Paranormal Blog – “Test Your Courage with the Stops on this Central New York Road Trip | Haunted History Trail Of New York State”

In looking for new sites to repost worthy paranormal info and articles from, I found this site that recommends certain places in the New England North of the United States that looked awesome and had some great pictures to go with it. Each Tuesday for a while, I’m going to repost their blog articles here to share along with others.

Haunted History Trail of New York writes:

Brae Loch Inn

The stories of spirits abound in this area of New York State. History happened here, tragic tales are told, and playful spirits appear in the most unexpected of places. Start your CNY adventures by booking The Brae Loch Inn’s overnight package, a private experience including dinner and a ghostly tour. Then start exploring—a haunted amusement park, a historic hall, a train station filled with ghostly riders… whether you choose one or explore them all, you’re sure to leave this region with a spooky story to tell.  



Start your getaway with a private ghostly getaway package at this haunted inn: 

The Brae Loch Inn (Overnight with Private Ghost Tour & Dinner) Cazenovia, NY 

Located on Cazenovia Lake, book a “spirited” evening out with The Brae Loch Inn. Guests have reported seeing a ghostly girl in a blue dress offering to show them to their room—just one of the many sightings pointing to spirit activity here. A package for two includes a one-night stay at the Scottish Inn, a private ghost tour, dinner and drinks at the on-site restaurant, continental breakfast and more. Book online and ask to stay in their most active rooms, the “Mary Queen of Scots” Room 12 and “Robert The Bruce” Room 13.  


Visit these nearby locations for a guided tour or seek out the spirits on a ghost hunt:  

Chittenango Landing Canal Boat Museum

Chittenango Landing Canal Boat Museum | Chittenango, NY 

The Erie Canal workers of the 19 & 20th centuries had a superstitious nature—and maybe they were onto something. Visit Chittenango Landing and learn about the “Eerie” Canal, from a tragic boiler explosion to the death of a young boy… Guided and self-guided ghost tours are offered in-season. Call to book ahead or schedule an investigation, year-round.  


Park After Dark Ghost Tours

Park After Dark Ghost Tours Sylvan Beach, NY 

Sylvan Beach Amusement Park is known for its vintage rides and historic feel. It’s also known for being haunted—just ask the CasperCops. Book a ghost hunt (Friday & Saturday nights, each summer) and learn the legends of spirit and poltergeist activity as you venture into buildings and around the towering rides. Will you capture evidence on camera? 



Start your getaway with a meal and a spooky tale at this haunted brewery:  

Woodland Farm Brewery Taproom at The Hulbert House | Boonville, NY 

The Hulbert House was built in 1812 and played host to many notable figures from history, including Ulysses S. Grant. But its most well-known guests are not of the history books, but those visiting from somewhere beyond. Now a brewery and taproom, stop in for a beer and a bite and ask your bartender to share stories of the paranormal activity often found here.  


Visit these nearby locations for a guided tour or seek out the spirits on a ghost hunt:  

Hyde Hall

Hyde Hall | Cooperstown, NY

Over 200 years of chilling and documented paranormal activity can be found at Hyde Hall—from ghosts lingering in corridors to knocking, footsteps, and distant music. Ghost tours are offered in-season (groups of 10 or more, call ahead), with special “Hyde & Shriek” public tours each October. Not recommended for small children.  


Cooperstown Candlelight Ghost Tours Cooperstown, NY  

Cooperstown Candlelight Ghost Tours offers year-round, one-hour walking tours. The tours include stops at the National Baseball Hall of Fame, and the Christ Church Graveyard, which is reported to be haunted by slaves, servants, and the Cooper family. The most haunted street in the village, River Street, is included on the tour, featuring a trio of haunted houses – which were at one time owned by a member of the Cooper family. 


For private ghost hunts and tours, add these locations to your trip:  

Shoppes at the Finish Line

Shoppes at the Finish Line | Utica, NY

A young boy and an older man are just two of the ghosts known to greet visitors of the Shoppes at the Finish Line. Guests to the property have also shared reports of unseen forces, shadowy apparitions and furniture moving on the floors above. Investigations, ghost hunts, and special events are offered throughout the year, by appointment. 

The Stanley Theatre | Utica, NY 

In the 1920s, the Stanley Theatre stood as the gem of Utica. Today, it stands as a marvel and a mystery, with much curiosity coming from the hauntings that pervade the grand space. Guests recount hearing footsteps on an empty stage, witnessing items move on their own, and partial manifestations. Call ahead for a guided tour or ghost hunt, offered weekdays from 10-4pm.  

Union Station

Union Station | Utica, NY 

Accidental deaths near the Union Station are credited as the reason behind the long history of reported spiritual activity around the railroad. To this day, people continue to report ghost lights moving along the tracks, phantom passengers riding in the cars, and ghostly conductors pacing the platforms. Ghost hunts and investigations by appointment only. 



Start your getaway with a stay at this haunted inn:  

The Beekman House | Middleburgh, NY  

This 1835 Greek Revival Mansion was built by Nicholas Beekman to house his young family. As the years passed his son, Duryea, inherited the home taking his first—and last—breaths there. Stay the night and see if Duryea will welcome you into his former dwelling. Ask staff about the occurrences they often encounter. Open year-round for nightly bookings.  


Enjoy a meal and a spooky tale at these haunted restaurants:  

Bull’s Head Inn

Bull’s Head Inn | Cobleskill, NY 

The Bull’s Head Inn is the oldest building (1802) in Cobleskill and has served as a town hall, courthouse, temple, and inn. It was also the former home of Mrs. Grace Steacy, who was a fierce anti-alcohol advocate. So, when her former home most recently became a restaurant and bar, she decided to cause quite a stir. Dine in for a spirited meal but hang on to your cutlery, it might go flying… Ghost tours and hunts are also available.  


Grapevine Farms

Grapevine Farms | Cobleskill, NY 

Grapevine Farms offers a fun on-site experience, welcoming guests in to enjoy its bistro, wine cellar and gift shop. It also provides a great atmosphere for its otherworldly guests—such as the ghostly children who are often heard running through the halls. Visit to explore three floors of unusual activity, dine in for lunch and ask the staff to share their tales. Investigations and night-time tours are offered by appointment.  

Visit these nearby locations for a guided tour or seek out the spirits on a ghost hunt:  

Old Stone Fort Museum

Old Stone Fort Museum | Schoharie, NY 

The Old Stone Fort Museum was built as a church in 1772, fortified during the Revolutionary War in 1777 and attacked by British forces in 1780. Reported activity includes screaming sounds, a presence trying to stop guests from going upstairs, and apparitions in the doorway. Self-guided museum visits run May through October, and group tours and ghost hunts are available by reservation.  


Dr. Best House & Medical Museum

Dr. Best House & Medical Museum Middleburgh, NY 

The home of Dr. Best has seen its share of death, including the doctor’s son, young wife, and Dr. Best himself. So, it’s no surprise that paranormal investigations have revealed significant activity with EVPs and recordings of pianos and voices. Visitors are welcome to participate in guided tours and learn of eyewitness accounts of unexplained events. Special events are offered at the macabre museum throughout the year. 

All information and pictures come from

Creepypasta – “The Strange Glow” (Text)

The Strange Glow
Written By: Matthew Keller
Estimated reading time — 24 minutes

My grandfather has been acting very strange lately, and has begun sleepwalking again. For this reason it was suggested to me by my parents that I write a journal to keep myself busy, and to keep track and document my grandfather’s behavior here. They will be away in Europe for the next two weeks so while they are away, my grandfather’s well-being will be my sole responsibility.
Now back to what I was saying; he’s been very odd lately and has been displaying signs of dementia as well. He has been repetitively telling me that ‘They’ are after him, and that ‘They’ will find him soon. As expected I asked who ‘They’ are, to which he has two responses; “I don’t know,” while the other response is complete silence and confusion. These are obviously signs of paranoia. I’m not a psychologist but I can imagine these thoughts are coming from a place of both age and trauma. Trauma in the form of war, for he survived World War II as a dive bomber fighting the Japanese, and experienced much combat and the lost many friends. After the war he continued to serve in the Navy as a training pilot in the Florida keys, oftentimes going through the Bermuda triangle, the Caribbean, and the gulf of Mexico, for training purposes. He very solemnly spoke about it, it was as though he was trying to forget something, something he was still scared of, and expressed to no one.

I wish he would tell me so I could be closer to him and be able to pass these stories down to the next generation of family, but for now I will wait. I am hoping these next two weeks will bring us closer than ever before. I am going to eat dinner in a moment with him then will write some more later.

Dinner was very good and we shared a glass of wine together; everything seemed like it was going fine until a simple ray of light from the lighthouse several blocks down along the waterfront came through our windows and shined upon him. All at once he went from talking about romantic city trips in Europe with grandma to suddenly flinching and nearly trembling when the light touched him. He nearly fell out of his chair which startled me. I got up at once and asked if he was okay and having an emergency. To which he denied and begged me to close the curtains immediately. Although I was confused I did so as fast as I could.

When I turned back to question him, he was gone. He had scurried to some other part of the home. After several moments of looking inside each room I found him in the living room. All of the drapes and curtains were shut as he sat upwards in his reclining chair hidden in the darkness. I asked if he was okay, to which he responded, “Fine, just fine,” very quickly and dismissively. Obviously something is wrong. I brought the rest of his dinner and wine to him and then returned upstairs to my room to write this entry.

He’s doing it again, waking up in the middle of the night, it’s about 3:13 am right now. I hear him walking back and forth, up and down the stairs muttering to himself; I am going to carefully check on him and come back.

The experience was more than what I was ready for. I called out to him several times, but nothing had the desired effect. He still ran about the house aimlessly. I remember hearing or reading that you are not supposed to wake people while they are sleepwalking, as it can be dangerous to the sleepwalker and the waker. Well let’s just say it was just that…dangerous. I lost track of my surroundings in the kitchen and accidently got between the island and my grandfather; when he suddenly changed direction and rushed my way and crashed into me. He roared and yelled and even began to cry. I was so confused. We fell to the ground but as we did I fell in a way where he would fall onto me so I could soften the impact for him. As I helped him up he flailed his arms around wildly yelling, “No, no,” on repeat. After he knocked over the spice rack along with plates and cups which crashed to the floor he stopped at once and stood there in silence, as if frozen. I then tip-toed to the next room and watched him, unsure what I should do and how I could help him. Another tense and quiet moment passed and I watched him adjust and relax his posture.
“Michael?” he spoke, almost trembling in the dark of the kitchen.

I didn’t respond at first, as my heart nearly broke at the pain and confusion in the old veteran’s voice. He sounded as though he was a lost child rather than a former warrior of the sky.

“Michael!? Are you there Michael!?” he said louder this time.

“Yes, grandpa I’m over here.”

He turned to me and went to me at once to embrace me.

“I’m sorry my grandson…I thought I was…”

“Was what?” I interrupted.

“…Being taken away”

“Taken away where?”

“I’m not sure my boy…I’m not sure.”

“Well it’s alright now.”

I then helped him back to his room. It’s now 3:30am

Today was a quiet day at first but became a bit of an anxious one at the news we learned later as the day progressed. We watched baseball on the television and then the news. There is a storm approaching in a few days. Many news and weather channels are predicting it will become a hurricane. Chances are it will hit us in full force. So my grandfather and I went to the supermarket and the gas station to avoid the impending chaos.

The anxiety of the town is obvious, people are moving faster, more aggressively on the road. I am hoping that the storm will miss us and go around us as most storms do. I am going to make dinner now; I will write after.

