My story begins 15 years ago, when I had just turned 14. My family and I moved into this 3 bedroom red brick house that came with a sun-room and large back yard. The house was built in the 1950’s-60’s and I was looking forward to moving after living in a small apartment for so long. So the first three months went by and nothing strange happened. Until one night, I woke up in bed and could hear footsteps coming from the hallway. I was expecting it to be one of my family members but they were all asleep at the time. Every night after that, I heard 3 distinct footsteps pace up and down the hallway. I began to get the feeling that someone was watching me all the time and soon I could not even sleep in my bedroom alone. I started to hear three different voices and the sound of objects in my bedroom being picked up and put down really really fast. I never saw anything levitate but could hear it. Once I did see a shadow person gliding across the hallway wall. This spirit constantly tormented me by turning on electronic devices like the TV and radio and I would wake up to find my bedroom light on all the time. Things like jewelry would start to disappear, doors would open and close by themselves (which I witnessed). I was a nervous wreck by age 16 and my mother was also experiencing the same thing (although she got poked in the back and had her toes pulled). She asked the neighbors if anything bad ever happened in our house. Our neighbor said that an old man died there from cancer soon after his wife and 4 children left him. Another story was that many years ago, a car crashed into the side of the house (where the sun-room now is) and the driver was killed. Anyway for the next 5 years we stayed in that house and suffered at the hands of the unseen ghost who I believed was a male. I was too afraid to communicate with him and after we moved out, I never experienced anything like that ever again. People thought I was crazy, but I would challenge them to spend a week in that house alone and see what happens!

I visited a haunted cave with my boyfriend, on our first date! My boyfriend has owned this cave for over 20 yrs. He took me here because I love the outdoors. The first time that I walked into this cave, I knew there was someone or something there! An overwhelming presence I can’t explain. I have had many experiences since I was a small child…one might consider myself as a sensitive. With that being said, I knew that day that there were spirits pulling at me and made themselves known. 
I was coming up out of the cave and to my right I saw an apparition of a Native American male standing on a rock. I look away and within a brief second when I look back, he was gone! I asked my boyfriend if he thought that Native Americans resided here and he stated, “Yes! Absolutely with the history behind this cave.” He thought that it was cool….however I was uneasy and ready to leave! 
I have had so many experiences inside this cave and outside! 

In November, 1975 in Heber, Arizona, logger Travis Walton and his six crewmates were driving home from a day’s work in the Sitgreaves National Forest.  The loggers saw a huge alien craft shining above the trees.  Travis jumped out of the still moving truck, determined to get up close and see it with his own eyes.  Standing directly below it and bathing in its otherworldly light. His crewmates watched with horror as Travis was suddenly hit by a powerful beam of light.

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I was working as a custodian for a local school. I had only worked there for two weeks. At first, During the summer time we worked during the day. However, when school started we switched to three to eleven shift. There were only two of us that worked at night. One night shortly after I started the night shift, My buddy that I worked with called in sick. So I was all alone. It was about 10 pm. I had finished most of my work for the evening and was finishing up mopping the last hallway. There is a stairway at the end of that hallway that leads upstairs to my friends wing that he cleaned everynight. I heard the front doors open and close. Which was very strange because no one has a key to that door. Not even the superintendent of the school! I walked down to the front doors and found noone there. I went back to mopping. I had almost finished when I felt like someone was watching me from behind. I turned around and there was a man standing at the bottom of the stairs leaning on a dustmop, staring at me. I was startled to say the least. I asked him who he was and what he was doing here? He replied in a very monotone voice,” I am here to clean upstairs”. I asked him if the head custodian knew he was here. He again replied in the same voice” Everyone knows I am here”. Well I didn’t think much of it. He turned and walked up the stairs and I heard doors opening and closing and mop buckets rolling up there. Seemed normal enough. I was about to leave for the evening and didn’t want to leave the guy in the dark so I went upstairs to tell him I was leaving and ask if he wanted the lights left on downsairs. But when I climbed the stairs, the lights were all off! He couldn’t have finished that quickly. I searched around and found no one. I even checked the very same mop to see if it had been used that night and it was bone dry! I shut down and left for the night very shaken. When I returned the following evening, My friend was there and it took me a very long time to get the nerve to tell him what happened. When I finally did. He sat dumbfounded for a few minutes and said he wasn’t sure what to believe. Apparently a woman had seen this very same man on the stairs a few years earlier. He also explained that there was nobody that came in to cover another persons shift. He did tell me there was a custodian that had shot himself in the basement of the school in 1971. He thought maybe it could be him? I had never heard the story of this man before and I had attended this school all my school years. He did some digging and found some old yearbooks. He was careful to remove the names from the four men that worked there in that time period. So that way, he could see if I had really seen this guy or not. When he showed me the photos, I picked the man I saw and it was the man who had shot himself in the basement! He said that was the man that died in the basement he has been dead for years now! We were both shocked! From then on we had many experiences and actually have recordings or evp’s of questions we asked and awnsers we got. It became an everyday occurence. I have since left the school, But hear that the activity is still going on.

