Spooky Stories

JK Knives

JK Knives

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There is a thread in the Wilderness forum, and I thought we could do something here for those of you who don`t visit there.

I think I told this once before, but here goes, and yes, they are true!

When my oldest grandaughter Hayley was about 2 years old, they lived in a apartment. She would sit by the couch and talk as if she were having a conversation with someone. When my daughter asked who she was talking to, she said that boy on the couch. My daughter asked a couple of the other tenants about it, and they said a young boy had died in that apartment of an illness. About a year later they rented an older farmhouse on the outskirts of the town next to me. My grandaughter would always talk about the old man with the hairy face like mine (I have a beard), and the funny hat. When we asked about the hat, she said it was kind of like a cowboy hat. She said his name was Thomas. One Saturday when we were there my daughter said the lights in the bathroom were sometimes flickering. I said I would go in the attic crawlspace and check out the wires. I came across some old boxes there that had some old books and photos in them. One of the photos was of an old man with a beard dressed up in an old time suit with a derby hat. On the back of the photo was written Thomas! After she turned 7, she never mentioned seeing people again untill my mother in law passed away. Connie was already down south with her sisters, and I was taking Becky and the girls down for the funeral. The night before we left, Hayley says she saw an old woman floating above her bed, but could not make out her face, She was saying "bye Hayley, take care of your little sister." Was it a dream?

Second story. As you all know, I have some dogs, but I used to have 2 cats. About 5 years ago Missy, my white cat died. Every so often we will find a clump of white cat fur on the back of the couch, which was her spot to lay in the sun.
 
thanks for sharing, spooky. My wife was haunted when she worked at a summer camp once, she's a big believer in "something but not ghosts exactly" as she puts it.
 
Great story. Stories like that is what make me wonder, nearly become a full-fledged believer, as believing after experiencing something like that seems to be the logical path. Waiting for my turn so I can whole-heartedly believe.
 
I'm a firm believer, I've had experiences that I cannot explain but I'm not much of a story teller. But I enjoy reading them.
 
I had posted this in another thread, but thought I'd copy and paste it here as well. (It was posted last October).

This is a true story, but I am changing the names in order to protect others involved in the story.

Like many of my peers, I played baseball on the town little league team. In a small, rural area like ours, it wasn’t uncommon to see a teammate bring a visiting relative with them to our practices. Back then, vacations were mostly spent visiting family members in other locations.

At least one half of our team consisted of local farm kids who would get up early in the morning to irrigate the crops before going to baseball practice. Our coach always tried to schedule practice sometime in the morning before it got too hot for comfort, but late enough that the farm-kids could get their chores done.

On one particular morning, the team began showing up around 15 minutes before practice was scheduled to start. As usual, we made small talk, in between horsing around, while we waited for the coach to show up. After a few minutes, one of my friends, Bill, showed up with his out-of-state cousin, John, tagging along. Introductions were made and we were soon shaking John’s hand as we fired questions at him.

The moment my hand touched John’s, I knew he was going to die. It was an awful feeling: one that I had never had before. But I didn’t say a word about the horrible image to anyone and chalked my premonition up to irrational thoughts.

After practice, we left to return to our normal summer routines: some of the kids going back to work on the farm and some heading down to the local swimming hole. I was one of the farm kids and headed back to a day of checking the fields being irrigated and mowing the grass in the dirt “roads” that snaked through our 1200 acres of crops and pastures.

Sitting on a tractor gives you a lot of time to think, and I couldn’t tear my mind away from that dreadful picture conjured up in my mind when I shook John’s hand. John was my age – fourteen - and way too young to die. It had to be a mistake and I set about trying to convince myself that I was imagining things; terrible things that just couldn’t possibly come true.

By the time I came home that night I had all but convinced myself that John was fine: he’d return to his home in a week and spend the rest of his summer hanging out with his friends.

I had no sooner walked in the door when my Dad approached me and told me that he had something he wanted to tell me. By the look on his face, I knew something was wrong, but I assumed that I was in trouble for something I had done (or not done).

John had died that afternoon: less than two hours after I had my premonition. He and Bill had gone out motorcycle riding and John had somehow crashed and broke his neck.

I can’t really describe all the emotions I felt upon learning of John’s death, but one of them was some sort of sick, twisted sense of a newfound power to foresee the future.

