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Scary Ghost Stories

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Hey guys i was wondering if you wanted to share some of your fav ghost stories or urban legends

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uhh.... blink.gifblink.gifblink.gif

you first.......

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here's a link to some of my favourites



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Whooooo! Whoooo-woooooo! HAArrrghhh!

Oh my God!!!! whistling2.gif

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in many ghost movies, why do the story always about a tall thin-like-bone evil old guy?

an old thin guy wanted to kidnapped a little blond girl...etc for example.

Edited by geeohn

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The Devils Prostitute

In the mid-1960s, two 16-year-old boys from the Edge Hill area of Liverpool left St Anne's School. Their names were John and Garry, and they celebrated leaving school by going into the Matlock Pub on the corner of Smithdown Lane and Grinfield Street. I believe this pub is now closed down. Anyway, the boys looked older than their years, and were served drinks without any problems. They sat in the corner, attempting to smoke Woodbine cigarettes, and trying to be adults, but most of the drinkers smiled at their attempts. After all, John and Garry had been altar boys at St Anne's Church.

As they sat in the corner, burping as they tried to keep down the Mackeson's ale and Guinness, John had a plan. He said, 'You know another thing we've got to do don't you?'

Garry shrugged and coughed the bitter Woodbine smoke out his mouth.

John said, 'We have to go with a prostitute.'

Garry started sniggering and John said, 'I'm serious. There're loads of them in Parley (the Parliament Street area) - and Paddy (the Paddington area).'

'Wonder how much they charge?' Gary pondered.

'Let's find out,' John suggested, and he walked over to a man who worked as a scrap metal dealer round the corner and said, 'Hey mate, do you know how much er, prostitutes charge?'

The man was furious, and he swore at the two young men. John and Garry left the Matlock pub in a hurry. The time was 10.15 pm and it was quite dark by now. The youths walked up towards Sophia Street, where they saw a very tall woman with long black hair, standing on a corner.

After arguing over who should approach the prostitute, John went up to her and asked: 'How much?' She never gave an answer, but merely smiled at them.

The woman was absolutely beautiful, and had large brown smouldering eyes. Her eyelashes were obviously artificial, and made here eyes appear extremely almond shaped, almost oriental looking. What happened next has been a part of Liverpool folklore for over 35 years. The young men were led by the silent prostitute to a certain derelict house on Smithdown Lane. The youths went in, and came out screaming. One of the teenagers, John, died on the following day in mysterious circumstances. After screaming hysterically, John suffered a fit and died of heart failure. Garry ended up in Rainhill, and is said to have died around 1970. Both of the youths said that when the prostitute took them in the derelict house, they met the Devil, sitting on a huge chair of some sort. His skin was as black as coal, and although he was sitting down, he was so tall, his head almost touched the ceiling. On either side of his head were two winding horns, like the horns of a ram.

The ghastly eyes of the Devil were orange coloured, and when the two youths were brought in, those infernal eyes gleamed with evil mischief as Old Nick said to the prostitute: 'Just what I wanted.'

The youths ran out the parlour but the Devil's hand reached after them and his arm seemed to stretch all the way to the front door.

That house where this unearthly incident took place is now occupied again, but I obviously cannot divulge it's number, as this tale could easily play on the minds of the people living there.

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Good story, bleeding_heart. I read that story alone in the dark, it gave me quite a scare. scared.gif

I have a ghost story to share as well....

I got it from a website:

I have always been fascinated by paranormal activity. I can remember as a small child breathlessly pouring through books about ghosts, hauntings, and the paranormal. Although I cannot recall what the first book I read on the subject was, I can remember being totally enraptured exploring the subject. I quickly exhausted my little elementary school's resources, although I sometimes read the books on paranormal activity over and over and over again. As I grew older, my interest did not lessen and my own personal library was becoming quite large with books both factual and fiction. I began to entertain the thought of becoming a parapsychologist (although not very seriously) and would read late into the night - sometimes scaring myself silly. If I fell asleep reading one of these "trash" books (as they were called by my mother and grandmother) I would wake to the inevitable lecture on filling my mind with such inappropriate things. Still, my interest did not lessen. I did,! ! however, never consider that I myself would become a "victim" of such activity. The house I lived in was fairly new. No one close to me had died in the near vacinity of my home. We were religious people ( devout Roman Catholics - things like this always happen to us) and ghosts seemed to me reserved for the attics of old Civil War plantations or abandoned cemeteries. Even so, I was sure (from reading and watching such books and movies) that I would move directly out of any house that showed any sign of being "haunted". I believed this until the summer of 1990 when my attitude became subject to severe change.

