It’s time for Halloween, and with that comes those cheesy ghost stories. You know, the ones always involving some insane killer with a hook for a hand. Most people enjoy these stories and consider them nothing more than fiction. But what if I were to tell you that there are people who can tell true ghost stories? Ones they have actually lived through? What if I were to tell you I was one of those people?

When I was 12, my Grandparents still lived at the foot of a mountain in southern West Virginia. They have long since moved away, and are now living with my uncle.

Back then, in school, children used to talk about all the weird legends about the occult they had heard about. I remember someone saying that if you walked back to a grave so many times, it would raise the ghost of that person. They would do anything you said.

Several weeks later, my family went to visit my grandparents. When my dad was a boy, my grandparents used to live on top of the mountain in a house that had been the birth and death place of two generations.

My family even has a small graveyard near the house. While we were visiting them, my brother, sister and a cousin decided to go up the mountain and look around the old home. Of course, we ended up in the graveyard. We were fooling around and reading the headstones when I remember the legend that my classmate had told me about raising a dead person’s ghost.

I wanted to look cool so I told the group about it. Of course, they laughed and thought I was silly for believing that tale. My brother wanted to really tease me so he walked around the grave backward that number of times and said: “go haunt Charlene.”

At first, I was scared and very upset with my brother, but as the day went on nothing happened. I forgot about the incident. However, that night I would be horribly reminded.

The room I used to sleep in at my grandparents’ place had two windows that were high above the ground. One faced the side of the mountain, and the other’s view was obstructed by a large woodshed. That night as I lay curled in my bed, I looked out the window to see something very unnerving. I saw two small bright lights, almost like miniature headlights set an eye width apart, float past the window. I thought I was seeing things so I looked up again, and they floated by again. I could not explain this to myself no matter how hard I tried. The two windows were too high above the ground for it to be anyone walking by, and it couldn’t be any reflection from a passing vehicle since there wasn’t any going down the road at the time and the two windows were pretty well blocked off.

This occurrence continued to happen every time I went to visit my grandparents. Late at night, the two glowing eyes would float past the window. One time I even followed them from one window, then around the corner past the other. Night time became a dreaded thing for me for years when I went to visit my grandparents. And no matter how I tried to tell my family about what was happening, they wouldn’t believe me because it wouldn’t happen when they were looking. Finally, my grandparents moved away and thank goodness, the thing didn’t follow. I’ve learned my lesson From now on, I will not fool with anything having to do with raising the spirits or the dead. If I hear anything else about it, I sure won’t be telling my brother!

In the early 50’s I lived in a strange old house located in Parkersburg, WV.

It was located halfway up Quincy Hill all by itself. From the time my family moved in that place I felt scared. As though something watched me all the time.

One cold morning as I prepared for school, in the small bathroom I glanced in the mirror and saw an old man with long gray hair glaring at me.

I screamed and lost my balance as I turned to get out of the bathroom and fell on the heater.

To this day I carry an “L” shaped scar on the back of my left leg as a reminder of that very unpleasant encounter.

I also remember being home alone on a school day with the flu. I was feverish and decided to go get some hot cocoa in the kitchen.

I opened the cupboard door to get the can of Hershey’s down. I felt something touch my shoulder. I dropped the can and as I turned, I saw just the skirt of a long dress disappear out the porch door.

Needless to say, I was glad we only stayed in that place a short time. Even my mother who wasn’t afraid of anyone or anything never liked the house.

I don’t know if that house is still there or not.

My wife and I moved to West Virginia 2.5 years ago with our son Jacob. 16 months ago our second child (a daughter) was born. I believe what we have experienced is a protector of either our family or our domicile. The first instance was when my wife was sitting at our computer in the living room alone writing a paper.

She felt what she believed to be a hand resting on her shoulder. When she turned to talk to what she thought was me, only was a shadow-like appearance was seen out of the corner of her eye. The second experience was when we were asleep in our bed and I awoke to an image of a lady in traditional civil war attire standing at the end of our bed. I dismissed the apparition to what I believed as a reflection of light in our room.

On the third occasion, our daughter was asleep in her own bed, my wife woke up to check her diaper only to find the diaper was soiled and set aside and our daughter was wiped clean. The last instance was when my wife was standing in our living room in front of the entertainment center, again she felt the presence and light touch of what she again thought was me, and when she turned saw nothing only the shadowy apparition again out of the corner of her eye. We have come to accept the presence of somebody or something in our house and believe it is only here to help and protect us. We have regular occurrences and only have good things to report.