Shortly afterwards, I began reading everything I could find about premonitions, psychic abilities and the like. I learned about a third-eye in the middle of your forehead and I learned about a sensitive spot in your back.

I became convinced that I had this ability and my convictions were cemented when lesser premonitions also came true. It wasn’t long before I believed I had an amazing gift of unbelievable powers.

Fast forward a couple of years and I found myself in a battle that still terrifies me to this day.

My best friend was a local kid named Jim; he and I hunted together, fished together and played ball on the same team. When I wasn’t working or out on a date, I was usually hanging out with Jim.

One night, long after everyone had gone to sleep, something came to me and taunted me with threats of harm to my friend, Jim. I wasn’t about to let anything harm Jim and I was completely convinced that my “powers” were strong enough to bar that from happening.

In the beginning I didn’t know who, or what, had awakened me. It wasn’t exactly a voice that could be heard: instead it was more of a presence that was felt, but the intentions rang through as clear as if someone had been standing next to me and yelling as loud as they possibly could.

At first I felt no fear.

Then, once I had accepted the challenge to save Jim from harm, I knew what real fear was.

There was silence and ear-piercing screams of agony all at the same time. I saw brilliant lights of every color imaginable, but none that could be distinguished. I was surrounded by unimaginable evil: I could feel it, taste it even, as it permeated every cell in my body. Its greed was palpable and its lust to do harm immeasurable: it wasn’t happy with merely winning; it had to completely consume anything that stood in its path.

I don’t really know how long the battle lasted: it could’ve been mere seconds or it could’ve been centuries. Man’s concept of time isn’t capable of measuring such things

I woke up totally drenched in sweat. I was colder than I have ever been and I was mentally and physically drained of all energy. It was as though my body had been drained of every last drop of blood, my soul ripped out and a condemned shell left behind.

I had lost.

The Devil had won.

At the time, I didn’t know what that would mean. But I would soon find out.

Not long afterwards, I found myself crying in front of the bathroom mirror. A silent voice was telling me “Do it, Do it, DO IT.”

I didn’t want to die. I hadn’t really begun to live. I was only 16 and I wanted to live.

“DO IT”

With trembling hands no longer under my complete control, I reached into the medicine cabinet and took out two full bottles of long-forgotten prescriptions.

I don’t remember much that happened after that. I know I cried because it was my last day on earth and I greatly feared where I was obviously going.

The next thing I remember is monsters chasing me. My legs wouldn’t work right; the monsters caught me and threw me down to the ground. Somehow I managed to fight my way out of their grip and was running again. But I couldn’t get away; the monsters caught me again and again.

The monsters put me on some kind of platform and strapped my arms and legs down so I could no longer fight them. They started poking me, prodding me with long needles as they yelled at me in a foreign tongue.

I broke the straps and began fighting my way out of their control.

Five days later I woke up: everything was white and I couldn’t hear because of the intense ringing in my ears. My vision was blurry and I asked if I was dead.

I saw my mother: she was crying, the tears were steaming down her face.

I asked her if I was dead.

She said “No, everything is alright.”

She had to say it several times before I understood.

Sometime in the next few days a doctor came in and told me that he didn’t really understand how I was alive. It had been too late to pump my stomach and I had taken enough pills to kill me.

Over time I learned that the “monsters” were hospital staff, a police officer and my father. I had managed to escape them numerous times before the managed to get me on the hospital bed. Then I had broken the leather straps holding down one foot and one leg and they had to subdue me again.

Once I had recovered enough, I returned to school. Nothing was the same: few people would talk to me and several people began ridiculing me, hollering “suicide, suicide” as I was walking down the halls.

Before long, the command was back.

“DO IT.”

“DO IT”.


My parents heard me crying in my bedroom that time and rushed me to the hospital to have my stomach pumped.

The next time, my father walked in as I was attempting to pull the trigger on the loaded 12-guage that was firmly planted in my mouth.

I was sent away to several different psychiatric clinics and spent much of my senior year in and out of places like that.

I did manage to attend my senior year enough to become friends with the foreign-exchange student. Upon graduation, I paid a visit to her host family so I could bid Janet goodbye before she went back to her native country.

Janet was staying with a local family who were very religious – they happened to attend the same church my family went to. Their oldest daughter, Emily, was my age but we had never been more than casually friendly toward each other.

Emily’s mother was pleasant though a bit off-standing when I asked permission to visit, but she invited me in anyway and the four of us sat down and talked about our plans for the future.