Dinner went well, and I made sure that the curtains of the window which faces the lighthouse were closed prior to inviting my grandfather to the dinner table to avoid another episode of whatever it was like the previous dinner. During our meal together, I took it upon myself to ask him about his military experience. I was hesitant to ask, but I couldn’t help my own curiosity which at first I thought might be selfish, but then I realized maybe I could discover the sole source of his trauma, or at least his odd behavior.
We started off simple and chronologically; discussing his training and time in boot camp, but eventually we got to the war and surprisingly the combat part. There was a mixture of pain, anger, confusion, and hope in his voice and tone.

As he discussed the war he was well composed, organized, and detailed when explaining everything. The dates, the ships, the equipment, the scenery and sensations, the fear. It was as though we were slowly being thrown back into the cockpit of a dive bomber plane, ready to freefall from the sky at a moment’s notice, through incoming and desperate fire. It was extraordinary to me, but then he began to discuss the aftermath of the war.

I could not help notice his pace dramatically slowed down. He struggled to organize his thoughts now, and there was a worry in his voice, it was the same frail voice that was nearly choked up and trembling when he was sleep walking and when the lighthouse shined upon him.

The very thing that caused this anxiety of his was the mentioning of the post-war events much to my surprise, rather than the war itself. What specifically caught my attention was when he recalled that five planes, all of which were piloted by his friends. One day they had all gone suddenly missing during a navigation exercise. The fifth plane happened to be a rescue plane which searched for the previous four. Additionally, a sea vessel was lost as well, which my grandpa described as a work of art, almost a living work of art by the way he referred to it as ‘she’, or ‘her’. Now my grandfather was the second rescue plane at this time, and wingman to the other rescue aircraft.

When I asked what happened to them, he took a long pause.

He slowly rose and put his hands together behind his lower back and walked towards the windows of his home and gazed upon the open sea.

“I cannot say for certain,” my grandpa answered.

“I’m sure you have heard stories about where I was stationed, they have been told there for hundreds of years,” he said.

“Mom and Dad said you were stationed in Florida, that’s all.”

“Yes, Florida indeed, but when we flew during carrier drills and exercise I flew between the Florida keys, Bermuda, and Puerto Rico. That infamous and dreaded triangle cursed no doubt from centuries passed.”

“The Bermuda Triangle?” I asked him.

“Yes, also known more appropriately as the Devil’s triangle, both ships of the sea and planes of the air have perished there.”

I didn’t find this strange in the least so I asked, “Well don’t planes and ships go missing all the time?”

“Not like this they don’t, grandson, this is different, the number of disappearances there is unique to any other region on the Earth. Those twenty-seven highly trained military men I called my friends, don’t just vanish without a trace like that. I’ve sailed on every ocean, flew in every sky, and I tell you there is someone wrong with that area. Something still left unknown and a hidden secret to mankind. I often wonder…maybe I was supposed to vanish with them.”

“Nonsense Grandpa, your place is here, with me and your family.”

It was clear to me then, so much of the paranoia came from years of conditioned superstition and from traumatic survivor’s guilt.

“It’s survivor’s guilt that makes you feel this way grandpa.”

“Yeah, well maybe grandson.”

“You are safe here grandpa, nothing can harm you here, we are neither at sea nor the sky, we are right here in our pleasant seaside town.”

“You’re right boy, I apologize for getting worked up, but this town will soon be made unpleasant with the approaching storm. Let’s focus on that instead. We should get ready at once.”

He then grabbed his shoes and tossed mine over to me.

“We have no time to waste,” he said as he put his veteran baseball cap on and got his car keys.

We then began on our way to the local supermarket, and on the way we passed through town where I saw an antique store that caught my attention. I am thinking tomorrow of going bike riding and stopping there.

It’s morning now, but I awoke late last night to the sound of my grandfather yelling. At first I thought someone broke into the house because what he verbalized made it seem as though he were fighting or arguing with another person. I got up to call the cops but I forgot where my phone was, so I grabbed one of his golf clubs from my bedroom corner and ran into his room where I surprisingly found him still asleep. The blanket was half on him and half tangled beneath him. He tossed and turned while yelling, “You can’t take me away! You can’t take me away!” Then he said things that sounded like coordinates and pilot diction, codes and numbers, call signs, etc. I watched him for a moment, still unsure as to what to do, until I decided I should turn on the light with the hope it would peacefully break his dream and calmly awaken him.

However, when I turned on the light, he cried out in hysteria and rolled back and forth until he threw himself off the bed, thudding hard onto the floor. I ran to his side immediately, and saw that he was now awake, calm, and still. He looked confused but relieved.

“It was a dream?” he looked at me, asking for confirmation. I could hear it in his tone.

“Yes grandpa, just a dream.”

“No my boy, not just a dream…a nightmare.”

“Do you want to talk about it? Are you hurt at all?”

“No, and no…I am fine.”

I was unsure of what to say or do, but we looked at each other for a moment and appreciated each other’s company for a few seconds..

“Tomorrow before lunch, let’s go to church,” my grandfather said.

I wanted to please him and so I told him, “Yes, let’s go,” before I returned to my room.

I wonder why he wanted to go all of a sudden, and bring him there with him. It’s still late and writing this is putting me to sleep. I will write more tomorrow about the church and the antique store (if I visit) I’m still hoping to visit.

We went to church as planned, my grandfather and I didn’t say much to one another. With church we were both very serious about faith, and listened intently to the sermon, but one thing I took away was what my grandfather asked, “Do you really think God exists?”

I didn’t understand why he was asking me this, it seemed heavy and out of nowhere, but I answered honestly and said, “Yes I do.”

He nodded and then bizarrely asked if I believed in ghosts, to which I said I was not sure.

“What about the government, do you trust the government?”

“I’m not sure, I suppose for the most part yes, sometimes no.”

Right afterwards he asked if I believe in extraterrestrial beings, to which I said I don’t know.

He then began to go on about how if God is real then ghosts must be real, but he questioned how God would banish them to an existence in between life and death. To this statement I didn’t know how to respond. Now with aliens he explained how every star in the sky is a sun, and each sun has planets, and each planet has moons, and how basically with all of the infinite number of worlds out there, it was unlikely that our world was the only one that could sustain life. I still remained unsure as to why he was telling me this. Maybe he was just trying to make conversation, and so I joked that perhaps there were alien ghosts on other planets, but this did not amuse him. In the next instant that followed the priests blessed us, “Go out into the world, and go with God”, and mass ended.

After mass ended, my grandfather insisted we stay longer and pray, but I had run out of things to pray for, so he advised me to pray for peace and calm; and when everyone left we still remained.

At first it was easy to respect my grandfather’s wishes but then things became awkward as I watched him with his eyes closed in silence.

“Michael, won’t you pray with me, repeat the words I say.”

I waited unsure of what he would say, but eager to appease him and anxious to leave before the antic store closed, it closed early on Sundays.

I then told him yes and so I said the following with my grandfather:

“Thou O Lord, who stillest the raging of the sea, hear; hear us, and save us, that we perish not. O blessed Savior, who didst save thy disciples ready to perish in a storm, hear us, and save us, we beseech thee. Lord, have mercy upon us. Christ, have mercy upon us.

He slowly arose while he blessed himself and beckoned me to follow him. Once we were outside I took my bike I had tied to a telephone pole on the main street, my grandfather had driven there separately.

“Will I meet you at home?” he asked.

“I’m going to stop at the antique store.”

“Okay, I’m going to read yesterday’s paper, once you get home we will go to the grocery store again together.”

He looked intensely at the sky, which still remained a blue Sunday. He then spoke.

“That storm will be coming, we better prepare for the onslaught of people attacking the store.”

I remember telling him sure and then proceeded to pedal to the antique store.

When I arrived at the store I was immediately drawn to the binoculars in the window, and when the owner greeted me, I asked her right away the price of them.

“$100 exactly,” she said.

My parents had given me $200 for the 10 days I was here even though I had a job and was using vacation days.

“They’re for my grandfather I said, he’s a World War II combat veteran, fought in the Pacific, I think these are navy issued, I’m sure he’d love them, are they World War II era?”

“Yes, those are World War II era, and who is your grandfather?”

“Old man McCullen.”

“Ah! I know him, always wearing his veteran’s cap, he’s a legend in this town, a fine gentleman,” the woman said.

“Alright, $75 for you,” she said.

“That’s very nice of you, it’s a deal, thank you,” I told her.

I was very excited, a surprise gift for my grandfather. I had every intention of giving them to him after we ate.

When I got back home we quickly made our way to the local supermarket where each register was open and easily had a dozen people per line. The chit-chat was loud and audible and the panic and haste was evident. Many couples and families went together and were shouting to each other blindly, communicating from isle to isle. Other people throughout the isles were simply grabbing everything they could. Many were hoarding the paper products, others baby formula; while most went for milk, eggs, and bread.”

My grandfather leaned towards me and said, “Don’t follow those idiots, grabbing the most perishable goods in the store. Go grab some pasta and rice, and beans in a can. If we lose electricity or whatever the case may be, we’ll have things to last without refrigeration.”

I of course followed my grandfather’s guidance and did as he asked. When we were finished my grandpa seemed agitated again.

“Let’s go, we have enough,” he rushed. “I don’t trust these people. Desperate people are the hardest to trust, and people in a panic are the hardest to reason with.”

I simply nodded and we made our way out.

The hours blended and seemed to pass quickly and before I knew it I was closing the shades and double locking all the doors of my Grandpa’s home. We had pasta with tomato sauce, and he hard boiled enough eggs to last the week in anticipation of the hurricane. He then went over to his record player and began playing big band and jazz music from the 40s. He was quieter than usual, but his hands seemed as though they were trembling as he unwrapped a small candy. I broke the silence with an impulsive question, no doubt ruining the music as well. “Have you gone to the doctor lately?”

“What, why is that?” he responded.

“Well you’re shaking a lot? Is it early Parkinson’s? blood pressure or diabetes related?”

He looked at me with surprise, “Listen kiddo, I survived World War II, if the Japs didn’t get me, an extra candy won’t either.”

“Are you worried; anyone will get you?” I asked again like an idiot half realizing what I said.

“What did you say?” he said defensively.

“It’s just that…you saw how panicked the people looked,” I quickly said.

“It’s not them I’m concerned about,” he responded.

Once again I wasn’t sure who he was referring to, and he hadn’t been to the doctor recently. Who is to say it wasn’t dementia or paranoia. I refrained again from pressing him further, and decided inside to calm the mood.

“Grandfather, you have survived my line of questioning,” I joked, “I think you deserved a bit of a reward for that,” I added.

He laughed, “And what is that?”

I got up from my seat and went over to my room, quickly grabbed the box of binoculars, and placed it over where my grandfather was seated. Facing me and the front door. The light of the setting sun outlining the closed black curtains, making them glow gold.

“What is this? This is a nice surprise,” he commented as he opened the box.

“My Lord…” he paused, seemingly stunned and unsure how to respond.

“I haven’t used these since…since….” he struggled to find the words.

I couldn’t tell if he liked it or not as he was stuck on repeat.

“Since your time in the service,” I added.

“Yes…it’s a nice gift,” he said as he fidgeted to return the binoculars.

I didn’t say anything, but I was most likely visibly disappointed.

He tried to speak, “My boy…I…” he couldn’t finish, but kept trying.

“It’s just that the sun is setting…I…I suppose I could use them really quick, maybe spot a ship like I used to.”

I became satisfied in this moment, and thought maybe this is how his weird habit of frantically closing the blinds would end. It didn’t make sense, why have a home on the shore, with a beautiful view of the bay, the lighthouse, sunrise, and sunset, and not utilize it? Where did this phobia of the lighthouse come from?

My grandfather rose from his chair and slowly turned from me and approached the curtains. He muttered something to himself and seemed to take a few deep breaths. Next he raised the binoculars to his eyes and then gazed at the horizon. For a moment all was still and silent.

