A Face in the Hall

Standing in a marble hallway, I was confronted by the most terrifying thing I had ever seen. I couldn’t move, had nowhere to go and my feet suddenly finding their own will, failed to move after my very strong desire told them to do so.
Frozen against the wall, my eyes stretched painfully wide and I stood, trapped by the vision before me.
The emanating noise that resounded off the corridor walls echoed so intensely that I longed to slam my hands over my ears to block off the cacophony - but couldn’t because as I said, I was frozen.
“Aaaaaaahhhhhh!” said the voice, almost choir-like.
The entity stretched from ceiling to floor, wall to wall. It blanketed the space with a presence so horrifying that every hair on my skin and every nerve in my body stood on end.
The entity manifested itself with a sticky glue-like substance and anchored itself to the four corners of the hall. Like a web built by a hectic, maniacal spider, part of its blanket was woven in beautiful symmetrical stitches, while others were haphazard stringings of madness as if at first there was something rhythmic and sentient about its presence, then as if rushed and frantic, it threw anything it could against the wall in order to trap its prey.
That prey was me.
I was a mere five feet from the web. I was forced against the wall and there was no exit. I was a psychic prisoner of an unknown creature who appeared to be so cranky I dared not utter a word or expel a single breath.
And speaking of breath, this guy was halitosis central. What lie in the center of the web was something unimaginable and so gruesome I will have nightmares about it for the rest of my life. I’m sure by telling you about it, you won’t believe it, but it was . . . a face. A face of giant proportions, skin stretched tight in the center of the web into a sinister grimace.
Its eyes were wild and tormented and rolled feverishly in their ghostly sockets like a man driven insane by torture. The face started bouncing in the web as I watched, horrified. I had no clue what was to happen next and was sure my end was forthcoming. I also expected to become part of that crude, sticky web.
While screaming low, hollow tones, the face began to swing towards me like a pendulum. It got closer with every swing and with each sway I could smell its foul breath upon me, coming ever closer, expecting its fangs to clench down onto my head crushing my skull, piercing my brain.
I remained frozen, except for my nerves that betrayed my intense fear by quivering uncontrollably.
As it swung in my direction, I tried to avoid contact, but was already backed against the wall. The face swung closer and closer, its breath so foul, I can’t begin to describe it. My face twisted in abhorrence of the odor.
After about the twentieth swing in my direction, it began to utter words. Baritone, raspy and hoarse, while yet barely a whisper, they blared in my brain.
“Ha da ga da sig,” it said.
The sound was almost intelligent and I realized it was trying to communicate something.
I ducked to avoid being hit by Mr. Big Faced Halitosis, and screamed, terrified, “What do you want from me??” as I covered my ears and cowered low to the ground.
“Ha da ga da sig!” it said again, low, creepy and just as sinisterly as before.
“Wha, wha, wha, wha, what?” I uttered my response just as unintelligibly as the face.
SPLAT! Was the next thing I heard as the face hit the wall. It had been swinging so furiously that the momentum had become uncontrolled and the law of inertia had taken over, slamming horrid face into cold marble.
“Uuuuggg,” cried the face after the impact, and I cringed for fear that it would retaliate as missing its prey would surely bring the entity to anger.
Instead, the face shook itself to and fro as if trying to regain consciousness. I myself shook in fear as I watched the spectacle before me.
Then the face began to howl, “HA DA GA DA SIG!” but this time the eyes squinted in apprehension of hitting the wall. On the rebound, it cried again, “Seriously, have ya gotta sig? Come on now!”
I twitched and cried in disbelief, “WHAT?”
In a hurry before it hit the wall again, it said, “YOU DOPE! Have ya gotta cigarette?”
It swung back again and then hit the wall one last time.
A huge trembling smile swept over my lips. I finally understood the visitation and groped my breast pocket to appease the creature, “Non-menthol?” I asked as I shook a cigarette loose from my pack in a gesture of offering to the malicious entity. My hand quaked uncontrollably.
Almost as soon as it had started, the swinging stopped and with a “Woosh!,” the web tore itself down and disappeared. The entity morphed into an apparition of a human man, so handsome and beautiful he was incredibly intimidating. With chiseled features and wavy brown hair, he was so real and vivid he looked like a beautiful human. And besides his perfect features, he glowed.
He took the cigarette from my pack and slapped me on the shoulder saying cheerfully, “Thanks bub. ‘Preciate it. Gotta light?”
My hands were still shaking as I reached in my front pants pocket and pulled out my lighter then flicked it.
He took a long drag off the cigarette and as he turned away, he said, “I really gotta pick up a body soon. I love everything about being a ghost, but it’s taking so many theatrics to get a cigarette these days, and it’s getting old. Besides that it’s getting really painful.
“And I do love a good smoke, don’t you? I don’t think I’ll ever give it up.”
He exhaled a huge cloud of smoke as he walked away down the hall, leaving me standing there aghast and stupefied. After several steps, his image disintegrated into transparency and then - vanished, the only evidence of his presence being a cloud of cigarette smoke.
I stood there for the longest time, trembling, and finally lit a cigarette for myself.
For once, being a smoker came in handy.
But as I stood there, I thought, "I really wish people would buy their own, dang it."

House Of Ghosts

Hello, my name is Kitty, and what I am about to tell you is 100% true. I've had many previous ghostly experiences, and I will tell you a few.

The first time I encountered the paranormal was when I was about 7 or 8. Now, at that age, I used to wake up at about 7:30 or so, when no one else was up. This was in my old room, and if you were to be on my bed, you could turn your head to face the hallway.

One morning, I woke up early, and turned my head to look at the hall as always. To my surprise, there was a beautiful young woman, all white, long wavy hair, and in a wedding dress, running down the hallway. She was running into the washroom. I was quite terrified, although I felt she was harmless.