I grew up in Kenova, West Virginia, in a house that has been in my family for years. Before I tell you the rest of the story, I must tell you that I lived there all through my childhood and never saw anything. My sister, on the other hand, says she did. But that is a different story. Anyhow, I never saw anything but I admit that I did have strange feelings at times. But that was all.

There is a big, dogwood tree in the front yard and the house itself sits up on a hill, but it isn’t spooky looking or anything. My dad lived there, as a child, and had three brothers and a sister, all younger than him. When my dad was sixteen, the house caught fire and burned his little brother and sister up inside it. Danny was four and Gail was three. My grandmother rebuilt the house but just couldn’t bear to live there. She moved but still kept the house. At first, she didn’t do anything with it. But she eventually remarried and her husband talked her into renting it out.

In 1970, my dad’s brother David moved in with his wife and two small kids. They had lived there for a few months when my uncle David was killed while working on his car. The transmission fell out of the car unto his chest, killing him instantly. After that, my other uncle Gene moved in. Unfortunately, he died there, too. He was cleaning his gun and it went off, hitting him in the chest. He died before he got to the hospital. My grandmother deeded it to my dad in 1976 and he has lived there ever since.

Now comes the eerie part. One particular night, when we were gone on vacation, our neighbor had worked the late shift and was heading home around 2 AM. He said he came by the house and happened to look up as he passed and saw a man standing under the big dogwood tree. Knowing we were gone that week he decided to stop and look around. He said the guy just stood there looking at him. The guy had on a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt with his cigarettes rolled up in the right sleeve of his shirt.

When our neighbor tried to talk to him, the man didn’t answer. He told the guy to leave or he was calling the cops. The man still just stood there. Our neighbor repeated himself several times and finally turned to walk back to his car. When he got to his car he turned around and the guy wasn’t under tree anymore. He was looking out the window inside of the house. Our neighbor called the police and they came and looked around. Everything was locked tight. He also called my grandmother, who had a key, and she came to let the officers in to look around, but nothing was disturbed.

When we came home, the neighbor came over to tell my dad what happened. He saw a picture hanging on the wall and asked my dad who it was. My dad said that it was his brother Gene. Our neighbor said that was the man he saw. My dad turned white and said that it couldn’t have been because his brother had died several years earlier.

Another time, when I was little, our house caught fire again. It wasn’t a big fire, just started in a fuse box and was moving through the rafters of the house. It was put out before too much damage was caused. Not too strange, I know, but what was strange was the fact that no one knows, and still don’t know, who called the fire department that night. No one has ever come forward, to this day, to admit they called. We later found out that the fire department had trouble finding the house. This was in the country, back then there were no numbers on houses like there is today. The fireman who was driving the truck saw a man in a white t-shirt under that same dogwood tree, motioning them to come this way. When he got out of the truck, the man was gone. The fireman then saw the smoke, so he knew for sure it was the right house. They woke us up, we got out, and they put out the fire. Since then, there have been a number of people tell us that, late at night, you can come by the house and see the man in the white t-shirt under the Dogwood tree.

Update:

I talked to my grandma about my uncle Gene and everything that went on in the house before. Daddy won’t talk about any of this. He refuses to believe that his brother is still there. But anyway, she said that when the first fire happened, Gene was 14 and had gotten in with the wrong crowd of kids and was getting into a lot of trouble. He hadn’t been to school in two or three weeks when a teacher sent a note home telling my grandparents this. When Gene came home, my granddad asked him about it. Gene denied it and granddad didn’t believe him, of course. So, both of them being hot-headed, they got into a huge fight in the kitchen, where there was a wood burning stove. They knocked the stove pipe down and that’s what started the fire that killed Danny and Gail.

She said it all happened so fast, that she remembered granddad saying that he was going to get Danny and Gail out of the house where they were napping. But later, granddad said he thought grandma had gotten them out. They realized the kids were still inside and that it was too late to get them out, so uncle Gene blamed himself for the deaths of his brother and sister. My grandma blamed my granddad and that’s why they divorced.