Suddenly Emily began babbling incoherently – she sounded like she was speaking bits and pieces of multiple foreign languages all at once.

Puzzled, I turned to her mother and asked what Emily was saying; telling her that I didn’t understand. Emily’s mother had this horrified look on her face and abruptly told me that Emily was speaking in tongues. After a few more seconds of Emily’s incoherent babbling, her mother stood up and told me that I was the anti-Christ and that I had to leave immediately.

I never saw any of them again and I didn’t get to tell Janet goodbye. I just left – in shame and wondering if Emily was correct. I had told nobody about my battle and I couldn’t figure out how they could possibly know. But they did.

The next two years were uneventful as far as the commands were concerned: I had gotten married and my wife had recently given birth to a baby boy. I had everything to live for and seemed to have moved beyond my past.

One day my wife had asked me to pick up a few things from the local store and as I pulled into the parking lot I “hear” it again.

“DO IT”

“DO IT”


I began to cry as I sat there in my truck. I had everything to live for: a wife and my infant son. I wanted to live.

The command came again: “DO IT.”

I was powerless and I knew where this would go. I knew that I should’ve been dead already and that I would be dead if I couldn’t find a way to stop the Devil’s relentless torment.

Exhausted, I said the following out loud:

“Please help me Jesus. I can’t do this anymore and I need your help.”


Like that it was over. I felt a great weight instantly lifted from my shoulders. I felt more alive than I had felt since I first knew John was going to die.

It has been over 30 years since that day and I’ve not heard the command one single time since I asked for help. I don’t know why it took me so long to find the answer, but I’m glad that I did.

I can’t really say why I decided to tell my story. I had told only a couple of people previously and then only after I was absolutely sure they wouldn’t judge me harshly because of it. It’s not something I’m proud of, but maybe, just maybe, it can be a lesson for others – ask for help when you need it.
 
Tahts,
I was going to talk about cold breezes in rooms where doors and windows were shut. About expressions in pictures on the mantle that changed- all my family have experienced these in the old farmhouse and many will not sleep there anymore.

But your experience trumps anything I have vere heard.

There is a little part of me that always wonders when I hear of family murder/suicide-- is there something there that we do not/cannot/will not know?
I have many times had "urges" to jump from high places. I attribute it to my fear of heights. But I am not afraid of it when I feel it, more of an excitement.

Bill
 
wow,,, now THAT is a spooky story. thanks for sharing. I too believe there is much out there that we simply cannot be aware of with our 5 limited senses. I also believe in rare individuals with more than 5 senses. sadly, these extra senses always seem like more of a curse than a blessing. glad you made it.
 
I am sorry to appear unkind but ghost stories are one thing and stories of psychosis are another. Both can be scary but one is much easier to explain.
 
outdoorsfan said:
I am sorry to appear unkind but ghost stories are one thing and stories of psychosis are another. Both can be scary but one is much easier to explain.
Click to expand...


Psychosis

Definition

Psychosis is a symptom or feature of mental illness typically characterized by radical changes in personality, impaired functioning, and a distorted or nonexistent sense of objective reality.

I wanted the medical definition [of psychosis] entered into my reply because I think it is important that all readers fully understand what it is that you’ve said.

The appearance of unkindness is one thing; I can accept the fact that it is very likely that some people will choose to believe my story is false or somehow contrived. Such occurrences really boil down to an issue of someone deciding that my character is in question.

In our society it is rather common for people to automatically presume a person is lying, simply because their experiences don’t mirror our own. Our biases preclude us from accepting the possibility that our own lack of a similar experience isn’t justification for denying the potential for an incident outside of the norm. Instead, we tend to pass judgment with very little basis – other than our own limits – for doubting the claims made by others.

Let us suppose someone was to issue a statement declaring oatmeal to be the absolute best food they’ve ever had. Now I (personally) do not like oatmeal; in fact, I can’t stand it and want to puke whenever I smell it. If I were to operate on the basis of my own limitations, I would be forced to conclude that the person, who loves oatmeal, is either lying or totally wrong about their experience.

But that would be wrong of me. Not only is it highly probable that someone will like oatmeal; it is almost guaranteed that my own personal dislike (of oatmeal) is decidedly in the minority.