I watched him, not daring to move, worried he was on the fringes of having an episode, but at the same time my love for gift giving hoped that he would be able to relax his mind and enjoy his present. For a moment I was right, he laughed a bit, now and then, as though he were a toddler with a toy, but then for reasons unknown that laughter became near sobs and a whimpering. He banged the binoculars against the glass while his eyes were still fixed to them. He did this multiple times and spoke incoherently.

“Stop grandpa! Grandpa stop!” I yelled at him, but it only got worse. I ran over to him and nearly ripped the binoculars from his face.

“Nooooo!” he yelled. Pushing me away forcing me to the floor.

“What is wrong!?” I shouted.

He then yelled out, “Look!” as he accidently hit me in the face with the binoculars, almost immediately giving me a small fat lip.

Although I was aggravated I took the binoculars and looked towards the clouds on the horizon. They were dark as nightmares, and seemed as thick as a land mass, like a floating piece of land in the sky.

I lost my temper for a moment as I shouted at him, “It’s just storm clouds!”

I repeated to him what he had told me in the supermarket, “Desperate people are the hardest to trust, and people in a panic are the hardest to reason with.”
He calmed himself down and then threw the curtain closed. He apologized for his outburst and for my lip, gave me a hug, and then said right before he ascended the stairs to his room, “It’s inside the clouds now, it won’t be long.”

I stood there with my heart still vibrating in my pounding chest from his outburst. It was only a storm, yet it had such a psychological strain on everyone in the town, evidently including my grandfather now.

I spent the rest of the afternoon time napping, but I soon awoke in the early twilight to the sound of Sinatra’s version of, “Stormy Weather,” echoing throughout the halls from downstairs.
“Don’t know why there’s no sun up in the sky, stormy weather since my gal and I ain’t together, Keeps rainin’ all the time,” the lyrics went dancing along the hallways, room to room.

“Come on down!” my grandfather called when he saw me at the top of the stairs with a big smile on his face.

As I descended I noticed an assortment of grapes, crackers, cheeses, and a couple glasses of red wine. This was no doubt his way of apologizing to me for his outburst, and at the same time creating an atmosphere so contrary to before that it would be inappropriate to mention and ruin the mood he now tried to sustain.

When I sat down he pushed my wine closer to me, as the song continued, “All I do is pray the Lord above will let me, walk in the sun once more.”

“Ha, I flew in the sun once, never mind walking it, and I feel as though I’ll fly in it once again,” My grandfather said as he swayed back and forth, with his glass of wine to his face. I helped myself to a few sips of the red blend and observed my grandfather sit down. He took a heavy gulp and then raised something from a small wooden box on his side of the table. I then noticed that it was a large pistol, specifically his world war II M1911 .45 caliber pistol. Next to the box I now noticed dirty and moist rags next to paper towels, he had just finished cleaning it. He then inserted an ammunition magazine into the base of the pistol and tapped it into place and then pulled back the slide before releasing it, sending the slide back into position and effectively loading a round into the chamber.

“It’s loaded,” he said half matter of fact and half warningly.

“Why did you take it out?” I asked.

“Don’t be a naïve boy, robberies and burglaries, riots, they always happen during these storms. This is for self-defense just in case.”

I didn’t mind the firearm, but what I did mind instead was my grandfather’s mental health and drinking around the firearm.

“You know how to shoot?” he asked me.

“I’ve shot a time or two,” I responded.

“Good…this one’s for you,” he said as he pulled out a small .38 snub nose revolver.

“Don’t I need a license for that?” I asked.

“Don’t leave the house with it and you’re fine,” he answered.

I wasn’t sure if that was legal or not but I nodded rather than challenged him.

After a short moment passed the record ended. It was silent inside the house now, but outside, the winds began to gain velocity. Twilight was nearly over, and so I allowed my curiosity to let me peek through the dark shades and observe the outside world. The waves were crashing larger and louder than usual, The beach front landscape began to twist and morph, the flags in the front yards of homes blew violently, whipping hard in the air. All the buoy bells and wind chimes rattled and sounded off. Up in the sky flocks of birds hurried away in formation. Slowly but surely the winds began to howl. I closed the blinds and took a step back.

“Do not worry my boy, it is just a storm, it will pass as all storms do, but be ready for anything. Now come get dinner.”

I am not sure if I have the right words to explain what came next, what my grandfather and I faced. But it is important that I do my best to recall the events with as much accuracy as I can, for all the sakes of the police, my family, and for myself.

The rain came down upon our house like machine gun fire. Loud, furiously fast, and seemingly endless. The thunder cracked like bombs above us, and we could detect the flashes of lightning when they lit up the dark globe for a moment, visible even through the drawn dark shades. Now and then that unrelenting lighthouse would flash its lamplight our way. In the distance fog horns of ships sounded off, and close by the noise of garbage cans flying across the pavement and yards filled our ears. The thunderclaps set off car alarms, neighborhood dogs barked, and the wind wailed and tackled everything in their path.

My grandfather and I had suddenly lost power, but we were not phased as we knew it was inevitable. We struck candles and placed them throughout the home. It was then I heard a loud bang against the side door which led directly to the garbage cans. Behind the garbage can was another gate, which when opened gave you direct access to the beach.
At first I thought nothing of it of course, but then the banging was nonstop, as if someone was there. I peeked outside of the window closer to the door but I could not see anything. Again I heard the noise this time much heavier. Heavy enough to catch my grandfather’s attention and his suspicion.

I went to open the door, but my grandpa ran over and threw himself in front of it.

“There is no one there, it’s just the wind!” he said in excitement.

Suddenly another loud bang struck the front door, and then both doors at once.

We looked at each other without saying a word. I could feel the feverish fear radiating from his face and knew that only paranoia and panic could follow. Without any other hesitation he withdrew his 1911 from his waistband and held it firmly in his right hand. He stared at me blankly for a moment before he leaned in to whisper in my ear, “They’re here.” He then hopped over to the table and grabbed the snug nose .38, and carefully handed it to me.

As my fingers grasped the pistol my heart began to race, and my breathing became heavy and difficult.

“What is happening?” I asked.

There is no time to explain.

“We should call the police,” I said.

He dismissed this saying, “It’s too late they’re here now, they’re finally here.”

He ran across the room and threw himself against the wall besides the front door. A third banging now began on where the garage door was located. I looked over to my grandfather, who calmly spoke, “ Aim towards the door sonny.”

I could not comprehend what or why quick enough, but before I could blink my grandfather threw the door open and then turned to face what was on the doorstep.

But nothing was there.

“Cowards!” he shouted, his voice muffled by the wind which ripped the screen door from its hinges and hurled it into the street. My grandfather leaned into the regular door and managed to close it.

“It’s the storm!” I shouted.

“NO! THAT’S WHAT THEY WANT YOU TO THINK!” he boomed inside the home, as though still competing with the volume of the wind.
He approached the side door, this time grabbing a flashlight. He slowly opened the door this time as if it were a surprise for whoever was at the door. In another swift movement my grandpa had light and pistol faced towards the threshold, but this too was empty

Now I couldn’t see what my grandfather saw then, but he shined his light around in the darkness of the hurricane, shining it down upon the sand. Every few movements the area was visible by the prevailing lighthouse.

He turned to me; his face already red with windburn. “The footprints! The footprints!” he said.

“YOU FUCKERS!” he shouted out as he then ran outside. Leaping into the darkness.

I was frozen, unsure as to what was occurring. The storm and rain continued but the banging on our property ceased the moment my grandfather exited.

I stood there scared and perplexed and wondered, were there actually people that caused the banging? They moved like spirits, spirits that somehow knew that my grandfather had left the premises. What did they want? Was it simply the wind? Had my Grandpa finally snapped and lost his mind? All of these questions wrestled inside my puzzled mind as I tightly gripped the snug nose in my hand still.

I then heard what I thought sounded like a gunshot. I went to call the police but in the excitement I had forgotten where I placed my phone, that was when I heard a second gunshot.
I took a deep breath and then ran outside clumsily collapsing into the fence and taking cover there. From there I would run then dive onto the sand while the lighthouse light passed, so as not to be found by whatever my grandfather chased after. I looked behind me for footprints, to see where my grandfather’s and his enemies’ were, but the hurricane winds erased even my own. There was not a single trace of my grandfather or anything.

I ran on, blind in the dark, timing the lighthouse light and my dives every seven seconds. The winds of the hurricane blowing the sharp sand against me, passing my ears with the volume of passing trains, just an endless blast of white noise. I squinted, but it was as good as having my eyes shut, and so I shut my eyes and ran like a maniac in the abyss. I couldn’t hear my panting but I knew my heart was pounding; I held the gun firmly and covered to run out. Each time I went to call out my grandfather’s name I received sand in my mouth. With not a clue if I ran straight or in a mindless circle, I determined that my best course of action was to return back to the shelter of the house.

The second I decided on this and turned around, boom! Something heavy, maybe driftwood, struck my head and sent me crashing down flat on my back. I rolled over in pain, hot moist blood was dripping from my head and staining my hair. I couldn’t see it but I felt it dripping all over. Soon I was dizzy and fell to the ground, and began to crawl.

When suddenly the beach all around me was lit up. The lighthouse lamp might have become jammed or broken for it was now stuck in the direction I looked.

Next I noticed my grandfather some thirty feet from me staring at the sky, unphased by the elements, fixated on whatever was above him and slowly raising his pistol towards the sky. Through my squinting eyes I saw above us what appeared to be a large helicopter suspended and hovering in the sky with its lights as well fixed on my grandfather as if he were an actor on stage under a large spotlight. I then noticed that the light upon us and the surrounding maybe fifty to a hundred feet around us was not from the lighthouse but from this aircraft over the ocean.

I put my hands around my eyes then as if my hands were binoculars shielding my eyes, and looked around me, trying to call out to my grandfather, “Grandpa! What’s going on!?”

I could now see the blood from my head dripping off my wet and sandy hands.

“I’M HURT, LET’S GO HOME, LET’S GET OUT OF HERE!” I strained my vocals.

I could not compete with the overpowering volume of the wind and my grandpa still remained still like a statue. So I ran towards him, getting hit with my debris from the wind, until I crashed into him, which snapped him out of his stupor.

“AHHHHH!” he yelled, just barely audible over the storm. He readjusted his arm and aim and began to frantically fire bullets at the helicopter above us. I threw myself to the ground beneath him so as not to get hit, I could feel the hot shells that ejected from the pistol sprinkle down on me, I reached for my own waist band and realized my pistol was gone, buried no doubt in the sand somewhere.

My grandfather continued to reload and fire uninterrupted and without hesitation. There was terror and horror in his face. I peered up at the aircraft and a second light seemed to come from where the ocean reaches the beach. I could not tell if my eyes played tricks on me but it looked as if a large vessel was becoming beached, and passed on by as if it were a ghost ship.

Was this the case of his terror? Was this thing part of the aircraft above? Was it the navy or the Coastguard? I could not tell. I was overwhelmed by exhaustion, pain, confusion, the storm, and my grandfather’s terror.

My grandfather pulled out his last magazine and turned to me. He then grabbed me by my shirt and pulled me close enough where our faces almost touched. He then yelled in my ears with all of his might.


I went to move but I was frozen as if my feet were buried in the sand.

My grandfather then turned to me and pointed the pistol at me.

“Holy shit! Stop your crazy” I said automatically. The fear unlocked my feet and I began to run aimlessly in the opposite direction.

I don’t know what compelled me to do it, maybe it was instinct but I ran to the nearest dune I could find and from there watched my grandfather shoot his final bullets, standing there with defiance against his unknown enemy.

‘Why didn’t they or this thing shoot back or run away?’