The building was built in the early 1900’s and was a school and meeting place for General Chemical, at one time there was an upholstery shop and the man that worked there for years dissapeared and was never found or heard from, the building has alot of rooms and and old bomb shelter. When someone is in there alone you hear noises like someone is shopping or looking for something they can’t find things fall off shelves. There use to be a cat chops that lived there (he passed away) and sometimes you can hear a cat crying but can’t find it.

I used to live in a duplex with my family for nearly 3 years and that place was so haunted something happened nearly everyday! I remember the first night we had moved there my mother said she heard footsteps thinking it was my younger brother back from college, she went looking for him through out the whole place but saw no one.  I experienced the sounds of the footsteps one time while I was chatting with some friends online at around 12am and I heard the same footsteps my mom was talking about but I really freaked out when I heard some drawers being opened and I never went back into that room again. 
There was also sounds of banging on the walls and a female voice asking a random question and my dog at the time being freaked out and the most scariest thing that freaked me out and I ran out the door is when I was trying to work out with one of those big blue bouncy balls and out of the blue something kicked the ball across the living floor and when I saw the ball just rolling all by it self that’s when I knew for a fact that place was really haunted! And I told my parents we had to move! 
And a few months later while we were moving the owner to the taco shop across the street told my mother that a man was shot to death years ago and had died in the back room of our place!! After that my family was so upset for the fact that the owner to place never told us anything! That was the first and last time that we ever experienced anything so scary like that!

Ash R.’s Story

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My grandmother, for the longest time, held the record in the state of California for owning the largest porcelain doll collection in the region. Every memory I have at the ranch she lived in were dotted with glass eyes, dusty, cold, synthetic skin, some figures even bigger than myself, littered throughout the property. The main house had three stories—a basement (technically the ground floor), a small half level where one could find the guest bedrooms, and the top level of the house. Our family was large, and back then, I being the youngest of the brood, couldn’t call a bedroom for myself. And, as my childhood luck would have it, I always had to sleep in the doll room—the room where she had stored the most in her collection. Cases upon dimly lit cases of small lifelike figures kept me company every night—the only floor of the house with no connecting bedrooms. With a large, aged sofa as my bed, and a tall grandfather clock at the threshold of the room, I spent every night waiting for the clock to hit midnight. I couldn’t sleep until then. When you’re told as a child that the ghosts and spirits begin their stride at the strike of midnight, all the way until three in the morning, by natural fear and curiosity, you wait. Just to make sure nothing gets up and moves after the clock finishes its final strike. Every time we visited and every night we stayed, I always continued the same practice. Nothing ever came of it, but there was a certain comfort in knowing if nothing budged after the start of the “witching hour”, chances are you could sleep with no interruption. And being all-alone on the lowest level of the house, well, I took any comfort I could.