Then uncle Gene was supposed to have helped David work on his car the day he was killed, but got sidetracked and never showed up to help. Gene believed that if he had been there to help David, he would not have died. So, he also blamed himself for uncle David’s death.

I think that’s why he watches over that house, making sure that his only living brother doesn’t fall victim to any accidents that happen on the property or in that house. That’s just my theory, though. My grandma, however, thinks he is there because it was his childhood home.

Hi, my name is Lorie. I have my own story to share. It’s not so spooky or scary. More like it’s a nice thing. I take after my father’s side of the family. We have an old name. His roots all hailed from West Virginia. Well, one day I visited by not one, but two of my relatives (long deceased). One day, while on my grandad’s farm, mind you this farm has been in the family since around the mid 1800’s. I was 16 years old. I am now 26. Well, my mom, dad, and I were visiting my grandad (deceased for about 3 yrs). Well, I and grandad were always close.

There was this old log cabin that was built around roughly I think around 1860’s. Not quite sure, how many generations were born and died there. I only know stories, from what my grandad has told me. One day, I was out, wandering around on the acres, and decided to check out the log cabin. Well, I walked by it and swore up and down, I had seen a pioneer like a lady. Her hair was in a bun, she was wearing an apron, and a long dress. She was smiling at me, through the window. I was shocked and didn’t know if I was seeing things. Mind you, I was the major tomboy, here. Okay, no makeup, baggy clothes, short bobbed hair. I heard something call me, but not by my name. She said, “Samual, come here. Boy get in here.” I looked around. Knowing I am no Samual.” I wasn’t scared, more like surprised. Well, what I had done, as I went in there. Opened the door, and a gush of cold, cold, damp air, flew right past me. Mind you this is summer, humidity and all of that. The hottest month of the year in 1990, July. Well, I went in there. And I didn’t see her.

I was kind of sad. I decided to investigate. I found, an old trunk and opened it and found a photo album of a lot of pictures. Actual tin type or whatever they were. And I saw this boy that stood out from all of them. I could barely read the name. He was in a uniform. Civil war kind of uniform. I brought it to my grandad. I showed it to him, he just smiled. I pointed to the picture and I asked him. “Grandad who is this boy?”, he couldn’t read it very well.

But, he had another photo book. That he kept in the house. He pulled it, nonchalantly, like it was nothing and looked through it. Together I and he found some names and some more pictures. Sure enough, His name was “Samual James Pringle” He looked at me and said. “Where did you find this, sis?” I said, “In the log cabin Grandad.” He said, “Ohh.” then he smiled. “Did you see her?” I looked at him. “Yes.” “That was his momma. She is my great-great-grandmother. Her name was Hilda Sue. I named your Aunt, Ronnie’s sister after her (Ron is my dad). Another person whom I was close with, was my Aunt Sue (Tragically killed 3 years ago. 2 weeks after she settled my late grandad’s affairs) So I had asked him if I was imagining it. He said, no.

They’re your family, your ancestors. They watch over me. I have known they were always here. For years and years. Of course, the scary thing was I could have been Samual’s twin sister. Paternal twins I guess. I swear before God that he and I were twins.

Dare I say, yes, tomboy yes, but still very feminine, as was he. In an androgynous kind of way. Very beautiful and handsome boy he was. He was killed in action. Don’t know where, when or what year. But, he was in the Civil War. I looked for archives. But, a lot of stuff, has either been destroyed or buried over the years. In regards to our family name. And to think, I always had a fascination with the name. Samual, Samson, Derek, as well as Eric. My grandad said he may be buried in the acres. Or in an unmarked grave. Course now, I can’t go back to the farm, cause, there are present owners there now who were family friends. They take care of grandad’s farm. None of whom, or perhaps know any more than I do, or what grandad always told me in secret. Not even my father knows about our ancestors. All I know, is that my dad, was born, in that log cabin along with my late Aunt Sue. She was the oldest. First child Joana died of pneumonia 4 years old. My aunt Sue was the only daughter. I never saw my “mother” of that time anymore.