It was madness, everything was bewilderment and madness, and my vision was beginning to blur and by now I was consciously fighting off oncoming unconscious through the onslaught of the sands and the grueling pain from the wood’s impact with my head.

Just then after shielding my eyes as though my bloody hands were binocular I watched my grandfather, and something in the nearing distance like a massive wall was coming closer and closer. I noticed it then to be a massive wave, like a tidal wave.

I stood up in shock and screamed for my grandpa as loud as I could, but without a moment without further warning or time to react, suddenly he was gone!

Gone just completely gone! And then the wave hit the beach, and the lights from above vanished. All at once without reason or explanation. I stood up on the high dune, watching the black water cover the less dark by contrast sand. The lighthouse now resumed as normal, as if it were never interrupted. I went to go shout for my grandfather again but something thunderous above me boomed, the storm increased, and completely depleted I surrendered to my exhaustion and collapsed. My world was now completely engulfed in silence and darkness.

When I woke up yesterday I was in the hospital, I woke up with stitches and bruising and was soon released. Upon returning to my grandfather I wrote everything I could remember the second I got home. Backtracking though, when I did wake up my aunt and uncle shared a room with me, and upon seeing me open my eyes they alerted the nurses and a police officer who came in from just outside the door.

They greeted me and asked if I was okay, but before I could answer they said I had suffered a minor concussion and a few stitches on head, and had only been asleep for several hours. They also let me know that the police patrolling the shore found me with their search lights. When I asked about my grandfather, they said they regretted to be the ones to tell me, but that he was missing and with no clues as to how or where. They were hoping I could assist them. It all came back to me in a flash, all the confusion and excitement and fear rushed back into me. I could not hide my excitement and they saw it. The police officer stepped forward and suggested I come by the station when I felt better to give any witness statement or testimony as to what occurred and what I knew.

I have made copies of everything I have written, with the hopes that someone will understand or can explain everything.

It’s been a few months now, and my grandfather is still missing, and presumed dead due to drowning. I want to believe that…I really do, but the memories are still fresh, and are still perplexing to me. I cannot help but reflect on the conversation I had with him in church, about ghosts, extra-terrestrials. Did the ghost ship come for him? Something from another world? I cannot help wondering if he was just insane from the war and whatever mysterious circumstances followed him were just coincidences. Did an advanced intelligence take him? It drove me nearly crazy and has kept me up for what seems like endless nights now; to the point I needed to have sleeping pills prescribed to me. So many questions, I know. Was this all just madness, was it an instance or an experience that happened in a single moment and drove him mad? Was it triggered by the storm? Was there something he witnessed in the sky or in the ocean that day his friends disappeared, did he see it again the night of the hurricane?

Did he know too much? Was he better off dead to some than to linger alive?

Or was it simply that his mental ailments had too much of an influence on me while I was nearly isolated with him for just under two weeks? It was like contagious paranoia. I have to have answers, and I want to believe that he just had a mental episode triggered by the coast guard or the storm, and that a wave did in fact claim his life.

A fitting death for a naval man. Fighting until the last breath, and being consumed and buried, really as if returned, to the ocean where all the madness, power, and haunting memories belonged.

Please God, I pray, please let him be dead and reunited with grandma or his beloved ocean, and unharmed by forces I can never explain.

Read this story and more on Creepypasta at

Paranormal Blog – “Hunt For Ghosts Galore on an Albany Road Trip | Haunted History Trail Of New York State”

In looking for new sites to repost worthy paranormal info and articles from, I found this site that recommends certain places in the New England North of the United States that looked awesome and had some great pictures to go with it. Each Tuesday for a while, I’m going to repost their blog articles here to share along with others.

Haunted History Trail of New York writes:

New York State Capital Hauntings

Surrounding our state capital, in the Greater Albany area, there are establishments holding history that will intrigue… and frighten you. From the spirits that haunt the New York State Capitol to tours through a district that was once the site of a terrible massacre – it seems that spirits and spooks can be found around every turn. 

Start your getaway with a stay at this haunted inn:  

Historic Hotel Broadalbin

Historic Hotel Broadalbin | Broadalbin, NY

This beautiful hotel holds unsettling history—once known as the Keeley Cure inebriate hospital, where inhumane “treatments” were performed to cure alcoholism. Causing pain, blindness, even death, this facility was eventually shut down, but its unfortunate patients still remain. Book an overnight in the hotel or enjoy a meal at its 1854 Pub & Eatery, where you can ask the staff about their own experiences with the paranormal. 


Visit these nearby locations for a guided tour or seek out the spirits on a ghost hunt:  

Eerie Albany Ghost Tours | Albany, NY

Hosted by Discover Albany, embark on a guided tour to learn about the ominous spirits that haunt buildings of Downtown Albany. You’ll hear about the souls that venture through the area from the other side, including a ghostly figure that lingers past closing time at the historic Olde English Pub. Tours are available by appointment, March-October. 

New York State Capital Hauntings

New York State Capitol Hauntings Tour (Fall Only) | Albany, NY

In the New York State Capitol, you’ll find more than a century of legislative history in the walls of the 19th-century architectural grandeur. There are also sinister mysteries of the past that are waiting to be discovered, including the building’s most notorious carvings and the deadly fire of 1911. Take a tour and learn more about its spirits, legends, folklore and tales of unexplained occurrences connected to the historic State Capitol. Tours offered in the fall only, September-October. 


Schenectady’s Historic Stockade District

Schenectady’s Historic Stockade District Schenectady, NY

Every neighborhood has a past… The historic stockade district was once the site of a bloody massacre in 1691, and what followed were stories of more killings, curses and hauntings in almost every building on the street. Take one of two guided ghost tours—the “Colonial Hauntings” or “Ghostly Victorian” tour—and more about these stories. Private candlelight tours can be booked year-round by reservation.  


Fulton County Historical Society

Fulton County Historical Society Gloversville, NY

Through its collection of artifacts that span from the earliest years of the county through 2018, visiting this museum is a wonderful way to learn about the history of Fulton County. It’s also a place where spooky occurrences have been captured by paranormal teams from around the state. Museum volunteers and staff have stories of their own, including already closed doors slamming shut and a model train operating on its own accord. 


For private ghost hunts and tours, add this location to your trip:  

The Knox Mansion

The Knox MansionJohnstown, NY

This once lavish mansion has 42 rooms, an elevator, grand staircase, and a solid lava ash fireplace that was imported from Italy. And with all that grandeur, it also has a few ghosts. Built by businessman Charles Knox, the home is said to be haunted by his wife Rose, among others. Call ahead to investigate the hauntings through guided historical and haunted tours. Special events are also held throughout the year.

All information and pictures come from

Creepypasta – “The Littlefork Bodysnatchers” (Text)

The Littlefork Bodysnatchers
Written by Andrew Layden:

Estimated reading time — 12 minutes

Over the past few decades, a disturbing rumor has spread throughout the backwoods settlement of Littlefork. People there tell tales of so-called “alternates,” who kidnap and impersonate the small town’s residents. Taking the form of their victims, they appear human at first glance. But the alternates possess uncanny facial features like dead, bulging eyes and unusually long limbs.

Of course, none of this concerned Dr. Emma Wilton. She was in search of another Littlefork legend: the ivory-billed woodpecker. Once the largest woodpecker in the US, the bird was now considered extinct by most ornithologists, Emma included. Although the last official sighting of the bird occurred in 1941, some in the area claimed to have seen a large bird with shiny black plumage not unlike those of the ivory-billed woodpecker.

Emma made the trip to Littlefork alone, stopping first at the town’s only hotel. An old, rickety porch wrapped around the front of the building. There two older men sat in wicker chairs with smoldering cigarettes between their fingers. They watched Emma with a blank stare. Smoke spilled from their lips.

Inside, a portly woman sat behind the counter. She sighed as Emma approached as if annoyed that she actually had to work. “Can I help you?” she asked.

“Yes. I booked a room. It should be under Robert Monroe,” Emma said.

The woman blinked long and slow. “You’re not Robert Monroe.”

“No. But the room was booked for two people.”

“That’s right,” the receptionist said.

“And I’m the second person. I’m Emma Wilton.”

“I see,” the woman said, “And where is Mr. Monroe?”

“He decided not to come.”

“Why not?”

“That’s personal.” Emma forced a smile, but it was hard to hide the irritation in her voice.

“Well, I can’t let you stay in the room. It’s booked under his name.”

Emma sucked her teeth and glanced around the dingy interior of the hotel. Aside from the two men out front, the place was dead. “Meaning no offense, but this doesn’t look to be a busy hotel.”

“None taken,” the receptionist replied dryly.

“What are the chances someone would come to the hotel and correctly guess the name of a guest?”

The fat receptionist pushed a greasy strand of hair behind her ear and shrugged. “Company policy. You can call him if –”

“No,” Emma said quickly. “You must have his number on file. How about you call him? Okay?”

With a sigh, the woman picked up the phone and dialed Robert’s number. While they waited for him to pick up, Emma paced around the lobby. She stopped by a bulletin board, which only had two papers pinned to it. One was a flier for a local concert scheduled for two months ago. The other was a wrinkled notice about a missing girl. According to the faded, black letters, the girl’s name was Ashley. She had disappeared two years ago at the age of sixteen. Sad. But again, it was none of Emma’s concern.

While the receptionist dialed Robert’s number a second time, the old men from the porch entered. “Don’t get many visitors,” said the first. He was missing most of his teeth, and his breath reeked of tobacco.

“Not safe around these parts,” said the second. He had thin, shriveled lips that seemed to stretch to the edges of his face. He pointed to the missing person poster on the bulletin board.

Emma offered a polite smile. “I’m just here for the forest,” she said.

“That’s exactly the place you need to avoid. There’s a killer in those woods. Done skinned poor Ashley, and she ain’t the only one,” the toothless man said.

“Not so. Wasn’t no killer,” the other said. His friend shook his head and sighed. “They say she was seen in the neighbor’s barn. But she wasn’t nothing but a cheap copy. A fake.” An alternate. Emma had heard the tales, but she didn’t have the energy to argue with a couple of old men.

“Yes, well, I will be careful. Thank you for your concern.”

Fortunately, Emma was called over by the receptionist, who happily informed her that she could not reach Robert. Having left him a message, the receptionist told Emma she could leave her luggage and walk around the town in the meantime. It was just as well. She had had enough of the hotel and the irritating people inside it.

With a camera slung around her neck, Emma decided to venture into the forest for an early start on her research. The ancient woodland encircled Littlefork on all sides. Like a fetid, green shadow, it lurked behind every building and at the end of each road. However, there were no entrances into the Littlefork Forest. They had all gone unused and overgrown with vegetation. Gnarled branches crossed over one another like a wall of mossy veins, and from the earth rose tall reeds of grass that hid the forest interior from view.

Just behind the hotel, Emma found a small gap in the trees. Petite as she was, she managed to slip through without much effort. Yet, just as she disappeared into the shaded woods, Emma felt a cold gaze on her neck. She glanced back and saw the men from the hotel watching her. Their faces were blank and expressionless.

She thought nothing of it. Emma had more pressing matters on her mind. After her conversation with the receptionist, she began to think about Robert Monroe. An esteemed ornithologist like herself, Robby was a silver-tongued man with a chiseled jaw and piercing, blue eyes. And whether by luck or sheer force of will, he was also the sort of man that acquired anything his heart desired. So it wasn’t long before Emma fell under his charms and into his bed.

In between their frequent bouts of lovemaking, Emma and Robby found time to collaborate on academic ventures. Even professionally, they had chemistry. Their interests and ideas always complemented one another, and together they had published a few papers. So, as their personal and professional lives faded into one another, Emma found herself thinking about Robby at all hours of the day. And in time, her thoughts turned to the future.