However, my grandmother always told me, regardless of where I was, or where anyone else in the house could be, never to go to the top level by myself. “The spirits live up there,” she’d tell me. Having grown up in such a spiritually engrossed family, I never once doubted the existence of spirits, ghosts, or the paranormal in general. Besides, one could feel the presence of another walking beside them as they cross into such spiritual territories. Sometimes I thought it was the dolls, but even then, I never seemed to live in a house that didn’t feel as though it contained an extra occupant, growing up. 

One morning, however, I awoke to hear silence, which in my big Californian family, was very unusual. I looked about the billiard room, the small cocktail bar, and the sitting room just outside my makeshift sleeping quarters, and found no one. Let alone any noise of feet scuttling about on the floor above me. As I climbed to the second floor, I scouted about the tall mock family of a porcelain girl with a baby carriage, and the princess dolls and even the Shakespearian tragedies contained in cases, or standing upon wooden pedestals, filling every room and around every corner. And yet, as new as the morning had been, I knew my family well enough to know they’d be up at this hour. Especially my grandmother. Still, I found no one. As my search came to a steady halt, I found myself at the foot of the last flight of stairs, the tallest of the house. It stretched over the sitting rooms and half the kitchen like a giant archway, and for someone so small; it was quite a daunting climb. My grandmother’s words lingered, not to go upstairs; the spirits live up there. Still, child logic told me, if my parents and family were already up there, what would be the harm of going up to meet them?

So, bravely, I started my slow hike up the steps. But as I ascended, I started to feel as though I were back on my sofa bed, huddled under a blanket just waiting for the clock to chime. It was an anxious and eerie sort of feeling, and my thoughts stopped as I heard a quiet scuff behind me. Pausing on the stairs, I slowly turned my head. And behind me, standing at the foot of the staircase, was my grandmother’s very impressive Rapunzel doll. She didn’t move. She hadn’t budged. At least, not from what I could see. But I remembered the case she reined over, all on her lonesome, a floor below me. As a child, I realize, there’s usually a distinct lack of awareness when it comes to the obscure. Either the child panics, as though a monster lived under the bed, or the child is acutely unaware of any danger whatsoever, and finds the happening to be more curious than scary. Unfortunately, I find myself to be the latter of these two options, and with a great deal more care, I turned away from Rapunzel to continue my climb.

A few more steps, another shifting of fabric close behind me. Suddenly, the arid heat of the day was hard to feel, and the stairway became colder than it had been shortly before. I stopped and turned around again. This time, Rapunzel in her pressed red dress and train of hair, stood several steps closer to me, only a handful of short, carpeted descents away. Where else could I go, though, but up still? Slower steps didn’t seem to be getting me anywhere, but my grandmother’s motto kept coming back to me. Turning back to the ascent, I skipped steps, hurried up the best I could until my feet began to slip on carpet. Hearing the shift of cloth and hair against carpet once more, I’m forced to stop from sheer exhaustion. Turning around for the last time, I froze. Two steps below me stand Rapunzel, and this time, something new had come about. Her chalk-dusted head tilted up, and her arm and hand were extended towards me, as if offering something. Mind you, these dolls my grandmother owned were by no means opposable; she didn’t collect ball-joints. Stunned and almost enamored with the change, I looked between Rapunzel and the top of the stairs, only a few more steps above me. Looking back on it now, perhaps I should have been more wary of my options, but children are by nature very trusting, and slowly, I began to reach back to the doll. 

A clattering of a spring-loaded door and my grandmother’s voice shouting for breakfast breaks the silence from below, startling me out of my train of thought. Relieved to finally hear someone in the house, I turned my attention to the railing, peering over the balcony of the stairway to greet my grandmother and tell her I’ll be right down. As I dropped back to my feet and looked back to the steps below me, the stairway is empty. Rapunzel is gone. 

Looking back on it now, I should have thought more about what had happened, but I was so happy to rejoin my family, I never stopped to mention what had happened. Not until several years later.