Well, about a week later, I was brushing my teeth in the washroom. I looked up to see none other than the face of the woman I saw in the hallway, looking at me.

Another time, age 13, I was brushing my teeth again, and I looked to my left, and saw a white figure, who immediately disappeared. I was sort of freaked, but continued on with brushing my teeth. I looked to my left again, and saw the same figure, who this time, ran down the hall, and disappeared. I began to brush my teeth again. I looked to the left one more time, and saw the same figure yet again. This time it just stood, watching me.

My room, which is now downstairs is home to what I believe to be three ghosts, one of who's name I believe is Armand. My computer is down here, in the basement, in my room. I will sometimes see a white figure peeking at me from around a wall corner, or standing in front of the T.V. He doesn't bother me too much.

Another time, I was on my computer, and I saw something walk behind me. I ignored it, and continued with what I was doing. After a while, it started to put it's arms on mine, hold my hands, tickle me, scratch my head, although he seemed to like me a bit too much, touching me all over. Whenever my dad would come downstairs, he would stop touching me, and just stand behind me, until my dad left. I think he was perhaps intimidated. Anyways, he is the ghost I believe to be Armand.

Another ghost is one who feels unwelcoming, he seems to scare Armand away. Also, when I am in bed, I feel as though he is laying beside me, and I am afraid to look, in fear of what I might see. He is the only ghost I don't feel comfortable with. I think Armand is VERY friendly, and trying to let me know.

One of the creepiest things that happened to me was that I was home alone. All of a sudden, I hear this cell phone ring. Now, there is no one home, and everyone had their phones with them, and mine was dead. A few minutes later, I heard a cat's meow, and guess what? We have no cats. The first one I had ran away the first day I got it, and the other one got locked out of my house by my mom when we went to the cottage, and ran away. I wonder what all this was.

Another time, I was in the washroom. I looked into the mirror, and behind me was an old-fashioned scene, with horses running by and such. I was freaked. One time, I even saw a soldier walk nearly behind me while I was on the computer.

I often see figures walking about, especially in front of the T.V., and all about. I've gotten used to them now.

A HAUNTED HOUSE

Whatever hour you woke there was a door shunting. From room to room they went, hand in hand, lifting here, opening there, making sure—a ghostly couple.

“Here we left it,” she said. And he added, “Oh, but here too!” “It’s upstairs,” she murmured. “And in the garden,” he whispered “Quietly,” they said, “or we shall wake them.”

But it wasn’t that you woke us. Oh, no. “They’re looking for it; they’re drawing the curtain,” one might say, and so read on a page or two. “Now they’ve found it,” one would be certain, stopping the pencil on the margin. And then, tired of reading, one might rise and see for oneself, the house all empty, the doors standing open, only the wood pigeons bubbling with content and the hum of the threshing machine sounding from the farm. “What did I come in here for? What did I want to find?” My hands were empty. “Perhaps it’s upstairs then?” The apples were in the loft. And so down again, the garden still as ever, only the book had slipped into the grass.

But they had found it in the drawing room. Not that one could ever see them. The window panes reflected apples, reflected roses; all the leaves were green in the glass. If they moved in the drawing room, the apple only turned its yellow side. Yet, the moment after, if the door was opened, spread about the floor, hung upon the walls, pendant from the ceiling—what? My hands were empty. The shadow of a thrush crossed the carpet; from the deepest wells of silence the wood pigeon drew its bubble of sound. “Safe, safe, safe,” the pulse of the house beat softly. “The treasure buried; the room. . .” the pulse stopped short. Oh, was that the buried treasure?

A moment later the light had faded. Out in the garden then? But the trees spun darkness for a wandering beam of sun. So fine, so rare, coolly sunk beneath the surface the beam I sought always burnt behind the glass. Death was the glass; death was between us; coming to the woman first, hundreds of years ago, leaving the house, sealing all the windows; the rooms were darkened. He left it, left her, went North, went East, saw the stars turned in the Southern sky; sought the house, found it dropped beneath the Downs. “Safe, safe, safe,” the pulse of the house beat gladly. “The Treasure yours.”

The wind roars up the avenue. Trees stoop and bend this way and that. Moonbeams splash and spill wildly in the rain. But the beam of the lamp falls straight from the window. The candle burns stiff and still. Wandering through the house, opening the windows, whispering not to wake us, the ghostly couple seek their joy.

“Here we slept,” she says. And he adds, “Kisses without number.” “Waking in the morning—” “Silver between the trees—” “Upstairs—” “In the garden—” “When summer came—” “In winter snowtime—” The doors go shutting far in the distance, gently knocking like the pulse of a heart.

Nearer they come; cease at the doorway. The wind falls, the rain slides silver down the glass. Our eyes darken; we hear no steps beside us; we see no lady spread her ghostly cloak. His hands shield the lantern. “Look,” he breathes. “Sound asleep. Love upon their lips.”

Stooping, holding their silver lamp above us, long they look and deeply. Long they pause. The wind drives straightly; the flame stoops slightly. Wild beams of moonlight cross both floor and wall, and, meeting, stain the faces bent; the faces pondering; the faces that search the sleepers and seek their hidden joy.

“Safe, safe, safe,” the heart of the house beats proudly. “Long years—” he sighs. “Again you found me.” “Here,” she murmurs, “sleeping; in the garden reading; laughing, rolling apples in the loft. Here we left our treasure—” Stooping, their light lifts the lids upon my eyes. “Safe! safe! safe!” the pulse of the house beats wildly. Waking, I cry “Oh, is this your buried treasure? The light in the heart.”