This would not be a problem for any other couple in a relationship. However, from Robby’s perspective, they were not in fact in a relationship. Therefore, when Emma began discussing her desire to have a daughter one day and how lovely their own children might look, Robby decided to set the record straight. He also decided it would be healthy for them to go their separate ways.

Emma cursed herself for being so oblivious. Part of her hoped this search for the ivory-billed woodpecker would train her to be more attentive. Yet, as she looked around at the expansive canopy of trees, she saw no creatures, not even a squirrel or a sparrow. She listened for the repetitive tap tap tap of a woodpecker’s beak. But Emma heard only a soft, sighing wind and the groan of shifting branches.

Woodpeckers have a particular fondness for dead trees. So Emma followed a path of decay to deeper and darker sections of the woods, where hollowed oaks and twisted beeches lay in toppled wrecks. Shadows played against their shattered bodies as the sun descended into evening.

While Emma gazed around in search of the bird, she noticed a rustling among the trees. At first, she thought it might be the rustle of a creature in the canopy. But whatever made the sound was bigger. As it moved through the forest, it shook entire trees so that their rotten trunks bent and snapped. Emma could even feel the ground tremble as the beast drew near.

Backing up slowly, Emma raised her camera. Through the lens, she glimpsed a small fraction of what lumbered through the trees. At once, she grew sick from that oozing and unwholesome form riddled with scabrous growths and hair-like filaments. The creature uttered a gurgling moan. Panic filled her, and she staggered backward in fear.

As a fleshy tendril reached towards Emma, her foot slipped on a twisted root, and she tumbled down a hill. The hill was not so tall or steep to warrant concern. However, when Emma fell backwards, her head struck the corner of a jagged rock. The last thing she remembered before her vision went dark was the crunch of her camera beneath her.

No doubt concussed from the head trauma, Emma passed between bouts of waking and unwaking. And in that limbo between dream and reality, she saw herself carried away by a looming mass of writhing flesh. It wrapped her in its moist appendages and stroked her belly in a swift, obsessive circle. Although terrifying to look at, the creature was not evil in itself. On the contrary, it doted over her well-being with warm, gentle touches not unlike a mother with her child.

Once Emma came to, she found herself in a cave on a bed of moss. Moonlight shone through a hole in the stone ceiling. It fell on her like a pale spotlight upon a stage. Yet, as far as Emma could tell, there was no audience watching her.

The comforting environment eased her nerves to a small degree. Emma found herself able to rationalize all that had happened. She told herself the beast was nothing more than a mangey bear. Frightened, she had tripped and fallen through the hole in the cave ceiling. All that nonsense about being tended to by a fleshy monster was nothing more than a dream.

Indeed Emma felt completely calm and rational. Her only concern was the gash atop her head. But judging by the dried clumps of blood in her hair, the wound had already clotted. In addition, Emma still felt sick to her stomach. No doubt, it was a lingering effect of that revolting and wholly imagined nightmare.

A low chatter rumbled through the cave, and Emma saw a shadow play against the walls. She looked around for her camera but found it was missing. “Hello?” she said. There was no reply. “Is someone there? I’m hurt.” But no one answered.

Emma got to her feet. Her stomach flopped, and her head dizzied. Regardless, she pushed ahead. She had to get back to the hotel. No doubt, the receptionist would have something snarky to say. But she needed proper medical care and a bed. Hopefully, Robby had returned the receptionist’s message.

As Emma stumbled down the dank passages of the cave, she came upon a group of childlike drawings scrawled in chalk. Under the slanted moonlight, these drawings depicted happy families with wide, goofy smiles. Innocent as they were, there was something off about the drawings. The family member’s forms and expressions were stretched and skewed as if the artist did not fully understand the human body.

What’s more, there was a sketch of some other form. Not by any stretch of the imagination could it be confused with a human. Long, cystic limbs surfaced from spotted globs of flesh while lidless eyes bulged from sparsely hairy masses. It was not certain what this abomination had to do with the grinning families, but it was certain Emma had seen it before.

Emma pressed on through dank and dreary tunnels. She followed broad, smoothed out paths that coiled this way and that. She trudged past cold, inky pools whose depths she could not fathom. All the while, her head ached, and her stomach panged. She clutched her gut. It was bloated and firm.

After a seemingly endless sequence of passages, Emma came upon the exit. The first morning light peaked above the horizon, penetrating the forest in pale swaths. Had she really been in the cave that long? It didn’t matter. Emma had entered the forest from the east. If she followed the rising dawn, she could find her way back to Littlefork.

Just then, a guttural bellow erupted behind her, and Emma heard the dull scrape of flesh against stone. At once, she ran into the forest as fast as she could. She ran without looking back, knowing she wouldn’t like what she saw.

And yet, despite her desperation, Emma could only run so fast and so far. Her feet were heavy, and her stomach throbbed with acute pain. When she could force herself no longer, she leaned against the trunk of a rotted birch and gazed down at the source of her pain.

Her belly was massive. She pulled up her shirt to get a better look. Blue veins struck sharp paths across her skin. And although there was no obvious sign of injury, that didn’t rule out the possibility of internal bleeding. Judging by the size of her gut, the bleed was serious. Without help, it would certainly prove fatal.
Emma placed her hand on her stomach and thought of Robby. All she had wanted was love and the joy of a child. But now Robby was gone, and she would bleed to death in some forsaken forest, afraid and alone.

But Emma was not alone. As if reaching out for her hand, an infant limb stretched against the walls of Emma’s abdomen. She stared at her stomach in disbelief. But there was no denying what she had seen and felt. Something was inside of her.

The sudden pregnancy shocked Emma so much that she had almost forgotten why she had run into the forest in the first place. Behind her, the branches groaned and cracked. A mucousy heap of changeable limbs dragged itself into view. On its raw and oozing flesh, gaping eyes peered down at Emma. And though she saw no mouth that could utter a sound, Emma heard a shapeless baying as if of some great and terrifying hound.

By now, Emma knew there was no point to running in her current condition. She wouldn’t make it far. Already her body tensed with vicious contractions in an attempt to expel the growing parasite. So she fought back by flinging both rocks and obscenities. But by the sound of it, the creature was hurt more emotionally than physically; for it merely suffered Emma’s attacks with a disappointed whimper.

Although the revolting beast did not leave, it at least kept its distance. Its engorged eyes peered through the crooked trees while its tentacled limbs twisted and snapped. It was waiting.

Another contraction sent shivering pain through her loins. She felt something burst between her legs, and a gush of hot liquid spilled onto the ground. The writhing mass of contorted limbs cooed with delight.

Emma staggered to the ground. Birth is never a pleasant affair, but her pain was too sharp, too quick. Blood oozed down her thighs, soaking her trousers red. Tremors ran through her arms in tune with the violent pangs that wrenched her gut. And it took all her strength just to slip out of her clothes.

When she did – to her horror – she saw a pair of pink, wormy hands forcing their way into the open air. Emma bit her tongue to suppress the screams rising in her throat. But she could not resist the swelling current of terror and skin-splitting pain. As the parasitic child exorcised itself from her bleeding womb, her tortured wailings reached greater and greater heights.

Emma watched helplessly as the nearly human child ripped her cunt into a long and literal gash. By then, her agony had exceeded the limits of her perception so that each new injury was a mere wisp lost amid a hellish conflagration. There seemed no end to the torment. But in time her trials finished, and before her lay a raw and mewling infant.

The small creature looked up at Emma with eyes not unlike her own. It studied her briefly and mimicked her exhausted expression. And below the child’s left ear, she noticed a pair of black moles. It was a feature she had only ever seen in the mirror.

But there was something off about the child’s appearance. Its lifeless eyes sat too many inches apart, its limbs reached too far, and its familiar smile stretched too wide. Only at a glance could that thing be called human.

Just then, the lumbering mass beyond the trees issued a long bellow. Answering its command, the newborn scurried into the forest, dragging its shriveled afterbirth with it. That was the last Emma saw of it. As for the malformed beast, Emma was not safe just yet. The bristly heap of flesh peeled back the trees and pulled itself towards her.

Emma grabbed her clothes and rose to her feet. Hot gore spilled down her legs, and a dreadful ache smoldered inside her. But she would not let the beast take her again. “Leave me alone!” she screamed and threw a rock. Emma didn’t even wait to see if the rock hit. She bolted as far and fast as her feet would carry her.

For well on an hour, Emma jogged through the trees. When she could jog no more, she decided to walk. And when she could not walk, she stopped to dress. There was still a small trickle of blood, but for the most part, her wounds had clotted.

Dawn had bloomed in slanted shades of orange and red. A cool wind blew against Emma’s face, and the trees swayed to and fro. The only sounds were of the squirrels chattering, the sparrows tweeting, and an incessant tap tap tap. Emma craned her head to stare up at the trees, and it was then she saw it: the ivory-billed woodpecker. The regal bird hacked away at a dead oak with its strong, straight bill. Its feathers shone red, white, and lustrous black. The long-lost bird was a beauty to behold, but all Emma could feel in the moment was contempt.

In time, Emma found her way out of the forest and onto a narrow dirt path. She followed the long and lonely road back to Littlefork. There the townspeople called her an ambulance and sent her on her way. She did not tell them what she had endured. Nor did she tell the doctors at the hospital. They would not believe her. They would not understand.

Following the traumatic events in the woods, Emma entered a state of intense apathy. Her memories were now so full of pain. To avoid feeling them, she had learned not to feel at all. That night had changed her, and in her darkest hours, Emma wondered whether the monster had stolen her humanity as well as her womb.

A week after the event took place, Emma received a phone call. It was Robby. “Emma, I just heard the news. Are you okay?” he said.

“Yes,” Emma said. She did not want to talk about it, least of all with him. “I’m doing better now.”
“I am glad to hear that,” Robby said. “So it’s all true then? What happened? I got a call from the hotel one day and then the next …”

“We really don’t need to discuss it,” Emma said. “You made clear how you feel about me.”

Robby scoffed. “Just because I don’t want a serious relationship doesn’t mean I can’t worry about you. And of course I’m worried! The police said they found you naked in the woods.”

“What? What are you talking about? Police?”

“I know it’s embarrassing, but you don’t need to lie to me,” he said. “You attacked some lady and tried dragging her into the woods. They took you to a psych ward.”

“That wasn’t me.”

“I’m surprised they let you go to be honest.”

“Robby, that wasn’t me. When did this happen?”

“A couple days ago. But —”

Emma hung up the phone. She did not doubt Robby’s story, but she did not want to hear it. She already knew the truth. Someone had attacked that lady. Someone was in the psych ward. A second Emma. A copy. An alternate.

Read this story and more on Creepypasta at

Paranormal Blog – “Artifacts, Exhibits, and Apparitions: Six Must-See Museums | Haunted History Trail Of New York State”

In looking for new sites to repost worthy paranormal info and articles from, I found this site that recommends certain places in the New England North of the United States that looked awesome and had some great pictures to go with it. Each Tuesday for a while, I’m going to repost their blog articles here to share along with others.

Haunted History Trail of New York writes:

“Hidden among the historical artifacts in exhibits across New York are the spirits of lives long past. At the Saratoga Springs History Museum, these spirits resemble the elite upper class that once resided in the town. At the Erie Canal Museum in Syracuse, NY, these are the orphaned and immigrant children, many of whom died through tragic boating accidents or by drowning in the waters of the canal. And at the Dr. Best House & Medical Museum, you’ll find a time capsule from the earliest form of medicine, with medical apparatuses that will turn your blood cold… 

Six spooky locations along the Haunted History Trail contain these treasured memories. Curious to learn more? The spirits are happy to help you explore their living history.

