntarily leaves for her next life.

Mae Nak's story is popular because of her true love and devotion for Mak.

A Chinese Ghost story

The lady at the window

Actually this story happened to my mom. It was during the 60’s, when she was still sleeping with her brothers and sisters in one house. They have inherited a big house from my grandfather (he was a doctor), so having a couple of her cousins sleeping over is not a problem. Their house was built near a river with a wooden bridge over it (you’ll know what the wooden bridge is about later on my story).

Here’s where her story begins. All of them came home late from a party (back in the 60’s parties were great and being invited to one means you are popular), they were all tired and decided to call it a night and went to their own rooms. My mom was staying with 2 of her sisters in one room. Her bed was located right beside a big window that’s made out of wood and would just open from the middle then the shatters will just slide from side to side.

That night, due to excessive drinking, my mom woke up because she needs to go to the bathroom. So she went and went back to bed. When she was about to doze off, she could feel something or someone was watching her. She opened her eyes and she saw a lady with long black hair outside their window, she was also wearing a black dress and her eyes were red. The lady was staring at her with a creepy grin on her face. My mom couldn’t move. The scary part of it was my mom’s room was located at the second floor; in short the lady was floating.

She tried to call her sisters but they could not hear her. She felt so scared and just covered her self with her quilt. After a few minutes, she tried to check if the lady was gone but when she peeped out of her quilt, the lady was still there, staring and grinning at her. She just decided to just hide herself under quilt and eventually she had fallen asleep.

The next day, everybody went down for breakfast. My mom did too, even though she was tired due to what happened that night. She did not try to tell everybody because they would just think that she was dreaming. Then a guy cousin of her came out looking as if he hadn’t slept all night and just freaked out on them saying that he saw a lady outside their window (the boy’s bedroom was located on the first floor). Then he described what he saw, my mom realized that he was describing the same lady she saw outside her window. So she decided to tell them on what happened to her that night. Most of them were skeptical.

Later that week, my mom was just about to get in their house when she saw a big commotion beside the wooden bridge. There were a lot of people looking over with the police too. She saw that her cousin was one of the spectators. When he saw her, he just ran to her and said that somebody found a sack with a dead girl inside. Later in the news, they post a picture of the girl and it was the lady my mom and uncle saw.

The Graveyard

In late afternoon under a blustery November sky, Joseph arrived at the graveyard in his blue Chevy sedan. Partnered by a light wind, autumn leaves danced a ballet under billowing dark clouds, pregnant with rain. Joseph parked his car and opened his door, stepping out onto the pavement and around to the trunk.

The graveyard was draped in an eerie stillness like a thick carpet of sleep. Ripping through the silence screeched the ornery "Caw!" of a raven perched high atop a nearby tree. It's raw greeting startled Joseph who looked upward to locate its source. Detected, the crow flapped sluggishly, launching itself lazily from its current location, then floated across the yard to another perch.

Inserting his key into the trunk lock, Joseph sprung the latch and lifted the lid. Inside, his gear lay neatly packed. He carefully lifted the tripod, placed it on the pavement and rested it against the bumper. He lifted two cases containing cameras, one for still shots and the other for video, and draped their cords around his neck. He grabbed a leather gear bag, shifted it to his left hand and pushed the trunk lid down. As he turned around, he picked up the tripod, balanced it over his shoulder and headed out across the lawn. The grass crunched beneath his shoes as he surveyed the yard, looking for a place to set up.

The headstones gleamed chalk-like across the lawn like bony specters. He stopped occasionally to study the more intriguing ones before moving on. He located a bench under a thicket of trees, and after a few moments of contemplation, decided this was as good a place as any. Placing his bag on the bench, he set up his tripod and mounted his video camera. After a few adjustments he was ready to begin shooting.

Haunted CemeteryA damp wind stirred and Joseph turned up his collar to block it out. Then he strode to the bench. As he opened his digital camera case, he pondered his newfound passion for the supernatural.

It began only a year earlier when a towel-wrapped Joseph had come face-to-face with an apparition at his bathroom door. Joseph was exiting his shower, scrubbing his wet hair with a towel when he encountered a boy, drenched and trembling, standing there looking very traumatized and disoriented. Instinctively, Joseph had gone to the boy's aid by extending his hand in a gesture of help. The boy vanished instantly leaving behind a bewildered Joseph, empty-handed and completely creeped-out.

