(no subject)

I'm a ghosthunter, and I team up with my friend, Heather. I'm an high empath, and she's a powerful medium, and we've been doing this for years. Saturday night, we were of counsel for an investigation in a ritzy house in the Hollywood hills. It's a house of noteworthy history, but the waiver I signed prohibits me from saying anything about the investigation. We got there before the host was ready for us, so I joined Steve and his crew as they walked around the area. The Hollywood hills are rife was dark activity. That's a little known facet about LA that you really won't find in many books or websites. The general area is just a clusterfuck of trapped spirits, lost souls, demons, native American spirits, and who knows what else. So we were walking around, and we went up to another home with an interesting showbiz history to it.

While climbing the hill, Heather said that there was a woman in a tree who was crying. She called her down, and this spirit joined us. Heather said her name was Mary. I greeted her, and invited her to walk beside me, as I gave her warm energy to calm her down. I can't see spirits, but I can feel them, and she felt sweet, but sad. Steve (the team's leader) heard we mention the name Mary, and he asked if it was Mary Pickford. The name seemed familiar to me, but at the time I couldn't place it. Heather asked her, and she agreed that was her last name. Mary was sad because there was something she didn't finish, something that was left undone when she passed, and that was a great source of sorrow and unfulfillment.

Around this time, the host yelled for us to come over, so we descended down the hill. Mary was still with us, but hesitated to follow us up another hill. Steve aggressively coaxed/bullied her into coming along (I'm not entirely sure why his team has this somewhat belligerent approach to spirit communication), and it seemed to work. She followed us up the hill, but didn't enter the house with us. She did find us in the house a few hours later, and hung around Heather and I. I liked her because she seemed nice and lonely. The investigation itself was extremely weird, complex and full of personal experiences and interesting evidence, but that's not the point of this post.

It was the wee, wee hours of the morning...ok, it was early dawn the next day, and Heather and I are driving back to our area, and we're discussing a variety of things that happened that night, including Mary. I remembered Mary Pickford was an actress, but remembered little else at the time, and told Heather that I doubted it was the famous Pickford. When we parked in front of her boyfriend's house, I wiki'd Mary Pickford, and along with her bio was some pictures. I read aloud how Mary had been THE silent film actress, and the root of her depression/alcoholism. I showed Heather the images. "This is Mary Pickford. Is this the girl you saw?" Heather looked at them, and said, yeah, it looks like her.


I kept reading aloud. She had a couple of boys, who later severed ties with her. One of the sons was Ronald, and Heather said that Mary had mentioned that name.


The more I read, the more I could maybe see a correlation between Mary Pickford and the woman we met. Pickford was THE most famous actress in the silent film era, was extremely sought after and was earning double what every other actress was earning, but her career stumbled as she got into her 30s. She chopped her hair after her mother died as a form of catharsis I suppose, and such a bold move to her iconic look shocked the public. As a result, the flurry of work that was thrown her way in her youth had been reduced to a trickle, and she didn't handle it well. Her life was fraught with tragedy and escapism, and despite such a prominent beginning, her whole life was etched with sorrow and unfulfillment. Maybe the 'unfinished work' she mumbled about on the hill was in reference to the film plans she had, possible notions of a comeback, or the yearning for a return to the fame and popularity that she celebrated earlier. Maybe.

I feel that Heather and I should return to that hill, find Mary Pickford or whoever that spirit is, and have another conversation. This time, we'll know who she is, and our focus won't be distracted by an investigation.
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The Alarm Clock

Its late at night, and you're right about at the point where you are falling asleep, but you keep being awoken by a soft thump each time you shut your eyes for more then 10 minutes. It doesn't bother you at first, but you begin to really get annoyed at 5th time. And this hasn't been the first night its happened. For a good week this has happened and every night after it persists long enough to the point that it annoys you you usually get up and turn on the light, and it goes away for the rest of the night. But tonight you decided to ride through it.

Thump Thump...

Oh how annoying it is to your ears and your that this noise just won't go away. You roll to your side, then your back and then finally get comfortable. Your almost asleep, and once more you hear it.

Thump Thump...

This time you are so tired you just open your eyes to see the darkness around you. And you scan your room, looking at all the things that could be making the noise, finally your eyes rest on your alarm clock. The numbers are particularly brighter then normal, and you can't read them...They are also getting closer. Did they just blink? You finally realize, that that isn't your alarm clock, because your alarm clock doesn't have a macabre smile.

