White Witch of Rose Hall

The White Witch is an urban legend in Jamaica.

The story states that The White Witch was named Annie Palmer, a woman who was born in England to a English mother and a Irish Father. However in Haiti, her parents died of Yellow Fever. She was then adopted by her nanny, who practiced voodoo and taught her witchcraft. She later moved to Jamaica, where she married John Palmer in 1820.

John owned Rose Hall, which was on East Montego Bay. John Palmer, however, died suspiciously, which brought Annie’s demise. She then became a mistress of Voodoo, using it to terrorize the plantation. Sometimes, she took male slaves to bed at night, she often murdered them.

She also murdered her lovers because she would grow bored with them. In 1830, a slave lover named Takoo murdered Annie in her sleep. Takoo found out that Annie used a voodoo spell to kill his daughter and in return killed her. Unfortunately for him, he was caught and killed.

More recently, rumors have spread about a visitor being pushed by the ghost of Annie off of her favorite balcony. The visitor was found dead with a broken neck.

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Credits to: photofreecreepypasta

The Unspoken Rule

When you step into the bathroom after dark you never look into the mirror.

If you do you will be struck by an intense feeling of dread and those who have “the sight” all see the same thing; a young girl aged around six or seven standing behind you in the hallway, just staring.

Shes never done anything to the people who see her, but everyone who has agrees that she seems to be angry and malevolent.

My mom says she used to hear small footsteps up and down that hallway any time she fell asleep on the couch and they always stopped right at her head but out of her line of sight.

Belief or disbelief is up to you, but this story is true.

To this day I don’t have mirrors in my house and I still dislike looking in mirrors after dark because of this.

By: horror-freak-fest

The Villisca Axe Murders and Haunting

On June 10th, 1912, the small, sleepy town of Villisca, Iowa was shaken by an unspeakable crime.  A well-respected family of two parents, four children, and two other children who were spending the night were all slaughtered in their sleep with an axe.


The victims were:

The father, Josiah Moore.
The mother, Sarah Moore.
Four Moore children, Herman (11), Katherine (10), Boyd (7), and Paul (5).
Two overnight guests, Lena (12), and Ina (8), Stillinger.

On the evening of June 9th, 1912, the Moore family went to a church function at about 8:00 pm. They returned home with Lena and Ina Stillinger, who were Katherine’s guests, at about 10:00 pm. During the time that they were at church, it is now believed that one or more people entered the house and hid in the attic.

Sometime during the night, estimated around midnight, the entire household was bludgeoned with an axe. Only Lena Stillinger showed any signs of having fought back or resisting, hinting that the rest of the house remained asleep during the whole ordeal.

At about 5:00 am, the next door neighbor, Mary Peckham, woke up and started her chores and noticed the Moore’s were not yet up, she also noticed that the house seemed unusually still. Many believe that Mary Peckham saw or heard something that night because she died of a nervous breakdown less than a year later. At about 8:00, she went to the house and tried knocking on the door and still received no response. She then called Josiah Moore’s brother, who then came over and found the bodies.

Before the police could get there, the townsfolk had raided the home in order to see the crime scene and collect souvenirs. Due to this, there was hardly any usable, conclusive evidence, as it had all been tampered with. The only thing that was found at the scene was the axe, or one of the axes, that was used. Also at the crime scene, all of the mirrors in the house were covered.

To this day, there is no real answer as to who did it, as nobody was ever convicted for it. One main suspect who was arrested and eventually placed on trial was the Reverend Kelly. Rev. Kelly had earned a reputation in the community as a peeping-tom and made others uncomfortable. After he was arrested, he confessed. He claimed that he was awoken in the middle of the night and saw a “shadow man”, he followed the shadow man and it led him to the Moore home. He claims that he went to the shed and retrieved an axe (the axe used did in fact belong to Josiah Moore), and entered the house. Upon entering the house, he heard a voice say “Slay them all.” And he went on a killing rampage.

He was charged and went to trial but he withdrew his confession and ended up with a hung jury, and after a retrial, he was eventually acquitted. There were a few other suspects who were questioned, but no other arrests made.