Historic Palmyra WM. Phelps General Store and Historic Palmyra Museum

Lovingly dubbed “the most haunted place in the Finger Lakes,” over 190 years of activity have been recorded at the Historic Palmyra WM. Phelps General Store and Historic Palmyra Museum. But it should come as no surprise – the stories that come out of this location are tragic, devastating, and downright shocking. One story tells of a fire that ravaged the building just before Christmas, claiming the lives of seven family members, including a mother and her children ages two to eight years old. Another involves a murder, a man stabbed to death – though the details regarding who and why are still unknown.

If you want to learn more, you need only ask. The museum isn’t shy about letting visitors seek out its spirits and offers ghost hunts seven days a week with a minimum of four people. The old General Store is sure to intrigue and fascinate, but it’s only the beginning. Whispers fill the air, guests have been known to feel a touch or poke, and the young family who passed still comes out to play from time to time…

Museum of Wayne County History

Also found in the Finger Lakes is a museum whose reputation proceeds it. William Fee was the only man ever hanged in Wayne County, but to say was laid to rest in 1860 is simply not true. The jail operates today, not as a penitentiary, but as the Museum of Wayne County History. All 24 cells remain, and so does William Fee – his ghost is known to walk the cellblock to this day.

Ghost hunts and paranormal investigations are available by appointment, and guided historical tours are offered daily. See the 13 rooms of exhibition space and immerse yourself in the past, visit a seasonal Carriage House, see the original inmate artwork that still decorates the walls of the jail, and set foot in the very spot where Fee took his last, living breath.

Erie Canal Museum

In Syracuse, NY, things get eerie on the Erie Canal. Listen closely and you might hear a pair of arguing men who never seem to settle their ongoing debate, tromping through the 150-year-old hallways of the Erie Canal Museum. Or catch a glimpse of a woman, killed where the model canal boat now sits. Or see a group of see-through children playing in the courtyard – perhaps happier now in death than they ever were in life.

Docent-led history tours include the recounting of paranormal activity that occurs, or the facility can be rented for private events. Erie Canal history tours are available daily. Whichever way you choose to experience this stop, you’ll be sure to have a tale to tell about this monumental waterway.  

Starr Clark Tin Shop & Underground Railroad Museum

The Underground Railroad is engrained in one of America’s darker moments in history – and its significance comes to life at Starr Clark Tin Shop & Underground Railroad Museum. Abolitionist and tinsmith Starr Clark hosted meetings and gave refuge to African-American slaves in the building where the museum now stands. Many artifacts remain from that era and might just be the cause of the unusual activity that mysteriously happens there. Paranormal investigators have found the site to be “very interesting,” and others have reported shadows, voices, and the feeling of being touched.

The museum is now open by appointments only. Please call 315-963-7853 to book a guided tour or paranormal investigation. 

Saratoga Springs History Museum and Historic Canfield Casino

At the Saratoga Springs History Museum and Historic Canfield Casino, unusual events were once sporadic and infrequent. But after the opening of an antique clothing exhibit featuring garments from Saratoga Springs’ most influential families (now all deceased), activity increased – exponentially. The Walworth family in particular had a tumultuous history and could be the cause of it all – from an abusive marriage, to a scandalous divorce, and eventually, a murder.

Guests visiting the museum have seen full body apparitions of a woman in Victorian-era clothing, objects moving on their own, the smell of cigars, carpets pushed against doors in locked rooms, and a hostile presence on the third floor. Just come and see for yourself. The museum offers pre-scheduled ghost tours from June through October and is open year-round for self-guided tours and exploration.


Dr Best House & Medical Museum

This Victorian house and office has witnessed many a death in its lifetime, including that of Dr. Best, his beloved son, and young wife. It should come as no surprise that investigators have captured recordings of distant voices, those souls still lingering from the beyond. Visit, and hear the tales of deaths and misfortune in this small, rural community with original obituaries, photos and death certificates.

Guided historical haunted tours as well as professional investigations are available by reservation. Special events are often held throughout the year, sharing the ghostly happenings at this haunted home with guests. 

Explore our website for information on guided tours, ghost hunts, and public and private investigations. Or call these must-see museums directly for tour times or questions about haunted happenings.”

All information and pictures come from


Paranormal Blog – “Bites & Boos: 4 Spooky Spots to Sink Your Teeth Into | Haunted History Trail Of New York”

In looking for new sites to repost worthy paranormal info and articles from, I found this site that recommends certain places in the New England North of the United States that looked awesome and had some great pictures to go with it. Each Tuesday for a while, I’m going to repost their blog articles here to share along with others.

Haunted History Trail of New York writes:

“At four spooky stops on the Haunted History Trail of New York State, it’s best to make a reservation – but be sure to save an extra seat for an unexpected guest. At our haunted restaurants, the main attraction isn’t always what’s on the menu. It’s the stories behind the buildings – tales of murder, fires, crimes, and more. You might find it hard to enjoy a meal in peace. The spirits are restless, and looking for a little attention…

Red Coach Inn

When The Red Coach Inn, a Niagara Falls USA historic hotel and B&B, opened its doors for business on August 30, 1923, Niagara Falls had finally gained a hostelry befitting its rank as the “honeymoon capital of the world.” 

Red Coach Inn is home to a few ghosts – including the bride and groom who took their lives on their wedding day. Ask the staff about the ghost stories or experience them for yourself; guests of the historic hotel have reported seeing jewelry move across dressers, hearing music playing in the middle of the night, and the sound of people walking and dancing above them when they are already on the top floor.


Union Tavern

This New England-style tavern offers delicious food, cold drinks and a warm, welcoming atmosphere. Perhaps too welcoming of an atmosphere… as there have been sightings of a ghostly woman standing by the fireplace and men in the building’s basement. The Union Tavern owners have felt cold spots throughout the restaurant and smelled the scent of cigarette smoke in specific parts of the room. Doors open on their own and whistling can sometimes be heard from upstairs. You may even get touched on the arm or shoulder when no one else is around.

Mysteries surround the property, which was originally purchased in 1819 by a rumored ex-pirate. Since then, it has been a leg of the Underground Railroad, a residential summer home, a speakeasy during Prohibition and finally, a few iterations of a restaurant.

While you dine at this haunted tavern, ask the staff for history of the area and the unusual occurrences that have happened in the building.

1867 Parkview Inn

The 1867 Parkview Inn began as a hotel and restaurant and has operated as one or both of these for over 150 years. With so many souls passing through its doors during that time, one can only imagine the stories this historic building has to tell. It was restored to its former glory as a hotel in 2019 and now features nine rooms decorated with a historic theme and furnished with simple amenities for a comfortable stay.

Although most guests rest easy through the night, owner, Beth Johnson, has plenty of stories to tell. Bells ring and objects move in empty rooms in the restaurant. Legend has it that a small girl perished in a fire and a room with evidence of fire damage was uncovered in a sealed room during the renovations. Although the renovations have turned the spooky upper floors into a cheerful place to stay, paranormal investigators and ghost hunting groups have received signs that spirits are walking among the living at the 1867 Parkview Inn.

The Bull’s Head Inn

The oldest building in Cobleskill, NY has quite the history – one that is well-known by the owners of the Bull’s Head Inn. It was burned twice in battles during the French and Indian War, then served as town hall, courthouse, and meeting space, and eventually, a private residence. But it seems that one person in particular – Mrs. John Stacy – is the cause of all the trouble at this Central New York restaurant. Mrs. Stacy was a fierce anti-alcohol advocate, and has been known to knock over glasses, throw napkins about, and toss silverware off the tables – making her discontent with the operations known. If you’d like to meet her, you need only swing by – grab a bite, schedule a ghost hunt, or call ahead to request a guided tour of the Bull’s Head Inn.

These four stops are not all the Haunted History Trail has to serve – there are actually several haunted dining opportunities across the state to fill your plate. Navigate our website to find information on hours, opportunities, and spooky stories at each of our locations. Call directly to book your reservation or to get answers your questions. But beware, you don’t want to bite off more than you can chew…

All information and pictures come from

Creepypasta – The Counting Man (Text)

The Counting Man
Written by: The Quiet One

Estimated reading time — 9 minutes

Michael sat down on the bench, checking his watch as his leg nervously tapped the floor. The bus was running late today. That wasn’t good for him. He needed to make a good impression at this interview. This job could be a great stepping stone in his career—he had to get it. And if the bus didn’t hurry up, he wouldn’t

“C’mon, c’mon!” he murmured. “Let’s hurry this on up!”

A car passed by nearly every second, but no bus yet. He was shaking, just a little. Just a little he shook. But he was anxious.

He looked to his side to see an older gentleman sitting on the bench next to him, a tophat covering his eyes as he snored gently. Michael sighed, turning his attention back to the road where he waited for the bus to come. If only he could be like this guy. Sleeping soundly without a care in the world. The man looked fairly old, he’s probably been retired for years now and is just enjoying a low-stress life. It would be years before Michael would reach that level. Heck, he only had a bachelor’s for three months now. His life was only beginning.

His heart leapt as he saw the bus round the corner, and he jumped to his feet to be ready to get right on. He turned to look at the old man, wondering if he should wake him now that the bus was here. That was but only the right thing to do. Maybe this gentleman was trying to get somewhere too, it wouldn’t be right to let him sleep through it.
Michael stepped away from the bus, nudging the old man.

“Hey, the bus just arrived,” he said. The man’s head tilted up, his eyes wide as he swallowed a snore. He looked around for a minute, then his eyes fixated on Michael.

“Two hundred thousand two hundred and seventy-four,” he said.


“Two hundred thousand two hundred and seventy-three. Two hundred thousand two hundred and seventy-two. Two hundred thousand two hundred seventy-one. Two hundred thousand…”
Michael tried speaking again, jostling the old man a little. “C’mon, the bus is here. That is what you were waiting for, isn’t it?”

“Two hundred thousand two hundred sixty-eight. Two hundred thousand two hundred sixty-seven.” Two hundred thousand…”

Michael rolled his eyes, stepping away and onto the bus. “Whatever,” he muttered. “Sometimes druggies just need to be left alone, I guess.” He grabbed hold of the ceiling rail and braced himself as the bus lurched forward. Off to get what hopefully would be good news. He almost couldn’t feel his feet he was so nervous. He gathered that it wouldn’t be until after the interview he’d be able to stand comfortably again.

By the time the interview was finished, though, he wasn’t sure if he’d feel his feet like he’d hoped.

“Well, Mister Sánchez, I must say I’ve been quite impressed with you thus far.” The man stood up from behind the desk and extended his arm, which Michael took. “Let me review you and Mister White’s resumes again and I’ll call you by the end of the week with news.

“Thank you, Mister Wagner,” Michael said. He was beaming, but the anxiety hadn’t subsided like he had thought it would. But, he had done his best, and that was all that mattered. It was all up to fate now. He left Wagner’s office and stepped onto the elevator to take him back down to the streets. He’d be heading straight home and putting a hamburger on the stove for dinner. Some nice steak seasoning made even the cheapest of frozen hamburgers taste gourmet. Maybe if Wagner called him back and told him he did get the job he’d go out and celebrate with a real steak. Get some real food, not just whatever he could fit in his small freezer back in his apartment.

He stepped off the bus with haste. The more the thought about food the more his stomach growled at him. He could almost taste that hamburger already – The man. The man was there. The one from this morning, who was drunk or high or whatever he was. He was still there.

“Should I…” Michael trailed off, shaking the thought away. No. It was better to just move along, get on with things..

“One hundred fifty-five thousand and three. One hundred fifty-five thousand and two. One hundred fifty-five thousand and one. One hundred fifty four thousand…”

Had he been counting all day? Just sitting there, spouting off numbers?

Michael scoffed. “Well then yeah, I’ll let him on his own. Don’t need to help some drug addict.”

He walked past the man on the bench just as he got to two hundred fifty-four thousand nine hundred and eighty-eight.