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In my Dream

In my dream there is someone else. A nameless beauty, a forbidden
and aching want. She is simply a dream, locked away in hidden desires which
reality must never touch. Yet I ache for her touch...
In my dream she is as familiar as an old lover, exciting as a new
partner. She is soft, curvy, strong. Nimble hands that know every inch of
my body, kisses that make me weak in the knees. She makes me comfortable
with all I am, all I need, all I desire.
In my dream she leads me, commands me, takes me completely. Slowly
at first, she kisses the back of my neck and adores the control over me.
Her hands caress, undress, and lay me down. How could something that is so
wrong feel so right?
There's a voice inside that says this is wrong, that this affair is
wrong, that I need to stop. But I can't. I feel the warmth of her skin on
mine, and I can't stop. Fantasy and ecstasy melt away the fear. I am hers
for now, right this moment and there's nothing I can do. Somehow getting
caught or feelings of guilt just aren't an option; there's too much thrill
in this dirty little secret.
And so I moan softly as my mind goes blank, drowned in this
forbidden desire. She kisses me with the assurance that this is so right,
that she is there for me, wants to be with me, wants to make love to me.
And I give in.
She works her kisses down my belly, her tongue finds it's way
further down. Bolts of pleasure and passion rush through my body. There's
no turning back now, she's made me too wet. My hips rock in rhythm to her,
the anticipation of her inside me to finish me drives me wild. And when she
does, I need for nothing more. It's just her and me, locked in a world of
passion, locked in a world of my dream....

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Third On The Match

Here is a true urban legend/ghost story. I wrote this. Everything may just be coincedence but it is all true.

Mama told me Daryl is here to stay,
His roommate killed a man and his wife ran away.
He’s a good man but he’s had a hard life,
He has no home and now he has no wife.

Your Dad and I have talked and we feel,
Daryl should move into the trailer on the hill.
As for money we’ll ask for none,
After all there’s plenty of work to be done.

Pounding nails in the hot sun,
The framing of my mother’s deck had begun.
Daryl worked hard and we fed him well,
Laboring in the yard until the dinner bell.

After dinner my parents and Daryl wanted to smoke,
But no one had a lighter and only one match in the book.
Mama said someone would have to be “Third on the Match,”
I didn’t know what that meant so I decided to ask.

Mama explained it’s an old superstition,
About when a match is struck in a sniper’s vision.
As the first cigarette is lit the sniper raises his gun,
On the second he steadies his hand so the third man is done.

Daryl told my parents, “There ain’t no snipers near,
Light your smokes and pass that match over here.”
Mama lit her cigarette and then she lit Dad’s,
When she lit Daryl’s I held my breath expecting something bad.

The cigarette tip glowed bright red as Daryl inhaled,
The smoke swirled in the air as he exhaled.
Nothing bad happened like what Mama said,
Daryl stood and excused himself off to bed.

We were awoken in the middle of the night,
Daryl’s finger tip had a deadly spider bite.
Growing from the bite was a long black line.
My Dad drove him to the hospital in record time.

Mama and I waited up most of the night,
Dosing off just before the morning light.
We were jolted awake by the telephone ringer,
Daryl called to tell mama it wasn’t a bite on his finger.

Doctors told him it was blood poisoning and they think it’s best,
If he stays at the hospital so they can run some more tests.
Daryl told Mama not to worry,
He’d be home to finish her deck in a hurry.

But Mama’s only concern was for Daryl’s health,
Don’t worry about us focus on yourself.
You’ll always have us so don’t feel alone,
She told him to get well soon and hung up the phone.

I couldn’t help thinking of the previous night,
Daryl’s poisoned index finger illuminated in the match light.
Between it and his middle finger rested a cigarette,
The end of Daryl’s life began the moment it was lit.

Doctors ran their tests and sent Daryl home,
His finger was getting better but they found cancer in his bones.
Daryl promised Mama that he would recover and finish her deck,
Until then he was going to his parent’s and need to pack.

After Daryl left the months passed until the season changed,
The trailer had new tenants and they were soon engaged.
The wedding date’s set but there’s a hitch,
We couldn’t host a wedding until the deck’s fixed.

The wedding date drew closer but still,
Daryl couldn’t fulfill his promise because he was too ill.
The deck remained skeletal and bare,
My parents had no man power or money to spare.

Unexpectedly three days before the wedding date,
Men with Lumber and nails walked through the gate.
Progress was fast with so many men laboring at once,
They worked hard and would soon need some lunch.