After that, Joseph became fascinated with ghosts and developed those fascinations into a hobby of searching for and gathering paranormal evidence. He didn't particularly believe that cemeteries were the best place to encounter spirits. He figured spirits had more interesting places to hang out than a gloomy, boring cemetery. But Joseph had come across a recent internet broadcast that this particular cemetery was the resting place of several prominent figures and had also been the site of recent vandalism by tourists. These insolent occurrences had reportedly agitated the inhabitants, causing an upsurge in anomalous activity. The broadcast whet his curiosity and the fact that it was only 40 minutes from home compelled Joseph's visit. He wanted to gather some video footage and photos, see what he came up with, and take it from there.

Starting in the east corner, he worked the video camera, scanning the graveyard slowly around to the west. He was mindful to pick up as much detail in different areas as possible and panned the camera back and forth several times in order to ensure that he picked up any structure of interest in the yard. Then, finding a position that displayed the most unobstructed view of the cemetery, he left the camera rolling on its own. Then he grabbed his digital camera and set out across the grass for stills of select headstones.

He strode to the oldest part of the cemetery. Bordered by ancient trees, it was situated along the east wall and underneath he found one of the cemetery's oldest graves. Its modest headstone was weathered and worn, and after 250 years, its inscription barely legible.

After several adjustments to his camera settings, he started clicking shots getting as many different angles as he could. From here, he moved down the row to get the other graves in a similar fashion.

Overhead, the blustery sky grew dark and Joseph figured he had only about twenty minutes before the clouds began to dump its contents. He moved quickly out towards the center and across to the other side, making any needed adjustments to the camera settings and snapping more photos. The ornery crow returned and cawed another announcement.

"I better get going," thought Joseph and he started back into the direction of the bench. Pushing his luck, Joseph turned and held his camera in front of him. He aimed it randomly across the lawn and snapped a shot with his index finger. The crow sounded once more, this time with grave urgency. Joseph turned to view it, still holding his camera in his outstretched hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something stir in the camera's LCD. He turned back to the screen to view the image head on, but all he saw was an eastern view of the cemetery.

The air grew heavy and Joseph knew rain was imminent. He returned to his video camera, its red indicator light signaling that it was still running. Joseph turned again, extended his right arm and attempted just a couple more shots before the clouds let loose. He aimed the camera randomly across the grass and snapped another shot.

Then he turned his head slightly to the left, but kept one eye on the screen. As he suspected, he saw a white figure crawling ominously across the lawn. But this time he noticed . . . it was headed in his direction!

Joseph dropped his arm and visually inspected the area he was shooting without looking through the LCD. There was no white figure visible, only the graveyard: very still and very, very quiet.

Lifting his arm and returning the camera to its previous position and using a sideways glance, he watched through the LCD as the white figure crept slowly and insidiously across the grass. It seemed that despite the labored crawl, it was much closer than before and Joseph calculated that every time he lowered the camera, the figure traveled 100 yards instantaneously!

The rain began as a light sprinkle, and Joseph raced to his video camera panning it over into position attempting to pick up the image of the white figure. When the figure didn't appear, Joseph's jaw dropped in amazement.

Lifting his digital camera and viewing once again out of the corner of his eye, he relocated the specter. It had moved much closer and this time Joseph was able to pick up details in its form.

It was creeping along on its belly, arms bent at elbows dragging itself forward, the lower half of its body limp and useless. In jerky, unnatural motions, its head lurched from side to side. Its ghastly face was a horror to behold. Two hollow sockets glared at Joseph across the distance while its tongue lolled in its mouth, slack jawed and hungry. As Joseph studied its face, the glaring countenance told him he was being apprehended with careful determination—and malice.

Terrified, Joseph dropped the camera and began tearing down his equipment. The air filled with the dank odor of mold and rot giving Joseph knowledge that the specter was upon him, probably no more than just a few feet away. He tried to dismount the video camera but was so frightened that his trembling hands betrayed him. Clumsily, he knocked his video gear over, its red indicator light fading to black as it hit the ground.