To my shock and horror, my mother died suddenly on June 19, 1990, a week before her 40th birthday. In an instant my whole life changed. Coupled with the horrible grief I was experiencing at losing my mother my family structure was also changing. Within that same week my sister moved in with my maternal grandparents next door (they had always been guardian angels to she and I). My step-father immediately rented an apartment and moved out of our home to further himself from the pain of losing his wife. I was left alone in the house - by my own choice of course but alone all the same. Although my grandparents lived only a few hundred yards from my front door, they seemed a million miles away when I walked into my empty house at night. My world had fallen around me. In the two years before my mother's death, she and my grandmother both developed cancer and my mother subsequently had a severe mental breakdown from which she never recovered - topping off her lifetime filled! ! with broken marriages, marital abuse, and mental illness and she finally died from - of all things - heat stroke. My life was now such that I had just graduated high school, lost my mother, began college, was living alone, and was dealing with some aspects of my sexuality that I had ignored my entire life. Needless to say, I was a bundle of nerves, grief, and stress.

The first event in my house happened two weeks after my mother's funeral. An old friend of mine (We'll call him Mike) and I were reunited by my mother's death after nearly two years of not speaking to each other. The only light in the pit of blackness I felt I was living in, I kept Mike in very close contact. It was not rare for him to stay over in my sister's old bedroom after a night of talking, crying, and catching up on the time we had spent away from each other. One Sunday morning, Mike paid a visit to me after going to church (Mike was devoutly religious) He was accompanied by a friend named Kyle, whom I had met only once before. We began talking and laughing, and ended up listening to some old comedy albums on the stereo in my bedroom. Seemed like a great morning. Since we were listening to the recordings we were all pretty quiet, so I was quite shocked when Mike looked up at me and said "Well, aren't you going to see what she wants?".

"What are you talking about?" I asked, confused.

"Your grandmother is in the living room. She just called for you." I immediately got up from where I was sitting and went into the living room of my house. It was not strange to me that my grandmother would have been in my house unannounced since she lived right next door and was accustomed to just popping over at any given time. I was quite suprised when I found no one there. I checked the entire house, calling my grandmother's name, and then went back into my bedroom with an odd look on my face and explained to both Mike and Kyle that there was absolutely no one other than the three of us in the house. Mike protested, claiming that he heard her calling my name repeatedly. Problem solving to the best of my ability I turned and went to the phone to call my grandmother. She immediately answered her phone. She denied being in my house and had just come in from mowing her lawn. I explained the situation to her, and she laughed it off saying that the voice Mike heard mus! ! t have come from our neighbor's home (which, incidentally, was a good 500 yards away) or that we had had a little too much to drink the night before. After more discussion and realizing that she would be of no help to me I ended the conversation. I was more confused than ever, but not really bothered by the situation. I went back to my bedroom to give the guys an update on my conversation. Mike immediately went pale and said "There was somebody in this house. There was a voice. It was calling your name. It was a woman. Therefore it was either your grandmother, your sister (who was in New Orleans at the time), or your mother (he said this rather jokingly). So I suggest we search your house".

"I've already looked and there is no one here!" I protested.

Kyle finally piped up. "I don't know you very well, but I know what I just heard. There was a woman in this house and she was calling your name. I still can't get over the fact that you didn't hear it because it was very loud and came from the vicinity of your living room, so if you guys are playing some joke on me, its becoming increasingly unfunny."

Hoping to ease the situation I replied "Look, it must have come from the neighbors. So lets all forget about it. No harm done". Mike looked very nervous and scared, stated again that he definitely heard the voice, and that it came from inside of the house - not from neighbors a good distance away. Kyle was extremely nervous and expressed his desire to leave. After some further discussion and my trying to calm everyone's nerves, Mike and Kyle left my house and I went back to my everyday activities without giving it much further thought until two Sundays later.