Michael awoke the next morning to the sound of his phone ringing. He groaned, having felt like he just barely fell asleep. Even the melatonin he took didn’t seem to help, as he only fell asleep around three in the morning. He had just been too darn nervous to let his body relax.

He groped for the phone, getting a hold of it after a few moments. Without looking at the caller ID he swiped to answer and began groggily speaking into the mic.


“Is this Michael Sánchez?”

He shot up in bed as he recognized the voice of Mister Wagner.

“Yes, this is him.”

“Mister Sánchez, I am very pleased to inform you we will be expecting you here in the office Thursday morning. Can you make that commitment?”

Michael’s heart leapt, a massive smile crossing his face.

“Today is Tuesday?”

“Yes sir.”

“Yeah, yeah I think I can be there Thursday. Absolutely!”

“Very good. I look forward to working with you.”

“Yes, thank you sir! Thank you very much!”

“Mhm. Goodbye now.”


Wagner hung up, and Michael leaned back in his bed shaking his fists in celebration.

“Yes! I did it! I have it! Oh, ¡máma! ¡Espero que pueda estar aquí!”

He looked at his phone. It was just past noon. Well, it surely wasn’t too early for the Texas Roadhouse to be serving steaks right now (yes, he was aware it wasn’t truly a “gourmet” place to get a steak, but it watered his mouth nonetheless).

“I’ve gotta shower!”

He leapt off the bed, hobbling on over to his shower and turning on the water. After a nice, long and hot rinse he got out to get dressed. He smiled to himself all the while, slipping on his sneakers and putting his phone back in his pocket as he stepped out of his apartment. He marched down the stairs towards the street, stepping out into the warm yet brisk air around him.

“Oh, today is a good day!”

His smile faded a bit when he looked to the bus bench. That man… he was still there. Just sitting there, staring blankly up at the sky. Eyebrow raised, Michael walked over to him and slowly began hearing numbers yet again.

“Seventy-five thousand six hundred and fifty-two. Seventy-five thousand six hundred fifty-one. Seventy-five thousand six hundred and fifty.”

Michael scoffed at the man again, being somewhat bothered by this. He wasn’t sure why. It shouldn’t matter to him if some old homeless guy wanted to spend his time saying numbers all day. But… the fact he went from what, two hundred thousand or whatever yesterday morning to this now? Something about that just rubbed him the wrong way. The idiot was wasting his life counting! He oughtn’t to spend so much time just saying numbers. It was ludicrous. But, then again, why should Michael care? Why should he care at all? It shouldn’t matter to him. It didn’t matter to him. No, not one bit. He’d just walk on past, right up to the curb to wait for the bus.

“Hey, Mister! What the heck are you counting for?” Michael shouted.

The old man just continued to stare at the sky, spouting off numbers. “Seventy-five thousand six hundred seven. Seventy-five thousand six hundred six.”

“Hey, I’m talking to you!” He grabbed the man’s shoulder, shaking him a little. “¿Entiendes español? ¿Necesitas ayuda señor?”

“Nine-five thousand six hundred one. Seventy-five thousand six hundred.”

He shook him again. “Come on! Why are you counting?”


Michael turned around to see a large, burly man standing behind him.


“What’s going on?”

Michael sighed, embarrassed. “Nothing.”

“What are you screaming at that guy for?”


“It must be something.”

Michael sighed. “He just won’t stop counting.”

“So? Is that your problem?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll leave him alone.”


The man moved along, and Michael continued to stare at the gentleman next to him. He just sat there, staring at the sky. He hadn’t even seemed to notice Michael yelling in his face at all. Had this guy even slept? Had he eaten anything? As far as Michael could tell, he hadn’t moved from that spot or stopped counting since yesterday morning! The idiot was going to die of thirst or hunger or something, and it wouldn’t be anyone’s fault but the idiot himself. Psh. He was just some bum. Why should Michael care?

“Adiós, weirdo,” he said, departing to celebrate.

Michael was on top of the world by the time he got home that afternoon. He got the job that morning, or, technically afternoon, and he met the most beautiful woman at the bar tonight. He’d gotten her number, which he had scrunched tightly in his hand.

“I’m king of the world!” he shouted, grinning furiously. “Ain’t nobody gonna tell me otherwise!”

“Otherwise,” said a passer-by.

“Oh, screw off!” Michael jeered. Within a moment he returned to his drunken smiling, kissing the little piece of paper he held in his hands. It was a pretty number. A real, nice, gorgeous number he had right there. A gorgeous number from a gorgeous girl. At least, he hoped she was gorgeous. She might be hideous and the alcohol was messing with him. Whatever the case, he was just glad to have a date that weekend and it was all thanks to this number right here!

Speaking of numbers, he was passing by the counting man again.

“Forty thousand nine hundred sixty-two. Forty thousand nine hundred sixty-one. Forty thousand nine hundred sixty.”

Michael chuckled. “Maybe I’ll join ya, counting man! What number you on? Forty… forty thousand nine hundred fifty… fifty five. Ha!”

The man just stared off into the dark sky, not giving Michael even a moment of acknowledgement.

“Whatever man. I’ll see you tomorrow, eh?”

He walked past him, grinning wildly as he marched into his apartment and began up the stairs to his room. He didn’t give himself time to even remove his shoes before he fell into bed dead asleep.

Michael awoke the next morning with a miserable headache. He tossed and turned in bed, trying desperately to find some position that would make it go away, but inevitably failing. He groaned as he got out of bed, gritting his teeth as he walked into the bathroom to pull out the painkillers.

“Tylenol,” he muttered, removing the medicine cartridge. He opened the lid and pulled out a couple of pills, and drank from the sink. A swig of water in his mouth, he popped the pills into his mouth and swallowed. “Gotta remember not to drink so much.”

He yawned, checking the notifications on his phone before stuffing his face into his pillow.


He turned to look out his window, grunting and moaning.

“Maybe some fresh air would feel nice,” he wondered.

He took a deep sigh, he got up to throw on some semi-decent clothes and shoes. He headed out, phone in one pocket and keys in the other. It was unseasonably cold when he stepped outside. He was about to turn back around and grab his jacket when he saw the man again. He was still sitting there, staring blankly into the sky as he continued to mutter numbers aloud.

“This guy,” he spat. “What a lunatic.”

He began walking towards the bench, wondering what he was doing. Why? Why did he care so much? If the man hadn’t stopped to eat or drink or sleep, why should he care? It wasn’t his health that was in jeopardy, it was that idiot’s! Maybe it just bothered him that the guy’s health was in jeopardy. He hadn’t moved from that spot for days now. Days.

“Hey, counting man!” he hollered. “You want some food? I’ve got some food back in my apartment upstairs. If you come with me I’ll give you some.”

“One hundred forty-five. One hundred forty-four.”

“Hey, ¡hombre! I’m talking to you! You hungry, man? You’ve been sitting there counting for days! C’mon, I’ve got some food and water if you want.”

“One hundred twenty-nine. One hundred twenty-eight.”

“Eh, it’s pointless. You won’t listen to me anyways, huh? Too busy counting! Counting what? You’re counting for no reason!”

The man suddenly shifted in his seat, still counting. He bent over and pulled something out of the bag by his feet. A slip of paper. He wrote something on it, and then handed it to Michael.

“Heartbeats?” Michael said, staring blankly at the paper. “What the heck is that supposed to mean?”

“Seventy. Sixty-nine. Sixty-eight. Sixty-seven. Sixty-six.”

“Hey, man! C’mon, you don’t need to count. C’mon, I’ve been watching you for days now. I’m worried about you. I’m a caring guy, you know? I don’t want you to thirst to death out here.”

“Forty-three. Forty-two. Forty-one. Forty.”

“Are you ever gonna respond to me?”

The man suddenly stood, rising only five feet above the ground. He turned around, his eyes wide as he continued to spout numbers.

“Thirty-four. Thirty-three. Thirty-two. Thirty-one. Thirty.”

“Alright, man, you’re kinda freaking me out.”

“Twenty-six. Twenty-five. Twenty-four. Twenty-three.”

“C’mon, what are you doing? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Eighteen. Seventeen. Sixteen. Fifteen.”

“Hey, aren’t you going to say something other than that? It’s just normal human decency to respond when someone talks to you!”

“Nine. Eight. Seven. Six.”

Michael could feel himself sweating, his throat constricting as his heart rate continued to rise. He was shaking, not sure why. But all of a sudden, he… he didn’t feel so well….

“Four. Three. Two. One. Zero.”

There was a sudden pain in Michael’s chest, and he collapsed to the ground as he let out a scream. Everyone within a twenty foot radius suddenly crowded around him, he felt someone grab hold of his wrist.

“I don’t feel a pulse! Someone call nine-one-one! This man is having a heart attack!”

Michael was struggling to breathe, staring into the eyes of the counting man.

“Call nine-one-one! Hurry!”

Michael saw someone pulling out their phone, dialing as fast as they could. He just continued to stare at the counting man, who was now staring at the man who had climbed onto his chest and was giving him CPR. The eyes of the counting man squinted, as if he was closely examining the CPR-giver. He looked him up and down, then turned around and began walking away.
“Two million one hundred forty thousand three hundred twenty-three. Two million one hundred forty thousand three hundred twenty-two.”

Michael stared at the man on top of his chest, a sudden pit in his stomach forming for him as the world around him became blurry and darkened… realizing that two million wasn’t that much.

Read this story and more on Creepypasta at

Paranormal Blog – “Road Trip: Creepy Corners of the Catskills & Haunted Hudson Valley | Haunted History Trail Of New York”

In looking for new sites to repost worthy paranormal info and articles from, I found this site that recommends certain places in the New England North of the United States that looked awesome and had some great pictures to go with it. Each Tuesday for a while, I’m going to repost their blog articles here to share along with others.

Haunted History Trail of New York writes:

“The Catskills and Hudson Valley areas are known for their serene beauty… and spirit activity. A music hall captivates visitors with its ghostly occurrences. An estate is haunted by the lingering spirits of a former resident. And a mansion with an Attic of Curiosities is a horror movie icon’s favorite place to stay. Explore this area and come away with some unforgettable stories. 

Start your getaway with a stay at one of these haunted inns:  

Burn Brae Mansion | Glen Spey, NY
Stay overnight at the Burn Brae Mansion or work alongside expert paranormal researchers during a private investigation. Uncover mysteries in the Attic of Curiosities, book a night in one of the mansion’s suites or stay in the original stables at the Stables Motel. Everyone will have a unique experience here—just take it from horror movie icon Linda Blair: it’s one of her favorite places to visit when she’s in the area. 


Known for its paranormal occurrences, The Shanley Hotel is no stranger to the strange. Book one of two overnight packages—a stay for two in the haunted hotel, a public 4-hr ghost hunt, continental breakfast and time to explore on your own; or a private group hunt and overnight for up to seven people. Visitors have reported cold and hot spots, the sound of voices, music and laughing children… among other things. Book online for package pricing and offer.  


King House Mansion at the Tarrytown House Estate | Tarrytown, NY  
Legend has it that Sybil Harris King, daughter of the co-founder of the American Tobacco Company, died on the second floor of the King House Mansion. Her footsteps have been heard in the halls, and strange activity has been reported in room 293—where she took her last breath. Stay overnight at this beautifully restored estate or dine at the Goosefeather restaurant and ask staff to share the mansion’s haunted history.  


Enjoy a meal and a spooky tale at this haunted restaurant: 

Silvio’s Villa | South Warwick, NY
Classic Italian favorites are not all that Silvio’s Villa is serving up lately. EVPs, glowing orbs, apparitions and unusual activity are common here—especially for diners at Table 24, said to be the site of a tragic suicide. Stop in for a bite and ask staff to share the tales, or keep an eye out for guided tours, hunts and other haunted special events throughout the year.  