He grabbed the digital camera and held it up once more. He found the entity and discovered that it was nearly upon him, creeping relentlessly in pursuit. He had no choice but to leave his gear behind. He dropped his camera in the grass and fled, running mindlessly towards his car, a projectile of utter fear.

The sprinkle of rain intensified and the grass grew wet under Joseph's feet. The crow cawed laughingly in the trees, and the Laughing Crowsmell of mold became heavier and more intense.

He was only 50 feet from his car when he slipped on the slick grass, flying headlong into a monument, striking his head on the stone. The crow cawed one last time and the drizzle of rain became a torrent. Joseph lay on the grass, unconscious and bleeding. He wasn't found until the next day.


Three days later, Joseph sat upright in his hospital bed, head wrapped in a turban of bandages. His equipment had been retrieved, but the video camera was ruined.

By some miracle, his digital camera survived the torrential rains and he held it now in his hands, attempting to review the photos on its memory card. He searched for evidence of the malevolence that had pursued him. He scrolled through the images 100 times, scrutinizing the headstones, the trees and the random shots of the lawn. He found no evidence of the entity in any of the photos. Eventually he came to realize and accept that the ghost was only visible through his LCD.

Sadly, he had no evidence of his encounter, save a nasty concussion and ruined gear. The only witness an ornery old crow.

A Diagnosis of Death - Ambrose Bierce

'I am not so superstitious as some of your physicians - men of science, as you are pleased to be called,' said Hawver, replying to an accusation that had not been made.

'Some of you - only a few, I confess - believe in the immortality of the soul, and in apparitions which you have not the honesty to call ghosts. I go no further than a conviction that the living are sometimes seen where they are not, but have been - where they have lived so long, perhaps so intensely, as to have left their impress on everything about them. I know, indeed, that one's environment may be so affected by one's personality as to yield, long afterward, an image of one's self to the eyes of another.

Doubtless the impressing personality has to be the right kind of personality as the perceiving eyes have to be the right kind of eyes - mine, for example.'
'Yes, the right kind of eyes, conveying sensations to the wrong kind of brains,' said Dr. Frayley, smiling.

'Thank you; one likes to have an expectation gratified; that is about the reply that I supposed you would have the civility to make.'

'Pardon me. But you say that you know. That is a good deal to say, don't you think? Perhaps you will not mind the trouble of saying how you learned.'

'You will call it an hallucination,' Hawver said, 'but that does not matter.' And he told the story.

'Last summer I went, as you know, to pass the hot weather term in the town of Meridian. The relative at whose house I had intended to stay was ill, so I sought other quarters. After some difficulty I succeeded in renting a vacant dwelling that had been occupied by an eccentric doctor of the name of Mannering, who had gone away years before, no one knew where, not even his agent.

He had built the house himself and had lived in it with an old servant for about ten years. His practice, never very extensive, had after a few years been given up entirely. Not only so, but he had withdrawn himself almost altogether from social life and become a recluse.

I was told by the village doctor, about the only person with whom he held any relations, that during his retirement he had devoted himself to a single line of study, the result of which he had expounded in a book that did not commend itself to the approval of his professional brethren, who, indeed, considered him not entirely sane.

I have not seen the book and cannot now recall the title of it, but I am told that it expounded a rather startling theory. He held that it was possible in the case of many a person in good health to forecast his death with precision, several months in advance of the event. The limit, I think, was eighteen months.

There were local tales of his having exerted his powers of prognosis, or perhaps you would say diagnosis; and it was said that in every instance the person whose friends he had warned had died suddenly at the appointed time, and from no assignable cause. All this, however, has nothing to do with what I have to tell; I thought it might amuse a physician.


'The house was furnished, just as he had lived in it. It was a rather gloomy dwelling for one who was neither a recluse nor a student, and I think it gave something of its character to me - perhaps some of its former occupant's character; for always I felt in it a certain melancholy that was not in my natural disposition, nor, I think, due to loneliness.

I had no servants that slept in the house, but I have always been, as you know, rather fond of my own society, being much addicted to reading, though little to study. Whatever was the cause, the effect was dejection and a sense of impending evil; this was especially so in Dr. Mannering's study, although that room was the lightest and most airy in the house. The doctor's life-size portrait in oil hung in that room, and seemed completely to dominate it.

