re: Need to Kill Time: What's a story that you've heard that still gives you chillsPosted by magildachunks on 7/17/13 at 12:00 pm to bnh
I'll tell one of my stories:
Strange things happen at my dad's house. He doesn't believe it, but my siblings and I all agree.
Out of the corner of your eye, you will sometimes catch someone walking through a room, one that you know was empty.
In the bathroom we all shared as kids, you could feel the presence of someone, or thing, watching you. It would be so bad that you would flee the bathroom, shampoo still in your hair. (to this day, that is the only bathroom that I have trouble showering in)
Doors would open. Not blown open, like from the wind or something, but actually unlatch and open.
The dogs were the freakiest. Especially Cleo, the great dane. Cleo would sit at the door to a room, wanting to go in. We'd open the door and she would take a step inside the room, then freeze. The hair on her back would stand, she would stare into the room, and then let out a low, menacing growl. She would then step back, out of the room, and wouldn't turn away till we shut the door.
This usually happened in what we called the play-room.
It was in this room that my story takes place. Here is the story of my encounter with the entity we call "Harold":
After my first year of college, I returned to my dad's house for the summer. Upon arriving I found that I no longer had a bed in the room my brother and I shared as his broke during the year (we had bunk beds and his was the top. One night it collapsed with him on it).
I would sleep the summer in the play-room. The play-room had all of our video games, t.v.'s, the pool table. It is where all of our entertainment was.
My friends and I would spend the evenings playing pool and drinking. At night I would crash on a pallet on the floor. It was during the third week of this that I awoke to see "Harold".
I had drunk alot, and readily admit that all this may be explained from an alcohol induced dream. I would like to believe that. If it wouldn't have been for the dog, I would believe it.
I awoke from a good sleep. One that would have normally kept me out until the later hours of the morning. Why i woke, I do not know, but felt something was not right.
I felt as if something was enticing me to look, straight ahead. I opened my eyes and there he was. He was sitting in a fold out chair about four feet from my head, staring at me.
He was green. I remember this clearly. Green, yet not bright. More of a "booger" green. And his face. His face was clear as day. It was not a pleasant face. There was no good will in the face. He looked as if he meant me harm.
I drove my face into the pillow, so as to not see him anymore. I thought to myself, "This is silly. You just woke up. It's probably a dream or the alcohol." To prove this to myself, I looked again.
He was still there. And he looked even angrier.
I shoved my face back into the pillow, then I called for my dog, Holly.
A little background on Holly: Holly was one of those dogs that was a protector. She was sweet as can be until she thought that her family was in trouble. Then she would turn a switch and become the most fearless, vicious dog imaginable. She would take on a rottweiler, and did, if she felt it posed us a threat.
Back to that night.
I called for Holly and patted my side. Just having her near me would have been enough for me to be okay.
Holly was laying across the room, on the other side of the pool table. The shortest route to me would have been to walk in front of that chair, which she did all the time.
That night, as I called, she got up and instead of going in front of that chair, she walked all the way around the pool table, walked across my pallet and laid down at my head, between me and the chair. She faced the chair and stared at it, letting out low growls. She wouldn't budge, wouldn't let me budge, and wouldn't stop growling.
After about twenty minutes, she finally stopped. She let out a whine and then laid her head down to go to sleep. I didn't sleep for the rest of the night.
After that, I slept on the couch in the living room. I could deal with being woken early. I couldn't deal with spending another night in that room.