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Second Hand Stories

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Only so much can happen to one person, having told the couple of odd things I personally experienced, my family, that I trust, have told a few that stuck with me over the years.

The house where the baby cried.

When I was younger we moved often, my dad was in the military... We always seemed to visit and be around my dad's side of the family but seldom had dealings with my mothers.

My mom told the story about the house where the baby cried a few times to my older sisters, I would listen in because I was a little young for ghost stories at the time, my mother didn't want me having bad dreams and such.

As time went on it came up a few times, and when we did occasionally visit my mother's family they all referred to "The house where the baby" cried when talking about certain normal events that happened at the time.

The Story:

My mother's father, I met the man a few times but never had reason to like or know him well enough to give him the title of "Grandpa" was an U.S. Army NCO that served in WW II and made a career out of the military. He and my grandmother (who I actually got to know) had 6 children 2 boys and 4 girls.

When he was moved around several times, my grandmother kept the children in her hometown in the mountains of Tennessee because of her family all being there. He would visit when he had leave. While on leave he started moving his family into a better house than they had been living in and returned to his duty station before all the moving was done. This is the early 1950s, would have to ask to be sure of the exact year.

As soon as my mother and her family was settled in they heard the baby cry. Well, at first they assumed it was my mothers youngest sister at the time because she was a baby. They checked on her and she would be asleep. The "other baby" would cry randomly (day or night) even when someone was holding or with my aunt.

My oldest uncle was about 11 at the time and he looked that house over completely, crawled under it many times looking for the cause. He never found anything. They eventually got used to it and could tell it's cry apart from my aunt's. It did not seem to hurt anything or cause trouble other than the crying of a baby which they all said..."You get used to it."

My mother's father came home on leave several months later and heard the baby cry and assumed it was my aunt. He looked around at his wife and kids and said: "Is somebody going to get the baby?"

They all told him it wasn't "our baby" and he was noticeably shocked when he saw my mother holding my aunt not making a sound. They told him about what was going on, still he searched the house over completely, then left, came back with a truck and moved his family to another house. He never would speak about the subject again.

I have met all my mothers siblings, separately, and they all tell the story the same way. When I was in my teens we went to the site where the house once stood near Crossville Tennessee, there was no trace of a house ever being there except for the curb having a driveway access. The lot was grown over, still we waited around for a few hours listening, hoping to hear the baby cry. It did not.

If you ever heard any of my mom's family tell the story, it makes you wonder.

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My dad used to tell me stories about his grandfather, they were very close and my dad loves to listen to a good story as do I.

My great grandfather was uneducated but made up for that with much common sense. He was the son of a Confederate soldier that was killed in the Civil war.

In rural Arkansas in the very early 1900s, seems like it was 1906, not 100% sure. My great grandfather was at a bar in a small Arkansas town and a few people were telling a story about a haunted house. They were very serious about what the facts they had. After a few drinks my great grandfather said: : "That's horse sh**" They were not happy to have their story referred to as horse doodoo, so the challenge was on.

The story they told was of an old house in the area that once had prostitutes and gambling, it had been abandoned for many years. It was becoming overgrown and looked the part of a rundown haunted house. The claims were, you could still hear people rolling dice playing craps, smell perfume and hear talking.

I'm going to call my great grandfather GG because typing it out is getting really old, really fast.

GG decides to go to this haunted house of ill repute and prove it is all the afore mention horse poo. He heads to the location even though it is after dark, once he got in the house he found a spot and "Hunkered down" and waited.

Wasn't long he heard something that sounded a bit like talking and heard the dice start rolling. It was coming from the attic, so he found his way into it and "Hunkered down again." because the sounds stopped when he went up. He had put out his lantern and waited in the dark for "about 20 minutes I recon. "

When the sounds started again he struck a match and saw the rats that were dropping nuts from a hole in the roof making the dice rolling sounds. He figured it was the rats making the sounds of talking also, "They were making all kinds of squeaking and racket so I bet downstairs it sounded different through the ceilings and the walls."

He went back downstairs and got a little sleep in the cleanest spot he could find. Next morning he looked the whole place over and said the walls all smelled like cigars and the cherry wood furniture someone had been busting up and burning in the fireplace at some point.

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A few years after GG debunked the haunted house, he was on his way home from a bar. Yes, he was a bit of a drinker.

It is a pitch black moonless night but it is a road he knew well and how to get home in any circumstances. It began to sprinkle rain, but that was nothing new. Then, something hit him from the front, about waste level and knocked him down. He struck a match and didn't see a thing before it went out. He stood up and before getting his balance fully it happened again.

Once more he stuck a match and for a second he thought he saw the devil. The match went out and he stood up again, this time he had his pistol out and unloaded it about waste high from the ground. This time nothing hit him, he stood there for a few minutes, then moved from side to side a few times, struck a few matches but saw nothing. He continued home without further incident.

The next day he was heading to town and found a very angry man complaining about his black Billy goat being shot.

Not really paranormal, just something that always amused me when I heard it told.

Edited by MuddyFeet
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Redefining Success

Poor billy goat.

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