There was nothing unusual in the picture; the man was evidently rather good looking, about fifty years old, with iron-grey hair, a smooth-shaven face and dark, serious eyes. Something in the picture always drew and held my attention. The man's appearance became familiar to me, and rather "haunted" me.

'One evening I was passing through this room to my bedroom, with a lamp - there is no gas in Meridian. I stopped as usual before the portrait, which seemed in the lamplight to have a new expression, not easily named, but distinctly uncanny. It interested but did not disturb me.

I moved the lamp from one side to the other and observed the effects of the altered light. While so engaged I felt an impulse to turn round. As I did so I saw a man moving across the room directly toward me! As soon as he came near enough for the lamplight to illuminate the face I saw that it was Dr. Mannering himself; it was as if the portrait were walking!

'"I beg your pardon," I said, somewhat coldly, "but if you knocked I did not hear."
'He passed me, within an arm's length, lifted his right forefinger, as in warning, and without a word went on out of the room, though I observed his exit no more than I had observed his entrance.

'Of course, I need not tell you that this was what you will call a hallucination and I call an apparition. That room had only two doors, of which one was locked; the other led into a bedroom, from which there was no exit. My feeling on realizing this is not an important part of the incident.



'Doubtless this seems to you a very commonplace "ghost story" - one constructed on the regular lines laid down by the old masters of the art. If that were so I should not have related it, even if it were true. The man was not dead; I met him to-day in Union Street. He passed me in a crowd.'

Hawver had finished his story and both men were silent. Dr. Frayley absently drummed on the table with his fingers.

'Did he say anything to-day?' he asked - 'anything from which you inferred that he was not dead?'
Hawver stared and did not reply.

'Perhaps,' continued Frayley,' he made a sign, a gesture - lifted a finger, as in warning. It's a trick he had - a habit when saying something serious - announcing the result of a diagnosis, for example.'

'Yes, he did - just as his apparition had done. But, good God! did you ever know him?'
Hawver was apparently growing nervous.

'I knew him. I have read his book, as will every physician some day. It is one of the most striking and important of the century's contributions to medical science. Yes, I knew him; I attended him in an illness three years ago. He died.'

Hawver sprang from his chair, manifestly disturbed. He strode forward and back across the room; then approached his friend, and in a voice not altogether steady, said: 'Doctor, have you anything to say to me - as a physician? '

'No, Hawver; you are the healthiest man I ever knew. As a friend I advise you to go to your room. You play the violin like an angel. Play it; play something light and lively. Get this cursed bad business off your mind.'

The next day Hawver was found dead in his room, the violin at his neck, the bow upon the string, his music open before him at Chopin's Funeral March.

'Hobnail' by Crystal Arbogast

Fannie Poteet sat cross-legged on her Uncle John's front porch; her favorite rag doll clutched under one arm. The late afternoon sun shone through the leaves of the giant oak tree, casting its flickering light on the cabin. This golden motion of light entranced the child and she sat with her face turned upward, as if hypnotized. The steady hum of conversation flowed from inside of the cabin.

"Ellen, I'm sure happy that you came to church with us today. Why don't you spend the night? It's getting awfully late and it will be dark before you make it home."
"I'll be fine Sally," replied Fannie's mother. "Anyhow, you know how Lige is about his supper. I left plenty for him and the boys on the back of the stove, but he'll want Fannie and me home. Besides, he'll want to hear if Sam Bosworth's wife managed to drag him into church."

The laughter that followed her mother's statement broke the child's musings and she stood up, pulled her dress over the protruding petticoat, and stepped inside.
"Get your shawl Fannie. When the sun goes down, it'll get chilly."
As the little girl went to the chair by the fireplace to retrieve her wrap, her uncle came in from the back with a lantern.

"You'll need this Ellen. The wick is new and I've filled it up for you."
"I appreciate it Johnny," Ellen said. "I'll have Lige bring it back when he goes to town next week."
Ellen kissed her younger brother good-bye and hugged Sally gently. Patting her sister-in-law on her swollen belly, she said," I'll be back at the end of the month. Don't be lifting anything heavy. If that queasy feeling keeps bothering you, brew some of that mint tea I left in the kitchen. Lord knows I've never seen a baby keep its mammy so sick as much as this one has. It's a boy for sure."