Second one. I’ll make short and brief, was my uncle Roger, he had drowned when my dad was in the Vietnam war. Uncle Roger was 17 when he died. Dad had to come back for that. Then leave back for Nam. I was in the shed this time. And found a bunch of Uncle Roger’s things. Including a picture. This was the same visit by the way. Well, I felt a cold chill, once again. I heard a sobbing. A young man. I looked at the picture. And said aloud. “Oh, that’s my uncle Roger.” I knew of that name, from what my dad said. The sobbing stopped. I knew it was him. “Go to the light Uncle Roger.” I felt his hand on my face. He was sobbing. I knew it was him. I just knew it and I felt it. I wasn’t scared at all. I heard his voice, faintly say, “please don’t go near the water. Drown 17.” I was like “Yes Uncle Roger.” Then it was gone.

After we left. I took the photo book home with Samual’s pictures as well as recent ones of Uncle Roger and so forth. I had to start school in Sep. I turned 17 in Nov 90. Around May 91, a month before I graduated. Some Neanderthal pushed me in the pool. I nearly drowned myself. I felt a strong uplift and I was pushed out of the water. Funny thing was no other students were in that pool cause everyone had to get in and a teacher pulled me up from the water by my hands. I went home and told my dad what had happened. He looked at me. And said. “Sis, so many years ago, to this date was when your Uncle Roger had drowned. Same age, as my younger brother.” My dad turned white as a ghost, as had I.

That night, I overheard my dad. He was looking at the photo album and he said. “Roger, thank you baby brother for saving my baby, your niece from the very same fate that cruelly took you away from me. Forever I am grateful.”

I was always deathly afraid of pools, and water, like ponds and rivers. If I couldn’t see the bottom, there was no way I would go near it, or even in it. When I turned 18. I took swimming lessons.

In 1958 my new husband and I came home to Parkersburg, West Virginia, to visit from his duty station in New Jersey. We were staying at his mother’s house off Staunton on a little street named Agnes. The first night we were sleeping in a downstairs bedroom off the kitchen.

In the middle of the night, I woke up to feel the covers being pulled up around my neck. As it was hot in May, I pushed them off me. Immediately, they have rudely pulled up again. That got my full attention! I glanced at my husband who was sleeping soundly. As I tried to look at my unfamiliar surroundings, I saw a white, gauzy, swirling thing in the corner. I screamed and my husband woke up.

I told him what I had seen. He assured me I wasn’t dreaming and proceeded to tell me that on numerous other visits home over his Navy career, he had slept in that room and been awakened by the same thing. The next day, I asked him to please go to my mother’s house, as I did not wish to be visited by the same thing the rest of our time home!

That house is long gone and so are all my in-laws and my then husband. I don’t think it was anything that would have harmed us, maybe just letting us know it was there.

My wife and I were witnesses to a specter on the side of the road about two and a half weeks ago. It was 4:30 am on a country rural road outside Charles Town. This area, by the way, had vast amounts of Civil War activity. The white cloudy object had a body and head form that slowly lifted off of the ground, reformed and glided into a wooded area above at a 45-degree angle. As it left the ground and reformed it was followed by a tail type of appearance. We were both eyewitnesses to this event, no drugs or alcohol was involved and we had never seen anything like this before in our lives.

I don’t know if this is true or not, but in the town of Thurmond, WV (Fayette County). A long time ago when I was a kid playing with one of my friends who lived in the area, I was pointed out a “face” on the mountain across the railroad tracks and river. My friend’s mother told me that the face was that of a politician, who was assassinated in Thurmond. At the very second of his death, an explosion somehow occurred in the mountain and the shape of his face was carved into the mountain.

Like I said, I don’t know if this is a true story or not, but you can clearly see the image in the mountain today, although it seems to be crumbling more and more as the years pass. My friend’s mother might have just told us that to try to scare us a little.

My husband and I had just been married and moved into a house on Bagwell Ave in Nutterfort, WV. I had two children from a previous marriage.

Everything was fine when we first moved in there. Then things started to happen.

One night, Ryan (my husband) and a friend of ours and myself were sitting around playing on our computers. Ryan kept telling me that it was about time for us to get to bed. After hearing him complain for about 30 mins about him being tired, I finally told him I was ready for bed also. Just then, we turned off the monitors of our computers. From the hallway directly behind us, there came a woman’s voice. It very plainly said, “thank you”. We all froze instantly. We stayed up with the lights on for about another hour.

That is not all that we have heard or seen. There have been several occasions where we have heard banging in the attic. Ryan and his friend would go up there and there would be no traces of any kind of animals or anything else up there. The dust was very thick on the floors and would be able to tell if something had walked across it.

