True Life Ghost Stories
Demons under the bed
My brother, Devin, died several times in the womb. He was born on the 15th of April, the day when tragedy struck the vessel called the titanic. Causing more than 2,228 deaths that day, either from hypothermia or drowning. Only 705 of the passengers and crew survived.
What is so significant about this, is the moment my brother started speaking, he spoke of the titanic. Not only did he speak of it, but he obsessed over it. He begged to watch the movies, read the books, have the toys. He would wake up and tell our mother that the angels told him to come back when he died. He used to always tell us how he felt like that he wasn't him.
One day, Devin just began talking to himself. All day and everyday, we thought nothing of it because of his autism he was diagnosed with. It was a common trait shared among those diagnosed. He told us he was talking to Jesus, and Jesus would talk back. Our family is not religious, we never go to church, we don't read the bible, or watch religious shows. How a young child who hasn't even began kindergarten, would know Jesus and so much about god, is a wonder to us. As he got older, he stopped speaking about it. His religious stance never changed though, and to this day we all wonder why he is the way he is.
The writing game.
The game is straight-forward. You take a pen in the opposite hand that you write with, you sit in a comfortable position. Either a notebook or a piece of paper in front of you. Then you will proceed to blank your mind entirely, over and over repeating in your mind ' You have the right to use my hand to write' This game is dangerous, most spirits trapped in this world are unpleasant, and only communicate to take from your being.
When I was a teenager, my friend was hyped about this. She claimed that is had no risks, and always wanted to do it. Once night hit, there we were sitting with our backs to the wall and notebooks in our hands. She put headphones in to keep herself trapped in deep thought.
The first signs
Over and over, I repeated 'Use my hand to write' until it was just a echoing noise in my mind. I could hear white noise, the soft sounds of arguing through my bedroom door. A TV blaring in the back round of it all. A man and a woman, I could not make out no words. I did not sense danger, or anything bad. I felt nothing, had no thoughts. Those noises faded into white noise, loud and startling. As if I was sitting cross-legged inches from a TV, whose screen is scribbling loudly. Then the fear hit, I was scared. I could not place what was reality. I had no idea to come out of this trance I put myself in.
That was when the white noise stopped, and the voices began again. Arguing, back and forth the man and woman. New voices began to appear, children's voices. I could hear their soft feet running around me. As if I was square in the middle of a playground. They were running, playing, crying, some screaming. I was taken aback by the realness of this, then all too fast the trance was broken.
I looked around the room wildly, my friend across from me looked up. All I could think was to ask, "Why the hell are children out at this hour?" I stood up and ran over to my window. "Nobody should be out at this hour."
When I looked out the window, into the dark street. There was nothing, nobody in sight. No sound of children or nothing. My friend only stared at me questioningly.
" Nobody is out there, I haven't heard anything." She said flatly, I could only stare at her.
The real nightmare
Afterward, my sleep became fearful and scary. Every time I slept, nightmares of me having seizures began. They'd just hit me in the middle of a dream, I would see a figure of a woman watching me. I could not scream nor could I cry. Then I'd wake up to the stillness of my room. Night after night this would happen. Then soon before I'd go to bed, I'd hear scratching in the walls. As if some animal was caught between my bed and the outside. I'd hear footsteps around the hallway at night. My closet doors will be closed when I went to sleep, in the morning they'd be wide open. When I woke up, I'd have a daily inspection of my body. They'd be scratches, small red scratches. I'd have them on my legs, my back, my hands, everywhere. Only some at a time, every couple days I'd have a new one. Many shaped in a tiny V, some just regular scratches. I refused to listen through headphones alone in my room, many times a deep static will shoot through them. I'd hear voices speaking through them, and whip them out in terror. I could no longer sleep well, I was afraid to be alone at all times. Begged for my nightmares to stop. Full on I became a believer of the paranormal. One night I woke to scratching louder than ever before. To my horror, a women was splayed across the wall across from me. Her feet flat against the wall, she was held up as if held by a imaginary cross. Her arms laid out wide. Her hair was dirty and matted, it flew out at all angles. The clothes she wore were tattered, her feet bare and dirty. I was scared to death, frozen, alarm bells ringing in my head. Then to my horror. her eyes locked onto mine. Her dirty mouth turned into a smile.
I panicked, I threw my legs over the side of the bed to run. When I looked up, she was gone. After this, I swore off playing the game. Never again did I feel the need to look into the beyond. For years after the incident, I would see her in my nightmares. On one occasion I heard her say my name, then climb over my paralyzed body on the bed. The nightmares were slowly thinning, but never have they disappeared yet.
My brothers and his friends wanted to drive out to a bridge near Kileen, TX. Of course I was dragged along with them unwillingly.
The backstory; as quoted from *http://www.hauntedplaces.org/item/maxdale-cemetery-and-bridge/* Pay a visit here and you may encounter a ghost with a limp, who may have been a former cemetery caretaker. Folks say the small iron bridge here is haunted as well. Local legend has it that if you stop on the bridge, turn off your headlights, count to 10, and then turn your headlights back on, a man hanging from a noose will appear. It is believed that he hanged himself after failing to save the life of his girlfriend, who drowned under the bridge. A phantom truck is also said to appear here, driven be a man who committed suicide by driving his truck off another nearby bridge' On top of this, we have heard from many sources that a school bus fell into the river below. Killing many of the children.
When we got there, it was dark and chilly. We parked right at the barrier, the cemetery was across the bridge. My brothers and his friends began to cross the bridge with me. It was dead silent except the cricketing and the chirping of crickets. We could hear the soft woosh of the river below us, We barely stepped foot onto the bridge, before the bridge began to rattle crazily.
As if millions of hands were banging on the metal beams around us. We all stood stock still, at the rattling got louder and louder. Then at the end of the bridge, we all heard a yell. A child's yell, we assumed. The rattling got louder, and the child's yell scared us so bad we began running. A wild sprint back to the vehicle. The second we got there, my older brother Malakki, spread flour all over the top of the car. Because he heard you can get handprints from it. We sat in the car for a couple seconds, before the fear overcame us and down the rode Malakki began driving.
Suddenly out of nowhere, two headlights appeared behind us. Malakki, scared, began speeding faster and faster to get away. We got lost, really lost, he turned down roads trying to get away from it, the car stuck to us. Finally, he pulled over and the car passed us. Then turned into the woods. We drove home shaken, after seeing there were no turn offs on the road we were at.
In the morning, while cleaning the car. Under the sunroof cover, we found handprints all over the topside of the glass (Not on the inside). Little tiny handprints decorated it, we never went back.