Upon hearing this, Fannie frowned. She was the youngest in her family, and the only girl. After living with four brothers, she had prayed fervently to God every night for Him to let her aunt have a girl. The only other comfort she had was the pretty rag doll that her mother had made for her. Tucking the doll under her left arm and gathering the shawl with the same hand, she stood waiting patiently.

Aunt Sally kissed her lightly on the cheek and squeezed Fannie gently. "If I have a girl, I hope that she will be as sweet as you," her aunt whispered. Uncle John patted her on the head and said, "Bye Punkin. When that old momma cat has her kittens, I'll give you the pick of the litter."



This brought a smile to Fannie's face and swept away the darkening thoughts of boys.
Ellen secured her own shawl about her shoulders and tossing one side around and over again, picked up the lantern, which had already been lit. Taking Fannie's right hand, the pair proceeded on the three-mile trek back home. Heavy rains during the last week had left the dirt road virtually impassable for anyone on foot.

Ellen and her daughter would return home the way they had come, by following the railroad track. The track was about one half mile above the road. It wound and wound around the mountains and through the valleys carrying the coal and lumber, which had been harvested from the land. Once on the track, they proceeded in the direction of their own home.

Ellen began to tell Fannie about the trains and all of the distant places they went to. The little girl loved hearing her mother's stories of all the big cities far away. She had been to town only a few times and had never traveled outside of Wise County. Fannie remembered her papa talking about his brother Jack.

Uncle Jack had left the county, as well as the state of Virginia. He was in a faraway place called Cuba, fighting for a man called Roosevelt. She wondered what kind of place Cuba was, and if it was anything like home.

The sun's last rays were sinking behind the tree-studded mountains. Shadows rose ominously from the dense woods on both sides of the track. Rustling sounds from the brush caused Fannie to jump, but her mother's soothing voice calmed her fears.

"It's all right Child; just foxes and possums."

A hoot owl's mournful cry floated out of the encroaching darkness and Fannie tightened her grip on her mother's hand.
Finally, night enveloped the landscape, and all that could be seen was the warm glow of the lantern and the shadow of the figures behind it. It was a moonless night, and the faint glow of a few stars faded in between the moving clouds. Fannie tripped over the chunks of gravel scattered between the ties and Ellen realized that her daughter was tired.

"We'll rest awhile child. My guess is that we have less than a mile to go."
Ellen set the lantern down and the weary travelers attempted to get comfortable sitting on the rail.


"Mammy, it's so scary in the dark. Will God watch over us and protect us?"
"Yes, Fannie. Remember what that new young preacher said in church today. The Good Lord is always with you, and when you need His strength, call out His name. Better still, do what I do."
"What's that mammy?"

"Well," Ellen said, stroking her daughter's hair," I sing one of my favorite hymns."
While contemplating her mother's advice, Fannie was distracted by a sound. The sound came from the direction they had traveled from, and the girl's eyes peered into the ink like darkness. It was very faint, but unlike the other noises she had grown used to along the way. The slow methodic sound was someone walking, and coming in their direction.

"Mammy, do you hear that?"
"Hear what child?"
Fannie moved closer to her mother and said, "It's somebody else coming!"

Ellen gave her daughter a comforting hug and replied," You're just imagining things Fannie. We've rested enough. Let's get on home. Your papa will be worried."
Ellen picked up the lantern, took Fannie's hand, and the two resumed their journey. After a while, the sound that had unnerved the little girl began again. This time the steps were more distinct, and definitely closer. The distant ringing of heavy boots echoed in the dark.

"Mammy, I hear it again!"
"Hush child."
Ellen swung the lantern around.
"See, there's nothing there."

Fannie secured the grip on her mother's hand and clutched her rag doll tightly. The hoot owl continued its call in the distance, and the night breeze rustled the leaves in the trees.
"The air sure smells like rain," said Ellen. "The wind is picking up a mite too. We'll be home soon, little girl. Yonder is the last bend."

Fannie found comfort in her mother's voice, but in the darkness behind them, the steps rang louder. It was the sound of boots, heavy hobnail boots.
"Mammy, it's getting closer!"

Ellen swung the lantern around again and said, "Child, there's nothing out there. Tell you what; let's sing "Precious Lord".