Visit this nearby location for strange activity and a unique guided experience:  

Hamlet of Pine Bush: UFO Capital of the East Coast | Pine Bush, NY
There’s nothing abnormal about aliens and UFOs in Pine Bush, NY. In fact, extra-terrestrial enthusiasts have been flocking there since the early 1960s. Over the years, the community has witnessed some serious activities and strange sightings. Pay a visit in June during the Pine Bush UFO Fair & Parade to celebrate all things UFO and aliens or visit the local museum for self-guided and exclusive guided tours.  


For private ghost hunts and tours, add these locations to your trip:  

Private Haunted Huguenot Street Tours | New Paltz, NY 
Experience over 300 years of history when you visit Historic Huguenot Street, home to seven 18th-century stone houses, a replica Munsee wigwam, a reconstructed 1717 French church and the original Huguenot burying ground. Take guided haunted walking tours or participate in special programs (summer and fall) to hear stories of past residents who experienced terrible tragedies and encountered apparitions.  


The Tarrytown Music Hall Tarrytown, NY 
This historic venue was the performance home to some of the most talented actors and musicians of its time—and today is home to lingering spirits who believe, “the show must go on!” Book a guided “balcony to backstage” ghost tour to learn the music hall’s history or participate in a small-group paranormal investigation led by the Gotham Paranormal Research Society. 


Old Dutch Church Cemetery Kingston, NY
Dating back to 1658, the Old Dutch Church Cemetery is the final resting place for many – Revolutionary War heroes, politicians, notable Native Americans, and more. Each year, Theatre on the Road brings the stories of the departed to life with an hour-long haunted history program following guides through the cemetery lit by candlelight. Private group tours are also available year-round.”

All information and pictures come from

Creepypasta – “The House On Jackson Street” (Text)

The House on Jackson Street
Written By: John Westrick

Estimated reading time — 5 minutes

I used to walk with her, now I walk alone. We used to marvel at the beautiful houses together, now I look down at my feet. Each home a grain of salt in the wound, each house a reminder of what I lost. Even though it hurts, I still find myself continuing our walks. Sometimes pain is good. I’d rather feel the pain of her passing, than not feel her at all.

She’s alive when I walk. She’s the shadow that strolls behind. Though I can’t see her, I can feel her. Her presence is like a windbreaker draped across my shoulders in an especially violent storm. The pain isn’t gone but it’s bearable when I’m moving. I can’t speak to her, but she’s there. When I trip over a root, a hand steadies me. When I veer off course, I feel a gentle nudge.

And every day I end up in front of the same house on Jackson Street.

A grand home, at least at one point it must’ve been. The windows are boarded closed. The door is locked. Beware trespasser signs are strewn haphazardly across the tangled mess of the once impressive lawn.

I feel her presence strongest here. It is almost tangible, as if she’s hiding behind a thin curtain. I call to her, yet she never answers. I reach for her, yet I can never lay hands on her. It is here on my journey where my emotions get the best of me. Every day I come, every day I cry.

The neighbors look at me with trepidation, but long gone are my days of caring what others think. I stand there an old man, face in my hands and weep for the woman I lost. Let them think what they want, but my Lenore was worth every tear.

I feel a tap on my shoulder, and look up to see the front door of the house swung wide. Light is pouring out of it, and there she is, my Lenore. I rush towards her and the gaping maw, towards the woman I’ve lost. The woman who heard my cries and has returned for me.

As I barrel forward through the brambles and overgrown weeds, I hardly am aware of the scrapes and cuts. Nor does it bother me that I trip over a hidden bottle and go tumbling face first in the dirt. I sling myself forward with the stamina of a much younger man.

And then, I am there standing in touching distance from her. It’s definitely her. She’s got the same strawberry blonde hair that always tended to leave me breathless. It’s wrapped in a French braid with a daisy tucked behind her left ear. She looks younger by nearly twenty years. Her nose and cheeks are dusted with a fine layer of freckles.

I began to giggle like a schoolboy as I remember I once tried to count them. Twenty-three is the highest I got before I found my mouth on hers. And suddenly I have an inappropriate urge to pull her close and continue the kiss in front of God and all the neighbors.

Shortly before I do just that, she vanishes, leaving me standing in the front door alone once more. I look around the hallway and notice it’s fully furnished. There is no dust or decay. The parlor is in perfect condition. Even more shockingly I hear someone playing the piano. It’s Fur Eliza and I could recognize that sound anywhere. Lenore was playing it the day she died.

The Turkish rug leading down the hall looks familiar, the pattern of the wolf howling at the moon, the picture of the ship sailing in rough seas. I know it. I walk forward, no longer in control over my own body. Instead, everything begins to flash in front of me like a movie. I see my own hand reach for the gilded door knob. I know on the other side of this door is a set of stairs that leads to the great room.

Still, I don’t remember, I can’t remember. They threaten to come back, but I don’t let them. I don’t want to remember. I’m back. Oh God have mercy on me, I’m back to the day my wife died.

I come to this conclusion even as my own traitorous hand throws wide the hallway door. I fight for control. I do everything in my power to not see. My eyes fling wide and I look to see the back of my sweet Lenore’s head, the damned daisy still perched behind her ear. She’s playing and she doesn’t know I’ve arrived.

I know what is coming but I don’t want to. Yet those damned feet, those mutinous mother fuckers keep pushing me forward. First up one step then two, before I even know it, I’ve scaled half of them. Now I can see her back, she’s in a flowery dress with what looks to be hummingbirds sucking at the honey. Fur Eliza is ramping up, and the song is nearing its climax.

And then I see it. Him to be precise. He’s lounging in my chair, drinking my whiskey, with his shirt partially unbuttoned. Rage, white hot fills me once more. I look to the left and then the right, and that’s when I see my cavalry saber hung on the wall for decoration.

I remember the outcome, yet I can’t force myself to let go of its hilt. My hand turns white from grasping it so hard. There’s nothing I can do to lessen my grip. I see myself marching up behind her sword held high in one hand.

Fur Eliza climaxes as my arm swings. I strike her left shoulder blade and with a discordant whine the music stops altogether. Inwardly I scream. I curse my God’s damned temper. I watch as she slumps out of her chair.

Without a second glance, I am charging the man just beginning to look up from his comfortable spot in my seat. My blade penetrates his right abdomen, he lets out one shriek before my second swing catches him directly in the throat.

I am appalled at the blood spurting from his nearly decapitated neck. My hands are scarlet, I feel wet stickiness oozing down my face. Yet I can’t control my own limbs as they swing and swing and swing, chopping the man into kindling. I try to close my eyes but they won’t, so I see his hand go flying. I watch as his innards come bubbling out of his abdomen. I split his head like a grape and watch his brain matter leak out of the side of it.

To my dismay, I hear a gurgling sound coming from behind me. I turn knowing what I’ll see but powerless to stop it. I look to see my Lenore’s face towards me trying to speak. Blood bubbles drizzling out of the side of her mouth. I don’t need to hear the words to know what she is trying to say. “Please, no more.”

Pity fills my heart and my own eyes refuse to cry. “Please don’t do this,” I scream at myself in vain. I watch as I slowly move towards my former wife letting the blade carve a wicked groove into the marble floor. With no mercy my arm swings the blade up once then twice then three times, and all goes black.

Finally, I regain control of my limbs and body. I look up to see a vandalized great hall with a nasty groove in the marble floor, and there my chopped wife lying on the floor looking up at me with dead yet still very much alive eyes.

I see the monstrosity of my late wife clamber to her feet. Her left eye slides out of its socket running like egg yolk down her face. Black pustule blood leaks from her wounds. Her right eye locks with mine and in a slobbering wet noise she said, “I will never let you forget what you did here. Jail wasn’t enough for you. You didn’t stay your hand, so even in your Alzheimer’s I won’t let you forget. Same time tomorrow, honey?”

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Paranormal Blog – “9 Spine-Chilling Road Trip Spots Near Syracuse, NY | Haunted History Trail Of New York”

In looking for new sites to repost worthy paranormal info and articles from, I found this site that recommends certain places in the New England North of the United States that looked awesome and had some great pictures to go with it. Each Tuesday for a while, I’m going to repost their blog articles here to share along with others.

Haunted History Trail of New York writes:

“In the heart of the state lies the Greater Syracuse Area, a spooky centerpiece to our terrifying Trail. Settle into your downtown hotel and start to explore the “frights” of the city—from a haunted theatre to an abandoned quarry, the untold history of the Erie Canal to an offbeat Irish Pub. There’s no telling what you might find.  

Start your getaway with a meal and a spooky tale at this haunted restaurant:  

Wayside Irish Pub | Elbridge, NY 
Sip on a favorite beverage, enjoy delicious pub fare, and make room for guests from somewhere beyond. Staff will tell you all about the ghostly activity found here—apparitions of Sara or Squire Munro, poltergeist-like pranks, shadow figures in the basement, strange touches or pokes. Dig in but hold on to your glass, it might go flying.  

Visit these nearby locations for a guided tour or seek out the spirits on a ghost hunt: 

The 1890 House Museum | Cortland, NY 
According to local legend, the spirits of the 1890 House Museum are the former inhabitants of Cortland’s castle—historical figures who lived and died there. Arrange for a late-night rental of the museum, or a guided ghost-hunting experience. Will you see the silhouettes of figures in the windows or see shadows move about the rooms? 

Erie Canal Museum | Syracuse, NY 
Docent-led haunted history tours include the recounting of paranormal activity that takes place at this 150-year-old building, also the last existing Weighlock Building in America. Visit, and in addition to stories of the canal’s important past, you may find translucent children playing in the courtyard or hear a pair of men arguing near the replica canal boat.  

Seneca Falls Historical Society | Seneca Falls, NY
This 23-room Victorian Mansion was once a grand residence that today houses the Seneca Falls Historical Society. Several spirits are believed to still call it home though—including original owner Edward Mynderse, a former nanny, and a young Irish girl. One-hour guided ghost tours are available by reservation, and group ghost tours are held each October.  

13 Curves on Onondaga Hill | Syracuse, NY 
Haunted by a bride that was killed in a tragic car accident, 13-Curves shares the story of a Woman in White. According to legend, a newlywed couple died along Cedarvale Road on their wedding night, over 60 years ago. Motorists claim to see her still searching for her groom to this day. Take a drive to see if the tale is true. 

Split Rock Quarry | Syracuse, NY 
An unexpected explosion in 1918 brutally killed more than 50 men just outside of Syracuse, at the site of a hazardous munitions plant called Split Rock Quarry. Today, the site sits abandoned in the woods… yet visitors claim activity, including the sound of footsteps, voices, and the revving of the long-gone Crusher’s engine. Explore at your own risk… 

Fingerlakes Mall | Auburn, NY 
The Fingerlakes Mall has been a hotspot for ghost investigators who have recorded over 200 top-notch EVPs (electronic voice phenomenon), and footage of entities roaming the property. Those on-site claim to have been pushed, touched, spoken to, and more. Why are spirits attracted to this mall? Schedule a private after-hours investigation and find out. 

Seward House Museum’s Haunted History Tours | Auburn, NY
Death was a returning and unwelcome guest of the Seward Family during the time of William H. Seward, a prominent 19th-century politician, and Secretary of State to President Lincoln. Join a museum guide as they share chilling true tales of the area and take you down the darkened streets of historic Auburn. Tours are held each October or by appointment.  

The Landmark Theatre | Syracuse, NY 
The Landmark Theatre is one of the most impressive area venues for live productions. It is also known as the home of Clarissa, a young woman who fell from the balcony to her death and still haunts the theatre to this day. Take a guided tour and see if she may come out to greet you. Group investigations are also available by appointment.

All information and pictures come from