It was afternoon and I was on the phone with a good friend named Karen. I was sitting in my recliner located in the living room, clothed in only my underwear (a privilege granted by the fact that I now lived alone) and was chatting away quite happily about a party we were planning at my house for the following Saturday. All of a sudden I heard a woman's voice saying something from the adjoining kitchen. I was so suprised that I didn't pay much attention to what was being said. I was more concerned with having no clothes on. I immediately dropped the phone, lept out of my chair, and grabbed a large T-shirt that I had left draped over the furniture. As I was doing this I said, "Who's there". There was no answer. I walked in to my kitchen and no one was there. The kitchen door was still latched and my house was silent. My grandparents were away for the afternoon visiting relatives. My sister was with them. Feeling pretty spooked, I went back to the phone and said

"! ! You will never believe what just happened"

"Who's there?" Karen asked.

"No one" I replied. "There isn't anyone here".

"I just heard a woman talking to you" she said.

Feeling a little relieved that I was not going losing my mind, I told her that I had heard it too. I asked her if she heard what was said but she could only say that it sounded like my mother or my grandmother (their voice inflections were very similar). "My grandmother is gone, Karen. There's nobody in the house but me." Karen then gave me the best advice I could think of at the time . She said "Get out of the house".

I immediately hung up the phone and did so as quickly as possible. I was very afraid.

I stayed at my grandparents that whole afternoon. I thought that I might be having a mental breakdown myself. Yet Karen's hearing the voice ruled that one out. Perhaps it was the neighbors, but they really were too far away. I knew that the voice came from my kitchen and, yes, it sounded like my mother or grandmother. Both choices were included in the realm of impossibility. I was too scared to go back home and did not know what I would do. So I waited...

My grandparents returned at 5:00 PM that evening, and they were immediately confronted by a seemingly irrational grandson. I told them about the situation. My grandfather, a gentle man who was badly affected by my mother's death, listened up to the part where I said it sounded like my mother's s voice. He then became uncharacteristically angry and yelled at me, insisting that I "get my butt home and be sure to never talk about this again". My grandmother said nothing. I begrudgly went back home. I cautiously walked in and for a while was too scared to make a sound, still trying to piece together in my mind what had happened and looking for a viable explanation. At one point, I opened all of the windows and drapes, turned on the television, and tried to make things as cheery as possible in the house. After all, it was my house. I helped a little, but I slept with the light on for the next few nights.

Karen told a good number of people about the incident, so by the time the party rolled around that Saturday everyone was interested in my ghost whom everyone was calling "George" (I don't know why the male name; it was a female voice we had heard). At one point Karen and Mike were retelling their stories to the group of 15 (who were all sleeping over, incidentally). One girl Maria, who was feeling particularly spooked, got up and said "I am going to the restroom. When I come back I want all of this nonsense stopped. I will not stay in a house I cannot sleep in". She then said to the ceiling "And George, I will not let you ruin a perfectly good party. Keep yourself hidden". She then walked away from the group and down the hall to the bathroom. Just as she crossed under the attic door , it fell open and hit her in the back of the head knocking her to the ground. She screamed and we all went to her assistance. The attic door was one of the kind which had springs to hol! ! d it up flush against the ceiling and a ladder that folded out from it for easy access into the attic. A few years previously one of the springs had broken and the attic door hung ajar from the ceiling. To remedy this, my stepfather had put a nail in the ceiling and bent it back to hold the attic door in place. After seeing that Maria was all right, I began to fold the ladder back up and the lift the door to the ceiling explaining to everyone that the door spring were broken and that the nail had simply slipped. The door would not go up entirely, though; the nail was still in its place and had not been moved. No one slept over that night. Karen was nice enough to help me clean up and was looking very apologetic for the nights events. I kept rambling there being a reasonable explanation for all this. At one point, Karen suggested something. "I think you should move" she said. "Don't be silly" I responded. "This is my house". At that moment my stereo began blaring a! ! t a deafening volume. We looked at each other and walked over to the stereo together. I tried turning it off but it wouldn't respond. I then who looked up a Karen who was holding the cord in her hands. It was unplugged. I grabbed it from her. I looked at the cord and back to the stereo over and over, not comprehending how this could be happening. then it just stopped. I grabbed some things and slept at Karen's house that night.