Fannie joined in with her mother, but her voice quivered with fear as the heavy steps came closer and closer. She couldn't understand why her mother seemed oblivious to the sound.
Ellen's singing grew louder, and up ahead the warm glow of light from their own home glimmered down the side and through the trees. A dog barking in the distance brought the singing to an abrupt end.


"See child, we're almost home. Tinker will be running up to meet us. Big old Tinker. He's chased mountain lions before. He'll see us safely home."
"Let's hurry then Mammy. Can't you hear? It's closer and I'm scared. Let's run!"

"All right child, but see, I'm telling you there's nothing there."
Ellen made another sweep around with the lantern and as they proceeded she cried out, "Here Tinker! Come on boy!"

The dog raced up the path leading to the track and the two nearly collided with him as they stepped down on the familiar trail to home.
"Ellen, is that you?"

Fannie's heart filled with joy as her father's voice rang out of the darkness.
"Yes Lige. I'm sorry we're so late. I'm afraid I walked a bit fast for this child. She's worn out."
Elijah picked up his daughter and carried her the rest of the way home. Once inside of the cabin, Ellen helped Fannie undress and gently tucked her in bed.

The comforting sounds of her parents' voices drifted from the kitchen. Even the snores of her brothers in the back made her smile and be thankful that she and her mother were safe and sound. Before closing her eyes, her mother's voice rang in her ears.

"Lige, I heard the steps. I didn't want to frighten the child. I kept singing and swinging the lantern around and telling her there was nothing to be afraid of. But Lige, just before we got off the tracks, I turned the lantern around one last time. That's when I saw what was following us. I saw the figure of a man. A man without a head!"

The Dancing Woman

A man lived on the 6th floor of an apartment building and was lonely. One day he noticed the figure of a woman dancing in a swaying motion in an apartment across from his building. The curtain was drawn, so he could only see the shadow. Everyday he looked out his window, he would see her dancing. Finally, the lonely man fell in love with the dancing woman and decided to pay her a visit. He bought a bouquet of fresh flowers and went to her building, climbing the steps to her floor.

He knocked on the door but no one answered. He knocked again but no one answered. He could have sworn he had just seen her dancing in the window. Worried that something had happened to her, he kicked the door open. He was heart broken by what he saw.

The woman was hanging from the ceiling in front of the window, her body swaying from side to side as if she was dancing.

The Red Eye

This took place in the old days when the houses in Japan still used paper sheets for walls and doors. A young business man was traveling through town after a day of hard work. He though he could make it back home but it got dark before he knew it. He didn't want to waste time going back to the town for shelter and thought perhaps he could find a house down the road. Lucky for him, he saw a glimmer of light a little ways off the road and decided to try asking for shelter there. He came upon this little hut and knowcked on the door. An old man came out and asked if he could be of any help. "Would you be so kind to let me stay tonight? I will pay you for a room."

"Nonsense! I'll be happy to let you stay. I don't many visitors out here. Come on in!" Te old man said. He gave the young man food and told him he could have the spare room. While walking to his appointed room, the young man noticed another room right next to his. Saying thanks to the kind old man, the young man went into his room. After he blew out the candle to go to sleep, the young man heard a soft melodic sound from the next room. It sounded like someone singing. Being curious, he crawled to the wall, wet his finger, and poked a little hole in the wall (remember the wall was made of rice paper). He peeked into the hole and saw the most beautiful woman dancing and singing, her long black hair covered one side of her face. He looked away from the wall and thought to himself, why didn't the old man introduce them? He decided to look back into the hole but all he saw was a red glow and nothing else. Maybe he was dreaming, he thought, and decided to go back to bed.

The next morning, the young man was waken up to eat breakfast. While they were both seated, the young man asked his host who was the beautiful woman in the room next to his last night. The old man was shocked. "There's no one there. That was my daughter's room until she died. She was born with a disfigurement and could never find a suitor to marry her, so she ended her life in that room."

"What was the disfigurement?"

"She was born with one red eye."

She was staring at him with her red eye through the peep hole when he was trying to look at her a second time! The young man decided not to reveal his story. He left as soon as he was done eating and thanked the old man once again for giving him shelter.

