For a period of time when I was younger, I was TERRIFIED of my bedroom in the dark. My parents were still married at the time and we (parents, me, and my sister, who is 11 years older than me) were living in a four-bedroom house in the Midwest — one of those new homes built as part of a subdivision on some former…

This isn’t exactly scary, as it is pretty weird and a little sad and paranormal. It’s also kinda long, but it really happened to me this year.

Who’s a good boy!

Not a paranormal story, but I was incredibly creeped out by this.

I’ve never posted, so this might live in the greys forever. But!

Two Stories!

My mom tells us not to talk about it, but there is something sensitive about our family. We feel things, and then we bite our tongues to prevent bothers from thinking we are nuts.

I’m not a good storyteller and I’m not sure this is scary but here it goes.

Make the ghost pay rent and in dollars or get out. Tell the ghost you don’t accept pounds because your countrymen voted to exit the EU and became worthless.

I’m not a dreamer. I have one or two dreams that I remember in a year, and they fade in a day or two. They’re generally surreal - like having to compete in a motocross to the airport so I can go on a date with Bjork in Amsterdam.

This happened to me just last week. I work closely with some national-level artifacts that are very sacred to the native tribes whose ancestors contributed to them. These artifacts are on public display in their own room in the institution where I work, and I like to go and sing to them most days. I am not from the…

Long story short I was laid off from my job and broke up with my live-in boyfriend on the same day. My best friend Rickie and her fiancé let me stay in their detached garage for free, so I moved my whole apartment in there. It was actually pretty cozy except for the plywood and rafters above my head.

This happened several years ago, when I first moved to L.A. and rented a place in a charmingly old/frustratingly old building. I almost took the efficiency next door, but splurged and went for the studio. I’m glad I did, and not just for the stove and the small amount of extra space. 

I’m a long time Jezebel lurker. I don’t think I’ve ever commented.

I grew up in a small town on an Indian reservation. Most houses in this town (old rundown project houses) had creepy histories and stories. Some worse than others. One house stood out in particular.

When I was in my early twenties, I drove my friend to the hospital after his dad had a heart attack. I stuck around with him waiting for news, and we were sitting outside the hospital on the curb when the strangest thing happened.

This is a bit of a long one, sorry.

This isn’t so much my story (I am in it) as it is my mom’s. She still gets irritated if we ask her questions about it, she just says “I don’t like to remember that time, everything about it was negative.”

I’ve been reading these stories for a few years now, and I thought I should finally write about what happened. About the cold woman.

This story is from my mother’s side of the family. Everyone who lived through it has a story.