The next few weeks were relatively quiet. I came home to an overflowing bathtub one night, and the lights were flashing occasionally, but nothing extremely weird. I was working at night while going to school, and came home pretty tired usually. One of these nights I came home exhausted and hungry, taking only enough time to fix myself a sandwich. I ate it and went to bed. When I walked in to my kitchen the next morning, I was quite shocked to find the entire room covered with at least an inch of small, white Styrofoam beads, the kind which stuffed animals are stuffed with. I stood and stared at the floor for what must have been a half hour. The door was locked. No one had been able to get inside. At some point I called my grandmother and asked her to come over to the house without telling her what had happened. Sensing that it was important, she came over right away. She was very confused to see me standing in the middle of Styrofoam pellets. I told her that I wa! ! nted her to see this for herself and began to explain to her what happened. She resisted, as I expected, claiming that I was sleepwalking and had done this myself. I thought about this for a moment, but then realized that we had no stuffed animals for me to rip apart in my sleep. My sister and I had thrown them away years ago. Where were the casings. Why was it only in the kitchen. How could even 20 stuffed animals produce as much stuffing as was on the floor. She had no answer and we cleaned it up silently. The next day, I had all of the locks to my house changed (I possessed the only key), locked all of the windows and taped hairs across them to make sure that they remained unopened. I vowed to face my problem with a new resolve; I was going to figure out whatever was going on. I was determined that there was a rational explanation for these incidents (quite strange for me, considering my fascination with the paranormal). In retrospect I realize that the more I! ! tried to ignore what was happeneing and to explain it away , the more things happened.

It was about this time that all hell broke loose. It would be impossible for me to recount every incident that happened over the next year. Lights flashed, doors opened and slammed closed. My stereo, which now was perpetually unplugged, would take the notion to turn itself on every now and then. I heard whispering and laughter. I would find knickknacks moved around the house. A few pieces of jewelry showed up out of nowhere. I could set something down, turn around for two seconds, and it would vanish (like the expensive fountain pen I received as a gift from a college friend; I still have never found it). I went through 17 answering machines in 1 year, since they all seemed to malfunction, four of them catching on fire. I would come home from school or work and find that picture frames had broken and glass scattered all over the house. I had a collection of Chinese corkwood creations enclosed in glass globes on my entertainment center. There were about 10 of them! ! . Over the course of a month they became smashed, one every few nights, with none of the others being touched. There is no doubt in my mind that no one was able to get into the house. Still, the TV turned on in the middle of the night. Lightbulbs exploded for no reason, even when they were not turned on. My clothes would be mysteriously spread on the floor of my entire house still on the hangers. The rocking chair would rock on its own. The phone would ring incessantly with no one on the other line. Event after event occurred, and still I was not convinced that my house was "haunted". My friends were sure that it was. When I look back I am extremely happy that so many of the events that occurred happened in full of view of sometimes more than one person. I have had to call on them many times to verify events. In fact, most of the "big" stuff happened when I was not alone. I can only imagine how strange it must have been for them to see me remain so calm and s! ! ay "There has got to be a rational explanation" when books were falling to the floor right in front of us or doors were slamming as we spoke. Needless to say, my friends slowly stopped coming by.

Mike did not stop coming over, although he spent many restless nights in the house. He once woke me in the middle of the night insisting that someone had opened the bedroom door, crossed the room and went into the closet. Upon inspection, the closet door was indeed standing ajar. Mike slept with a rosary that night. He also decided to give me a cat whom I named Phyllis. Phyllis was a pretty tabby/Persian mix who was as yellow as sunshine. She was very affectionate and loving. But she too, knew something was amis. Many times Phyllis would hiss at the wall, or arch her back at an empty doorway. She would track empty air with her eyes. I still remained unconvinced, until the day Phyllis nearly died.

I was sitting in my recliner reading a book when I heard this strange noise. I looked up to see Phyllis being pulled across the floor, only nothing was pulling her. Whatever it was had her by the neck and was not letting go. I immediately went to help her, screaming at whatever it was to "Stop it! Stop it!" and I plucked Phyllis from the floor (I felt no resistance from anything, however). She immediately had a full blown seizure for a few minutes. I realized that night, holding my cat and crying, that my house was definitely haunted.