The Camping Trip - from Taiwan

A group of high school kids decided to go camping. The group consisted of 5 guys and 5 girls. Let's call the main character Bob, who was the narrator of the story. They rented 5 bicycles for the trip and rode up the mountain, one couple per bike. It was getting late and the sky was getting darker. Bob was in the lead of the group and saw a figure ahead by the road. It appeared to be squatting. Thinking the person was urinating, Bob thought it would be cute to scare the person.

As he rode up the person and was ready to scream at him, he screamed in horror instead. The man had turned around and had NO FACE! Where his features should have been, there was only a blank, smooth face! The rest of the group also saw and screamed, following Bob hurriedly up the road, trying to get away from the faceless "ghost". When they were finally exhausted from the get-away, they noticed flashing blue lights coming from down the road. They though it odd for a police car to be cruising the mountain road. As the car passed without stopping, they saw nothing inside the car. The police car was driving itself! The group of kids panicked, dropped the bikes, and took off in two directions: Bob grabbed 2 girls and ran one way while the others took of in another direction. Bob and the 2 girls came upon a military post where a guard was standing. Bob told the guard what had just happened and asked if they could stay and chat with him. The guard agreed until his shift was up. When time came for shift change, they asked the same of the next guard. They stayed awake until the sun came up. When it came time for them to leave, they thanked the guard and walked down the mountain. As they walked farther, they saw the rest of their companions sitting on the gound, crying.

"What happened?" Bob asked.

"You wouldn't believe what happened to us," one of them said, in between sobs. "After we split up, we saw this house with thir lights still on. We asked to stay for the night and the nice old man agreed, he even gave us food to eat and towels to get washed up. We even watched tv!"

"And?"

"This is what we woke up to this morning!"

Bob looked around and saw they were apparently sitting on ruins where there once was a building, perhaps the one his friends had slept in.

Scary Ghost Video (Real Ghost)

The missing twins

I've never been one to have a "real" encounter of an unexplainable event, except for maybe a little ESP, and dreams telling me what the future holds (Which happened only twice, once warning me about a fire, and the death of someone close to me...needless to say, my neighbour's house caught on fire after the dream, and my grandmother passed away.) But this story has to do with a friend of mine, twin babies, and a ghost.

Nearly a year ago, a friend of mine, Julie, went to visit her aunt and uncle for a month or so while her parents fought out a messy divorce. Her relatives house was an older farm house which had survived at least a hundred years. While visiting, her aunt and uncle decide to go out, and invited Julie along. Having had along tiring day, Julie declined and offered to watch the twins.Her aunt an uncle agreed, happy to be going out alone.

Julie had a great few hours with the twins, who where nice quiet babies (So she says:) As it grew later, she placed the children in their crib and tucked them in for the night placing a small teddy bear in the crib with them. She headed down the steps into the kitchen to clean up after dinner and bake some cookies. As she waited for the cookies to be done, she sat at the table and decided to read a book. A few minuets later, she heard the kitchen door, which lead to the back yard open. Looking up from the book,she expected it to be her aunt and uncle. no one was there, so figuring it was the wind, she got up and shut it. Nearly ten minutes later, the same thing happened, though this time she latched the door.

It was around this time that she had a strange, feeling.... She thought she heard some strange noises from upstairs...The baby intercom she had with her ringed out the sound of the baby crying...Then it suddenly stopped. She swore she heard footsteps as well, and afar away voice talking to the kids. Thinking at once about the babies and their safety she went to go check on them....When she entered the room, she heard nothing at all which scared her the most. She looked into the children's crib, and both babies were gone. Neither or them could walk yet, being only six months old.

Being only 16 at the time, she had no idea what to do and was in a panic. She ran as fast as she could over to one of the neighbour's houses, and from the called the police. Before the police came, her neighbour walked over to the house with her. Together they went into the babies room, and both children were there. Terrified, she scooped up both babies and stood outside and waited for the police and her aunt and uncle (which she also called) While waiting outside, she saw one of the kid's toys....It was exactly like the teddy bear she had placed in their crib.

She asked one of the neighbours to go inside with her, and as she thought, the bear was no longer in the crib either. To be on the safe side, once her aunt and uncle had come back, she asked if the kids had two bears, they said no. They also confessed about hearing soothe gentle voices talking to their kids on the baby intercom, from time to time.