To this day nobody really knows what happened to the Moore family. The house is open to the pubic during the day as a museum, and can be reserved for overnight investigations. There are numerous reports of paranormal activity within the home and signs of demonic activity as well.

I personally have been to the house twice. I didn’t experience anything in particular, but there is a VERY noticeable eeriness and unsettling feeling all throughout the house.

By: gloriouslymacabre

The McEntire Home

I suppose that, considering how long I’ve been here, I should probably tell you a story. I grew up in a small town in Alabama. My favorite day of the week was Saturday. Of course, we were out of school and free to roam, but I liked it for another reason entirely. My father would drive us down to Old Decatur. It’s a small city that was mostly raised during the 1920s. Parts of it are even older. We had the Dancy Polk Inn (a personal home the last time I went around there), where none other than Jesse James the outlaw slept the night before he robbed the Old State bank. That old bank still has bullet holes in the columns. But that’s another story.

Down by the river sits the Old McEntire Home. It went up in the grand old year of 1836. What a sight it was. Fine, beautiful columns, shined hardwood floors, ornate light fixtures, and a flat roof for all the parties the various owners would have over the years. The years rolled by and the Civil War thundered in with a lust for young souls. The home was commandeered as a hospital for the soldiers, staining those shined floors with blood. Needless to say, many young men died in that house.

One summer day, a young woman ran to meet her postman. He met her with sorrowful eyes and handed her the letter. She ripped it open and devoured the words. Her fiance had been horribly injured in battle. She packed a bag and rushed from Georgia to Alabama. By the time she arrived, her lover had succumb to gangrene. The poor woman was heartbroken. In her despair, she flew up the stairs and onto the roof. With one final shout of pain, she threw herself from the roof. She landed with a dull thud, snapping her neck in two. Many people have said that on the anniversary of her death, she can be seen running up the stairs and onto the roof. She will run to the edge and simply disappear. I hope you don’t believe her to be the house’s only lost soul.

Years rolled by, the war faded into nightmares and the house was bought as a private home in the early 1900s. The cops got a call from the owner one night. He said a man had busted into his living room. There was no sign of anyone having been there and the case was dismissed. A few weeks later, the cops were back for a whole different reason. The man had appeared again. This time, the irate owner gave chase. He followed the intruder out the back door to the garden. The man ran to a spot near a hydrangea bush and just vanished. The owner was, naturally, flustered. He convinced himself that he was seeing things and went back inside. The next morning, the owner was getting ready for work. He happened to glance out the window. There was the same intruder standing in the same spot. The owner rubbed his eyes and looked again. Just a flower bush. The owner decided to put his worries to rest once and for all. After work, he stopped by a hardware store and bought a shovel. He went to town on that poor bush. And under it he found a flimsy wooden coffin. The cops were called and local historians came in. It was confirmed that the skeleton inside was wearing a Confederate uniform.

The house was eventually rented by my great uncle and turned into a museum in the 1980s. It never seemed to have many visitors due to lack of historical interest from anyone other than tourists. A young woman stopped by to take a gander. She leaned in to examine the rusted musket behind the glass. This is when she heard small footsteps. She turned to see a boy, no more than 13 or 14 standing in the doorway with his leg wrapped in bandages and a crutch under his arm. “Ma’am, do you know where my momma is?”, he asked, wide-eyed. “No, I’m afraid I don’t. I could help you look.”, the woman offered. “Please. I just wanna go home. Let me go home. I hate it here and I miss my momma.”, tears streamed down the boy’s face as he turned and hobbled back into the hall. The woman rushed after him, but found no one in the hall. She went back to the front desk and informed my great uncle that they had a lost child on the grounds. He looked up from his magazine in confusion, “Miss, no one else has come in here.” After getting his fill of the paranormal, my great uncle moved his museum to one of the more modern shops in the city (one of the Jazz Age buildings not two blocks from the house.)