One other night, I was going to the bedroom to get ready for bed and I had asked Ryan to get me a glass of milk. I walked into my bedroom and opened the door, the light was off, and there I saw a set of “floating teeth”. I screamed and ran back into the living room. Ryan came running in asking what was wrong. I told him what I saw and he went to investigate. There was nothing to be seen.

During all the times, that these things occurred, my youngest son met a friend. He was an imaginary friend. His name was “JIM”. This may just be another child having an imaginary friend but I don’t believe it to be so. I think it was the name of the person that had been scaring us. My son is only five so I will admit I am a little skeptical.

My son would tell me the conversations that he and “Jim” were having and told me that “Jim” was the family’s friend and not to be scared. Now that we have moved from the house, he no longer has this friend.

I do not know the history of this house but I do know that there was some furniture in the attic and some papers belonging to a man. There were some pictures there as well.

Along time ago, back when having children out of wedlock was forbidden, there was a lady whose name was Lonell, she went to Washington to give birth to her child. After having complications during childbirth, both the mother and her child died.

Shortly after, Lonell and her baby were brought back to Pax, West Virginia to be buried. Since having children out of wedlock was forbidden, they wouldn’t bury her and her baby in the Cemetery, instead they buried the two outside of the Pax School House Cemetery.

Years later the graves were disturbed by a local company who ran a water line between the schoolhouse and the grave, which brought on the appearance of Lonell’s ghost.

Since the disturbance of the grave, you can now see Lonell’s spirit wandering around in the Cemetery in the shape of a blue sphere. You can see this sphere moving around in the graveyard around early dusk.

People around town believe that this spirit is searching for the answer on why she wasn’t buried inside the cemetery like everyone else was.

I use to hunt doves every September when dove season came in. Also, my two son’s and friends would go, we would have a great time wing shooting doves, and I looked forward to this time every year. I grew up in a hunting family, and I tried to get my father who was an excellent turkey and deer hunter to go Dove hunting with us. Each time I asked him, he would decline. He would simply say, “They (doves) are birds of the Bible and you shouldn’t hunt them.”

Then in September 1989, my dad passed away. He died of a massive heart attack at his home. Everyone was shocked by his sudden death. On the day of his funeral, after services, dad was buried in a new cemetery that had recently been open by family members when their son had been beaten to death and was buried there.

After graveside service was finished, our family went back to my parent’s house. A cousin of mine and her daughter arrived in the afternoon, they had missed the funeral, and my cousin wanted to see where my dad was buried. So I, my cousin, her daughter, my sister and her husband, drove to the top of the mountain where the cemetery was located.

The grave had been filled, and the flowers had been arranged on the grave. What next is unbelievable, but true! Tears came to my eyes and forever ended my dove hunting because where there had never been more than two doves seen in the area of the cemetery, the flowers on my fathers grave were covered with the breast feathers of many, many doves. To this day, I’ve never hunted doves again, and I can still hear my father say “They are birds of the Bible and you shouldn’t hunt them.”

There’s a SAFE house on the old Capels road it used to be an old school house, but they closed it after quite a few years because of paranormal experiences.

After people started moving into the safe house weird things started happening. One of my friends (let’s call her Rosie), stayed there with her mom and little brother.

Rosie was up one night listening to her CD player when it just cut off thinking nothing about it she thought the batteries were dead, so she changed them.

But they didn’t work. So she decided to go to bed. When she woke up the next morning she checked out her CD player and the CD was broken but still in her player.

The next night her mom had got a glass of water and had it by her bed she woke up about 2:30 am with her feet wet, and the glass broke on the floor. Knowing her kids wouldn’t do such a thing she told the landlady.

But she just wouldn’t listen. After nights and nights of the same things happening, Rosie and her brother woke up from hearing someone walking in the hallways, knowing no one is allowed in or out of the rooms past 12:00 am. They got up to investigate as they looked down the hall they saw no one.

About 30 minutes later they hear it again and again they investigate. From Rosie’s description, it was a man barefoot about 6 foot 4 with long black hair and old bearskin pants. He had a funny painting on his face, chest and on his arms.

She looked at the man for what seemed like forever and he suddenly let out a loud yell and vanished. Other people that stayed there has encounters with the same man, today the tail is to believe he was one of the Indians Buried on that sacred land.