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Tag Archives: haunting


I sat on the back step last night, looking out toward the moor where the silhouette of my daughter Emilia paced along the edge of the property. When the crickets quieted down, I could hear her voice calling out softly, “Mama? Mama?”

Emilia’s mother, Madolyn, had passed away from complications of pneumonia the year before. Her parents had wanted her body flown out to Montana, to be laid to rest in a family plot, but I couldn’t bare the thought of her being taken away from Emilia and me. I had her interred in the nearby Maple Grove Cemetery. At night, if I looked out my bedroom window, I could see the stone wall in the distance that marked the edge of the lot, and wish my beloved good night. Read More »


I received a troubling letter in the mail the other day. It was from my friend, Olivia. The thing is, I’m flying out in just a few days to attend her funeral. The reasons for her death are kind of complicated, made more so by the contents of her letter. I thought I understood why she chose to take her life, but after reading her last letter to me, I just don’t know anymore.

You might be wondering why Olivia would write to me. What relationship did we have? We were best friends back in high school and that’s really about it. Call it cowardice on my part that I never “officially” told her how I felt. Maybe deep down she knew, but didn’t want to lose what we had. I was fine with that. We remained best friends even when college moved us hundreds of miles apart. Even when she met “the love of her life” –a guy named Greg– she wrote me every week, and I wrote back. We both graduated, she and Greg got an apartment out east, I briefly moved back in with my folks while searching for a job, but through it all, every week I got a letter from Olivia, and a day later I’d mail one back.

Last month, Olivia called me. I knew before even picking up the phone that something was wrong. She would never have called me unless she was in serious trouble or distress and needed someone special to talk to. She was barely understandable through the sobbing and the bursts of crying.

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My daughter has begun seeing things. I don’t know if they’re imaginary, like any child’s mind is prone to creating, or something more, like the things I’ve seen.

I’ve told you all last summer about the stories she started telling me, about the “man” who would come to her window and tell them to her… about the claw marks I found in the sill. I’ve also told you about the attack she suffered almost a year ago when I took the advice of redditors and stood up to a terrifying spirit that was stalking me. To say that she’s been through more than a normal five year old is an understatement.

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Find the original r/nosleep version here.

It was many months after the thing chased me through the corn stalks, gotten into my house and left me a wreck that crawled under my bed to sleep every night. The corn had been harvested and the field cleared. It was Spring, bringing a quick thaw and hard rains that soaked the earth and caused our septic tank to fill and back up, flooding the basement. That drove my brother upstairs from his dark, basement dwelling. He claimed my room and I moved in with my younger brother, sleeping in a bunk bed.

Everything was very tense at the time. My parents were on edge because of the flooding in the basement and the cost of repairing the septic tank. My brothers and I were on edge because of our parents. Dinners were quiet, shouting matches often. When things got too heated, we’d retreat to our separate corners to cool off.

There was a performing arts theater downtown of which my parents signed up to be annual members. It was decided that we’d go as a family to see a performance of Oklahoma. The night of the play, I said something stupid, something I shouldn’t have. Something that set everybody off into another fight, and in the end I was left home alone while they went to see the play.

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I was 9, going on 10 years old. We lived in a small town in Vermont, in a large, green house at the crest of a steep hill. Up the street from us, the road ended at a large forest. My brothers and I would walk up there and play in the shelter of the thick tree branches. None of the trees were suitable for climbing, but enough had fallen over that we could build makeshift forts from their remains. We’d explore the pine-needle carpet for bugs, whack through the ferns with sticks like explorers, or just play hide and seek in the dense thickets.

Just beyond the edge of the forest at the top of the hill, there was a little stream. Beside the stream was the burnt-out skeleton of an old house. We had been told that the property belonged to somebody, so stay off, but on occasion we felt brave enough to explore the wreckage and find buried treasure.

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