Now an astute reader might be tempted to point to my dislike of oatmeal and make the observation that I did, in fact, have an experience with oatmeal. Of course they would be correct, but they’d miss the point that I did not have the same experience (as the person who loves oatmeal). And it is that particular lack of experience (on my part) that would prevent me from logically claiming the positive experience to be faulty or fraudulent.

We each have our own personal experiences. Oftentimes those individual experiences are very similar in nature and we can easily relate. But occasionally we have a somewhat unique experience, one that isn’t shared by many of our fellow human beings. On those occasions I propose that we are better served if we make allowances, within our own personal limits, for the all but certain probability that we have not, personally, experienced all that life has to offer.

More troubling, to my own line of thought, is the fact that my personal experience is sometimes dismissed as the result of a mental illness. Assertions of that sort go well beyond mere doubt of my truthfulness; delving into the territory of proclaiming my ability to ascertain reality, dysfunctional or absent.

Some would undoubtedly see such an accusation as little more than a mean-spirited slur, designed to attack my person in lieu of an ability to disprove those experiences not shared by a majority of the population. Examples of such tactics are abundant in our society; casting doubt is always easier than facing the possibility that our own limits prohibit us from considering concepts outside of the realm of our own, self-made, boundaries.

I prefer to assume that slurring my person was not the intent here, but I’d be rather foolish if I did not address that possibility (however minor it may be). Instead, I will concentrate of the assumption that the comment was well intended and made from the standpoint of personal belief.

Despite the great strides made in our scientific/medical communities, there is much that remains unknown, or unexplainable, to this day. In fact it could be said that the human brain is not dissimilar to the oceans: we delve into it, we explore, we search for answers, but there is far more unknown than there is known. Worse yet is the fact that some of that which we believe to be true, isn’t true at all.

Humans are constrained by our own limitations. Real science is the attempt to push beyond those self-imposed limitations. It is the never-ending search for answers to questions that are unimaginably complex and frequently irreducible. It is on those occasions that we must face the fact that, despite our great strides, science is completely incapable (thus far anyway) of a rational explanation for all that we experience in life.

How do we know what we don’t know?

That’s one of those questions we humans like to laugh about. The simple answer is – we don’t. But that simple answer doesn’t really explain the complexity of the question asked. Complicating matters further is the fact that some of what we “know” is false, therefore we don’t know that either.

We talk about intuition, or an instinct that sometimes warns us to avoid something (usually perceived to be dangerous to our well-being) but we don’t begin to understand how it is that we can know something that we don’t know. Is it some unknown power, a sense that is yet to be scientifically discovered? We simply don’t know and there are way too many examples for such things to be rationally discarded simply because science cannot explain them.

Most people seem to accept, as fact, that there are times when the unexplainable (from a scientific point) just happens. Are all those people, who believe in intuition, suffering from some sort of mental illness? Are their experiences null and void, simply because science cannot explain them?

In this particular experience (of mine) I knew someone was going to die. The feeling was overwhelming (and very disturbing).

I suppose someone could claim that I had an impaired ability to objectively discern reality – but that would automatically necessitate a willful detachment from the reality of the person dying (a few hours later).

That is reality: someone died and I knew they were going to die. Science cannot explain how I knew that would happen (nor can I).

If I may assume that the person’s death is not doubted (and that can be proved) then we’re back to an issue of doubting my character or a claim of mere coincidence. The former charge holds no merit; as there is no reason to assume I am not telling the truth, and nobody (other than me) has any standing to declare what my thoughts were/are or how I felt (now or then).

That leaves us with coincidence.

1. The state or fact of occupying the same relative position or area in space.
2. A sequence of events that although accidental seems to have been planned or arranged.

I recognize this possibility, but that calls into question the reason for my prior knowledge (of the death). Science cannot explain it, yet it happened, and the fact that the person died leaves this possibility on very wobbly legs. My “vision” cannot be attributed to impairment in my ability to discern reality because the reality is that my “vision” was absolutely correct (much to my dismay).

Suppose I am given the benefit of doubt (regarding my truthfulness) and we accept the fact that there are occurrences that science cannot explain; then we must conclude an inability, on the part of science itself, to explain every experience that happens in our daily lives.

If thinking outside-of-the-box is to be condemned, then we are, in reality, condemning science itself. It is the quest for the unknown that drives scientific exploration, not bold declarations of complete and total understanding of all that occurs in our world.