The Ghost at the Piano

Felice awoke to the sound of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata wafting its way up from the inn's conservatory. She had just checked in two hours ago, bleary eyed from the four hour drive en route to her next concert in Seattle. All she really wanted to do was get some sleep before she finished the journey in the morning, so who in the world would be playing downstairs at 3:00 a.m.?

Finally irritated enough to drag herself out of bed, Felice padded down the master staircase and across the main hall to the doorway of the conservatory. She froze there, her eyes irresistibly anchored on the handsome man at the piano. He didn't seem quite of this era in his vintage tuxedo and slicked back hair. Felice vaguely wondered if he was an actor who put on shows about the inn's heyday in the roaring twenties. Indeed, there was even a glass of gin on the piano top.

Without a sound from Felice, the man looked up as though he had expected to see her there all along. "Hello Felice, I've been waiting for you...for quite some time." Felice was mesmerized by his deep black eyes, and felt compelled to move toward the piano.

"You and I have a duet to play, Felice. Come sit on the bench beside me". Felice found she couldn't resist the man's command, and she slowly sank onto the bench next to him. A sudden shiver overtook her as she felt a distinct chill in the air.

"Put your fingers on the keys, Felice", the man gently coaxed with a predatory gleam in his eyes. As if of their own volition, Felice's hands reached for the keyboard and settled there ready for the next command.

"Now play. You know the tune." Felice hesitated, but her hands no longer obeyed her, and they began to play the sonata that had drawn her down the stairs. The man fell into accompaniment, and as they played, both figures slowly faded out of site.

It was Felice's final performance.

Behind the Tombstone

The old tombstone was beginning to crumble, but it looked like as good a site as any to set up. Aidan and Mark set the recorder on the ground between them and scanned the darkened cemetery with their flashlights. There wasn't a sign of a caretaker, and they hadn't really expected to see one given the dilapidated state of the graveyard.

"Turn it on and let's begin" Aidan said. Mark flipped the recorder switch on, and Aidan's questioning began.

"Is there anyone with us tonight?" Nothing filled the silence except a slight scritch-scritch from somewhere behind the stone. Unperturbed, Aidan asked the next question.

"Can you tell us your name?" Again, the only sound was a scritch-scritch.

"Can you show yourself?" As before, just a scritch-scritch from behind the stone.

"Are you afraid of us?", asked Aidan. This time there was no scritch-scritch, but the atmosphere suddenly seem thick and malevolent. Neither young man noticed the towering dark shadow that rose from behind the tombstone until it was too late. The darkness swooped down and engulfed them until neither one could see the other, and just as suddenly, Aidan, Mark and the black shadow vanished into the ground.

The next morning when the old caretaker showed up, he found the recorder laying on the ground in front of the tombstone. He turned it on, and in the silence that followed each of Aidan's questions, you could now hear the following replies.

"Yes...I am always here."

"My name is never spoken by your kind, but it is very old."

"I'll show myself, but it is the last thing you'll ever see..."

"You are mine!"

The caretaker quietly pocketed the recorder, looking around to assure himself he was truly alone. He took the only evidence that anyone had been at the stone and tossed it in the pile with the rest back at the tool shed.

The Ghost Child

I heard this story from a friend, so I can't authenticate it: Some years ago a man bought a 'fixer-upper' house and after several hours work,decided to eat a cold supper, sleep there, and continue early the next day. As he was lying in bed, thinking about what to do the next day he heard the wailing of a small child. Sitting up in his sleeping-bag he looked across the room towards the staircase and saw the figure of a small child, hardly more than an infant,descending the stairs, crying. He called out to it, but it ignored him, and passed in front of him and went into the living room.

As he rushed into the room he saw the figure, still crying, pass through the wall next to the fireplace. The wailing sound continued, and then died away. Severely shaken, the man nonetheless went to sleep, but rose early the next morning and attack the wall where he had seen the phantom leave the room.

Imagine his surprise and horror when he found the skeleton of a young child inside the wall! He promptly called the sheriff's office, who removed the skeleton, and after the necessary paperwork he and the two officers held a token funeral service at the local graveyard. That night the man waited expectantly, but saw nothing. However, just as he was beginning to fall asleep, he heard the faint sound of laughter. No visions, just the sound ofa child laughing. But that was all. And from that time until today, he has heard nothing else.