I gave the cat to a friend of mine the next day, hoping that Phyllis would be in a better environment than the one she had just been. I also began to wonder "who" could be haunting my house. The obvious nomination was my mother. She died quickly and was troubled by mental illness beforehand. Yet she was devoutly religious and was such a kind, gentle person - even in her times of sickness. It hurt me to entertain the thought that she had not gone on to her heaven after the hard life she had led and was not at rest. Rather sheepishly, I spoke to our local priest and to my relief he agreed to bless my house. I spoke to him about the possibilities of a haunting and that I was concerned that my mother was not at rest. It did help somewhat when he, having known my mother personally, had no doubts that my mother was now in peace. He assured me that everything would be fine. I still was not convinced that the spirit in my house wasn't my mother. After all, it was her voice! ! we had all heard in the beginning. This thought bothered me for a few days until I had a dream. In the dream, my mother was sitting on my living room sofa. I walked into the room, saw her sitting there and thought "Doesn't she know that she's dead and not supposed to be here?" In the dream, I immediately picked up the phone to call my grandmother, and while I was explaining to her that Mom was sitting on the couch when she was supposed to be dead, my mother spoke up. "Son, please don't worry. I have gone on but I am so happy. So let go of me and stop grieving. I love you. Don't worry about me". Then I woke up, with tears on my face. My lights immediately began flashing off and on. I didn't know what was doing it, but I was certain that it was not my mother.

My friend Raphael had become especially assaulted at about this point. Glass items would break near him, objects hit him in the back of the head when in the house, and his car keys would always disappear regardless of the fact that they did not leave his pocket to turn up hours later in the toilet bowl, in the kitchen sink, or in an empty closet. He was fairly squeamish and our good friendship was becoming an inadequate reason to go into my house. The deciding factor for him was the night the living room light fixture and ceiling fan came crashing down on his head as he stood below it. He vowed never to enter it again, and from then on we talked outside.

I only got him into the house one more time, and that was the night I decided I had to move out. We had decided to go out to a local nightclub. I was at work into the evening and he was going to pick me up there. I had to shower and change clothes. He had suspected this and brought his brother along with us so that he would not have to be alone while I showered and changed since it was bitterly cold and he did not want to stand outside. We arrived at my house and I hurried to the shower as to not make them uncomfortable. Raphael and his brother, William, remained in my living room, talking. After showering, I stood in my bathroom mirror to shave. I put the shaving cream all over my face and began my task, setting the shaving cream can near the mirror on the other side of the lavatory. As I was looking into the mirror, the shaving cream can slammed into my chest with incredible force. I looked down in amazement and suprise, trying hard to find a rational explanatio! ! n for this and remembering how terrified Raphael would be if he knew what had just happened. I looked at the red mark on my chest and became very scared being alone in the bathroom. I wrapped a towel around myself and went into the front room. As soon as I entered, with only half of my face shaven, Raphael looked at me and said "What happened!?". I told them what I had just experienced and asked one of them to come with me while I finished shaving. Raphael would hear none of it. "There is no way I'm going in there with you" he said. William, who thought all the stories he heard were a crock, laughed saying that he would stand there while I finished. Raphael changed his mind quickly when he saw that he would be alone in the living room and followed suit to the bathroom with his brother and I.

Once there I finished shaving with no incident. I decided to then dry my hair since it was still wet (much to Raphaels dismay - he wanted to leave so badly). I wasn't talking much. I was suprised that the entity had been malicious toward me. That had never happened before. I had decided much earlier that if I would begin to see it (which never happened) or if it hurt me I would move immediately. I was now faced with moving out of my house. Just then, all three of us watched a hair spray can lift off of the counter. It stayed steady, just hanging in the air for a moment, and then it threw itself through the air toward Raphael's head. He ducked just in time, and there was a huge dent in the door from where the can struck it. I knew I would have to leave. It had won. I couldn't take anymore.

I decided to move in with some friends in a neighboring town. My grandparents could not understand why I wanted to move so badly, and I couldn't tell my grandfather the whole story. My grandmother, whom I did tell, just couldn't let herself believe me. I began to pack. During the packing process, everything seemed calm, as if it wanted to make me feel foolish for moving or as if nothing had ever happened there. As I was packing, I kept searching for items which It had taken from me during the year but I never found any. And all was quiet.