Appearances aside, we should not succumb to the habit of labeling people, as being mentally ill, simply because we fail to understand the failures of science when it comes to explaining the unexplainable. We ought to be bigger than that, and we should embrace the fact that there is much that we simply do not know.


So how do we know what we don’t know?

We don’t. But that’s only part of the story.
 
Tahts

While I can understand how you might perceive that my comment holds some sort of implication that I do not believe your story, that is not the case. I also do not think that the initial part of the story, regarding the premonition of the deaths is indicative of some type of mental imbalance. I agree that there are events that occur that have no real rational or scientific explanation. That being said, hearing voices that drive you to attempt suicide multiple times sounds to me to be some form of, at least in your case, transient mental issue. That is only my opinion. Events like the ones you describe are scary, but to me seem to be less than supernatural.

Many years ago, I helped to care for a dear friend who was stricken with schizophrenia in his late teens. I saw first hand the kind of symptoms he experienced, which included hearing voices that told him to do a wide variety of things, most of which seemed to be self destructive. His symptoms could be managed to some degree, but without medical care became ever more intense. It was horrifying to say the least but there was an explanation for them. There were also many things about the disease and it's progress that were not able to be explained by his doctors at that time.

I was not trying to label you as anything, rather offering a potential explanation for the events you experienced. It was just an opinion, how valid it is can be debated. The explanation that your experience was caused by some supernatural force is just as valid, but is not how I would choose to explain the terrifying series of events you endured.

Either way, glad you were able to overcome your issues and join us here. I also hope that my comments do not make you reluctant to share your personal experiences as that was not the intent. I was not trying to judge or label and I apologize if that was the perception.

Sean
 
A very well thought out and measured posts both of you. I wrote out a long response to tahts but decided against it, I get excited about this kind of discussion i my line of work but I don’t want to risk kicking up any dust.

I don’t think outdoorsfan meant to call you character into question. Anymore then I think you would lie about such an experience.

We each have our own way of viewing the world and I think you have both rightly made this point. The fun, as always, is listening to other peoples stories. I hope to hear more soon.

Personally I want to be more of a Dirk Gently (Douglas Adams) but I always end up being a Sherlock Holmes(Arthur Doyle) kinda guy.

Holmes: Once you remove the impossible what’s left, no matter how improbable, is the truth
Gently: on the contrary the impossible often has a kind of integrity to it which the merely improbable lacks
 
Sean,

Let me begin by stating my absolute confidence in your good intentions. I fully understand the logic behind your comments and the fact that your opinion is a reasoned, and valuable, contribution to the discussion.

I would like to clarify one issue though: the “voices” heard weren’t heard in the manner usually associated with hearing. They were not audible transmissions; instead they were far more closely identified with an extra sensory perception – I felt them far more than I heard them.

The best way to describe it is a comparison to an intuition; although the “voices” were far stronger than any intuition I’ve ever experienced. Another way of describing them would be a sort of paralyzing fear – a very powerful feeling that overrides the thought process while preparing the body for a traumatic experience.

Perhaps that is a distinction without purpose, but it is important (to me) that the event is accurately portrayed and understood.

Your observation isn’t the first time someone pointed to the possibility of a mental disorder; I spent the better part of my senior year in and out of various psychiatric wards (along with prior visits to various mental health specialists). During that time every possible scientific explanation was explored: from chemical imbalances to mental defects, and not one of the mental health professionals could find a medical explanation for my experiences. Some came right out and accused me of lying, others accused me of acting out in a plea for attention, and a few just admitted to the fact that they didn’t know what was happening. But not one of them could point to a scientific explanation or a plausible treatment.

Topping it all off was the declaration of my being the anti-Christ – a charge that cut me to the bone (emotionally and mentally). I was devastated and very confused – how could she know (without knowing anything other than the fact that I had attempted suicide) what all had transpired? I struggled (for many years) to understand that and used to wonder if she was correct.

She – the girl who accused me of being the anti-Christ – went on to become a nun in the Catholic Church. To the best of my knowledge, she had no history of such proclamations and would be considered to be a perfectly normal person by all.

That is one more reason why I believe that a mental impairment, on my part, cannot be the answer – because my accuser didn’t suffer from the same. And she most certainly played a part in the whole experience.

While science easily explains the results of my experiences – fear, depression, anxiety, and stress – it never has explained the experiences themselves. Science can be used as a crutch to dismiss my experiences, but it cannot explain them.