The old McEntire Home was bought in the 1990s and reopened as bed and breakfast. Some of the guests have reported a woman, dressed in a beautiful black gown, entering their room during the night. She reportedly hurries from room to room, leans over the bed, and closely examines the face of the occupant. Afterwards, she becomes distressed and rushes from the room. Many people believe she is trapped searching for a soldier who had died in the house.

The last I heard, the home was once again a private residence.

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Credits to: photofreecreepypasta

Counting

My daughter woke me around 11:50 last night. My wife and I had picked her up from her friend Sally’s birthday party, brought her home, and put her to bed. My wife went into the bedroom to read while I fell asleep watching the Braves game.

"Daddy," she whispered, tugging my shirt sleeve. "Guess how old I’m going to be next month."

"I don’t know, beauty," I said as I slipped on my glasses. "How old?"

She smiled and held up four fingers.

It is 7:30 now. My wife and I have been up with her for almost 8 hours. She still refuses to tell us where she got them.

By: thebestcreepypasta

The Snake Lady

Well, in early 1960’s Korea, my mom was a young teen, or a “tween”, you might say. She lived in the countryside near Seoul. Seoul wasn’t a big industrialized place as it is now. There were a lot of woods around the place she lived. My mom used to go to her friend’s house a lot to have sleep overs and such.

But in order to get to her friend’s house, she had to go through the woods. One night, she was finishing her homework over at her friend’s house and she had to go home. It was night time by then; which had never happened before. So she put on her coat and shoes and things and set off into the woods back to her house.

It was a still night. no wind of any kind. A clear sky. The moon was really bright, almost as bright as the sun. She was walking along, when all of a sudden she heard the trees rustling. She paused in her tracks and realized there was no wind at all. she got a weird feeling, and looked up at where the trees were rustling. In the tree there was a woman in a white hanbok with long black hair over her face, rustling the tree branch. One eye was uncovered and staring at my mother.

She rustled the branch as if to say, “I seeee youuuu.”

My mother screamed and ran all the way back to her friend’s house without stopping, where she was met by her friend’s grandmother at the door and hurried inside. Once inside, she was scolded by her friend’s grandmother. “You must not go into the Snake Lady’s woods at night,” she scolded. The grandmother went on to explain the story of the Snake Lady.

Turns out, in mid-1800’s Korea, a man took a wife near where they lived. They had a good life, until the man got tired of the wife not bearing him children, kicked her out, and took another wife. The former wife went mad and even madder when she heard the other woman had a child. So she went into their house one night and stole the child, took him into the woods, and ate him. She killed herself in the creek at the woods, but her spirit is hungry for the children she could never bear, so she steals the children who wander into the woods at night. The grandmother went on to tell my mother and her friend that the Snake Lady leaves a long snake skin on the tree she is seen in after she steals.

Intrigued, my mother and her friend went out to the woods the next day to the same tree. There, on the same tree branch, was a long snake skin swaying in the wind.

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Credits to: photofreecreepypasta

All Alone

There’s something I’ve been noticing more and more as of lately. Something that bothers me, but doesn’t seem to bother others quite as much. Something that I never really thought about, but now that I do, I realize that it’s always been there.

Just try to understand me while I explain this, will you?

I have always felt some feeling of absence whenever I was with other people. Nothing major, but it was always there in the back of my head. Just this weird feeling… something that made me think.

There are so many people on this world. Then why is it a normal human being only really knows up to 150 people at the same time, in the sense does that make you have a meaningful relationship with them, but still there are billions more on this world that you don’t know or see. What if those people don’t exist? What if the people you do know… don’t exist?

What if I was alone on this world? What if I was sitting here, desperately trying to get a reply to my thoughts that was never even going to matter… because it wasn’t real.

What if this all wasn’t real? Maybe something here has made all this up just for me to feel like I belong here. But maybe I am the only human alive, and maybe I am the only human that has ever been alive. Maybe I’m just some crazy experiment of what ‘people’ call god…

Maybe they know more than I do, or ever did. Maybe I finally found it out. Will it be mad? Will it kill me? Maybe I should end it before it can end it for me.

But then again… That could be just me thinking this.

All alone.

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Credits to: photofreecreepypasta