I eventually packed up everything but my living room furniture, consisting of a humongous old-time leather sofa (9 feet long and incredibly heavy - two people could barely move it), a recliner, a leather love seat, and a gigantic entertainment center with television, VCR, knickknacks and dust still on it. In order to move these items, and all the boxes I had packed previously, my new roommates Darrin and Jason and their friend Earl came over to spend the night. I had rented a couple of movies and we had pizza. We were planning to get up early the next morning and move these items and disassemble my king-sized waterbed. With no other furniture in the house, we all piled into my waterbed and slept there. I was nearest the door. Now, I had become an extremely light sleeper, as you can imagine. The slightest sound woke me, not to mention a light coming on in the middle of the night. My bed was the full-motion type, so movement made by anyone immediately woke me from sle! ! ep. I slept nearest the door to the living room. All seemed well.

The next morning I woke before anyone else. I planned on cooking everyone a big breakfast and then begin to move things directly after. I walked into my living room, still sleepy, and was stunned to find that all of my living room furniture had been turned around to face the wall. The huge couch, the recliner, the loveseat, and the entertainment center with everything on it. I was infuriated at first, imagining who could have played such a stupid joke. I was about to wake everyone when Mike pulled up at the house. He walked in to find me staring at the furniture. After we talked abut it for some time, we both came to the conclusion that it was a farewell gift from "George". No one could have gotten out of my bed; I would have felt the bed moving violently. No one could have done such a thing with no light; there were no lights turned on during the night. I had not heard a sound coming from the living room. And that couch, big as it was, could not have been moved ea! ! sily, if at all, by one person in the dark in a strange house. The entertainment center, loaded with pictures and collectibles, had completely turned itself around, not a picture or knick-knack was disturbed as evidenced by the undisturbed dust; this was impossible for any human to do. I also watched everyone's initial shock as they woke, one by one, to find what had happened.

We loaded everything that day for the move, and as I went to close the front door and lock it, I felt a sense of defeat looking at the empty house. I was angry and sad to leave my childhood home thinking of all the memories it held for me. "Good-bye, you b******" I said to the empty house. A bedroom door slamming shut was the response.

I moved in with my roommates and everything seemed all right for a few weeks. Then the lights began flashing on and off as soon as I walked into the house, and items started to disappear. Darrin came in from work one evening to find me sitting on the sofa watching television. He walked in, set his keys on the bar, and sat in the chair to ask me what I wanted to do for the evening. After some discussion we decided that we would rent movies and watch them at home. He picked up the keys so we could drive to the video store and realized that they were not his own. They were mine. After some time searching the house, we found his keys behind a picture in his bedroom, where neither he or I had gone by that point. I came home from work the next day to find my new roommates waiting to talk with me, and they both insisted that I would have to move out if the events didn't stop. They did not want a replay of the events in my house in their own. I fully understood.

I soon attended a lecture at the university I was attending on parapsychology, and spoke with the speaker about my problem. She seemed to think that I did not have a ghost, but a poltergeist. She said that my emotional stress and the changes I was going through caused me to emit waves of energy, animating the items in my home and projected voices in my mind to thin air. I had a hard time believing her, and sometimes still do. I have read up on it more and realize that all of the elements for poltergeist activity were present in my situation. I slowly began to take on some stress maintenance behavior. The lights stopped flashing soon afterward.

Many people have lived in the house since I have moved, and in some way or another I have asked each of them if they have experienced any unusual behavior. None of them have, including my sister who lives there with her husband today. I ask her about it every time I see her. I don't feel uncomfortable going in to the house, and it now represents happiness to me. It reminds me of the good times in my childhood. I feel surely that the incidents which happened were fed by my energy - either by myself directly or by some spirit running on energy it lost long ago.

I am now an adult who has accomplished many things. I am a registered nursing student, have recently married, and live in the wonderful city of Austin, Texas. I hold down a great job with a pharmaceutical company, and seem to make ends meet every month. My life is filled with many interests and loving people. My interest in the paranormal is stronger now than it has ever been, and I now seriously consider a retirement career in parapsychology. The subject can enrapture me as it always has. I still, however, stop and wonder anytime I hear a strange noise or am missing an item I just had in my hands if I am being plagued again. And I still look back in wonder at how I stayed as long as I did. But I know deep inside that "George" is gone and won't be back. Hopefully.

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