Religion is a different story. Not only can it explain my experiences, it does so in a manner that makes perfect sense (at least it does to me).

I can sum it up in a relatively short manner:

For some unknown reason I knew someone was going to die. That person died and I became convinced that I had some awesome new power. I began to explore the depths of that power. My explorations, coupled with a misplaced sense of power, opened the door to the devil. The devil then taunted me, knowing my pride would get in the way, and I accepted the challenge. I lost the battle, and my life, as I knew it, began to spiral downwards. That downward spiral continued until I accepted Jesus as my savior. At that point, Jesus took over and defeated the devil.

In a nutshell, that’s it. Religion not only explains the experience, it solved the problems associated with the experience. Science not only couldn’t solve the problems; it doesn’t begin to identify the reasons for the experience in the first place.

Granted, the religious aspect is entirely dependant upon a willingness to believe. But that’s just it: I do believe, and what’s more; I know it happened because it happened to me.

We agree that science fails to explain some events. Furthermore, we agree that science cannot explain the very first experience in this sequence of events. If that much is given, then we must also presume a reasonable chance – based on the fact that we know science to be completely inadequate at times – that the entire sequence of events [I experienced] is based on reality.

Sometimes we know things that we don’t know.

There is no explanation for it. Sometimes I just get a feeling, or have a “vision” that tells me something that I cannot possibly know. I’ve had many such experiences thus far in my life. I don’t pretend to understand it, nor can I take control of it (believe me, I have tried but I just can’t pick those lottery numbers). It just happens - and yes, it still scares me to this day.


For me, there is no question that my experiences were (in their entirety) based on objective reality. It is something I’ve contemplated on frequently during the years and I can reach no other conclusion other than the one I have.

Frankly speaking, it would have been easier on me if I had been suffering from psychosis and could chalk it all up to delusional thoughts. Please understand; such an explanation would’ve been my preference, because that would’ve let me dismiss the entire sequence of events (especially the battle with the devil). But that would not be reality and it would not explain those events.



No apology is necessary Sean.

You have not posted with malice; you simply stated your opinion, based on your experiences. There is absolutely nothing wrong in that – in fact you gave me the opportunity to clarify certain aspects, and I am glad that you did.

I thank you for your thoughts and well wishes, and I deeply respect the fact that you helped your friend in need.

I’d also like to thank all those who responded to my posts. I appreciate your comments (and well wishes).

Posting my story is never without personal risk; I fully understand the fact that my experience is well outside the norm and that in posting my story, I may be subjecting myself to potential judgment that may not be to my liking. I am deeply appreciative of the fact that nobody took advantage of an opportunity to ridicule me – that speaks very well of the people who frequent this forum.

I have been giving serious consideration to writing a book about my experience and that consideration is a part of the many reasons behind my posting it. I wanted to see what kind of a response my story would get and I wanted to know if my story is something others find to be worthwhile reading. If you have any thoughts on that, I would appreciate hearing them.

Thanks,

Mike
 
After I post I decided I shouldn't have since there was no reason for me to weigh in especially since both of you had been so reasonable so I just wanted to apologies for that.

Mike, I'm sorry to hear of your trials, it sounds as if people have been unfair and frankly unkind about your experience. A strong reaction of any sort however, although i doubt it will make it any less painful, is probably a good indication that an audience would find your story compelling enough to pick up a book about it. Good luck on that score.

For my part I have to say that I don't' believe anything is inexplicable. For a long time I've disliked the world super natural, because I think if something happens, it is as natural as anything else. That's not to say science can explain everything right now, just that at least the "how" will one day be explainable.

My wife got on the "Topix" board of our town last night and must have spent hours researching all the haunted places people people mentioned and trying to extract their locations for the mentioned reference points. She has identified 8 from the Haunted Cave to the Hill You Can Park On and You Role Up IT straight though an area of Daniel Boone National Forest which is meant to be haunted b the Headless Timberman. I though it was interesting how many places have such stories we'd never even heard of in a small town. She's now eager for us to go on a drive and find all of these places to check them out, so we'l see how that goes.
 
Somewhere around here I have the book "Haunted Illinois." You would be surprised how many places are around here.
 
http://www.weirdnj.com/

As the name implies, Weird NJ is a website full of weird, sometimes spooky, stories. I know they've published several books, besides the magazines, including one called Weird United States. I cannot vouch for the authenticity of the stories, but I can say that the books I've read have been interesting.
 
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