Mama and I went to the kitchen and began our own work,
She prepared lunch while I cleaned plates and forks.
Just as we had everything set the phone rang,
When Mama hung up the phone her face looked drained.

She said it was Daryl’s mother calling to tell us he died last night,
As this sunk in I could hear the men hammering out of sight.
Before Daryl went to heaven he whispered in sleeping ears,
And now I realize why all those men are working here.

New and looking for help



I am new here, and, like many of you have been searching all of my life for some sort of proof of the afterlife.

To be honest, I haven't found much and despite my collections of ghost stories, my avid watching of supernatural reality television, and my visits to haunted locations, I still find myself in need  of proof that SOMETHING exists after this.  I'm assuming I'm not alone.

I call this being a Ghost Skeptic....someone who is quite obsessed with the supernatural and life after death, but someone who still doesn't quite believe it exists. 

So I'm writing a article...I'm trying to gather a collection of TRUE stories from people who have had experiences.  I'm not the first one, nor will I be the last, but this is something I am very dedicated to.

Please, if you have a story, let me know in your reply.  If you'd rather tell me over private e-mails, I'd be happy to do that as well, just give me your e-mail address as I will be making ALL replies screened and will not post any you would rather not have me post.  Having as many details in your stories is very important...the names of places and buildings, dates, years, etc.  Names can be changed if you wish.  

I will not use past posted stories, as I will require your permission to use said story if I actually do finish this.  Even if I don't, I will send all of you what I have compiled.

Either way, this is just the beginning of this adventure (well the prologue is written) and I hope to find real people on Live Journal to participate. 

Thank you for your time, and here's to not being a skeptic any longer!

If this is not allowed, I apologize. 

(no subject)

Hey everyone,
I'm new to the group :)I have a big interest in the paranormal & supernatural. I told my grade 10 teacher I wanted to be a ghost hunter, he was really nice about it (:

Basically ever since I was a child I've been having these very vivid dreams about my Grandparents. The first one I can remember was around the time when my Nana had passed away, I was no older than 5.

I had this very vivid dream (though at the time I swore it was real) that my Nana appeared at my window saying goodbye to me.
Later on when I'd told some of my family my Auntie had told me that around the same time my Auntie was doing her dishes when Nana appeared at the window to her kitchen, she said she was shocked because she thought Nana had come to visit her and something must have been wrong because it was so late.
Auntie Marcene said she called out to Nana that she was going to the front door to let her in but no one was there. Aunty Marcene got a phone call a few hours later from Papa telling her that Nana had passed away during the night.

A few years later I had another dream around the time of a birthday where I had received a card from my Nana.

Now more recently my Papa passed away in 2006, I'd been terribly upset about his passing and had another dream this time it was with Papa, in the dream me and him we're sitting down together and I remember in the dream I knew he had died but we were both laughing and having fun chatting.

This one happened within the week I dreamt that the phone kept ringing, when I finally got to answer it no one replied on the other end, but I knew in my dream that it was my Papa and had said to him that I knew.

I told my Mum about these dreams and she basically said that it was their ways of saying goodbye and keeping and eye on me, especially with my Nana we we're very close when I was 5. Sorry if you all think my stories silly I just wanted to share it.
Sweetest Kiss
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Crescent Hotel

A few months ago, my fiance and I took a vacation in the Ozark Mountains. While be-bopping about the town of Eureka Springs, Arkansas, we discovered they offered several ghost tours. We decided on the one at The Crescent Hotel, not realizing it was the hotel featured on a Ghost Hunters episode that I had seen, and that had since left me awake many nights with chilling visions of the apparition they caught on film. With the thermal imaging camera, they captured very clearly the ghost of a man standing in front of a locker with the number "2" on it. He was wearing a cap and holding some sort of tool. He didn't act threateningly or anything; it was just scary because it was so vivid and so real.

The hotel has a colorful history. The most interesting fact is that it was used as a "cancer cure center" where a crazed fake Dr. Baker performed guesome experiments on patients.

We didn't catch any faces or forms of ghost like we did at The Myrtles, but we got plenty of orbs! Click if you'd like to see them.Collapse )

(no subject)

Hi, longtime lurker, first time poster. I had a question. 

I'm writing a horror story about one of the gates of hell opening up on halloween and was wondering if anyone has any information on any of the gates. I've heard of stull and hell's gate, but is there any other place out there?

Also, does anyone know anything supernatural about Maine? I had wanted to place my story in Cape Elizabeth Maine(Or any town with docks or some sort of seaport), but I wasn't sure how much stuff actually happens in that area.