User:Hypnagogia/Assorted Hauntings

These are "true" (Or maybe not.). More to do with environments and phenomena than with the ghosts themselves, although ghosts may appear.

=BUILDINGS=

Illesheim Thrift Store Bathroom
I’m stationed in a backwoods little German post called Illesheim. And when you are a married soldier waiting for your spouse to get here, you don’t stay in the nice barracks. You stay in, what is called “the thrift store”. Because, in fact it sits on the second story of the post thrift store.

It’s a very old building and, like many other buildings here, was in fact occupied by Nazi’s at one point. That very fact messed with my head sometimes. Across the street from the tiny PX is the door painted shit brown with various peeling shades of latex paint. I was given a key for that door, but the paint had dribbled over, and settled in the keyhole from whenever someone on extra duty slogged the last coat on. Once you force the door open there’s a creepy utilitarian cement stair case with a hand rail and alternating shades of rust and the same shit brown latex paint from the door.

Once you ascended the cement staircase, you emerge at the corner of an “L” shaped hallway. I’m pretty sure it was a converted office, but I didn’t mind it. The three other guys and I that shared the room had cordoned off our individual sections with the surplus of extra wall lockers in the hall.

My problem was never with the room, or the people in it. I hated the bathroom. I never felt right in there. No one ever took showers at night. And when you had to piss at night, you HURRIED.

After waking up with a full bladder from plenty of beers, I was cursed with not only the need to mobilize myself to relieve my bladder, but I had an awful case of the beer shits. I stumbled down the hall, the lights flickered like they always did, and the institutional grey paint of the walls seemed to vibrate with each flash. I ignored the shapes that my mind imagined in the dark inbetween the flickerings.

I looked into the bathroom, it was dark. Despite SSG Smith, leaving a big note next to the light switch stating that If it was ever turned off there would be “repercussions and concussions”. I switched it on, and headed for toilet desperate to releive myself in all ways, and then…BAM! Someone had slammed one of the doors to the shitters. “Fuck! You scared me you prick!” I said.

After the slam I heard a voice that wasn’t a cry or a laugh, it just sounded desperate as it said, Ah Haaaaaaaaaaaaaah……….

First thought, Someone broke up with their girlfriend, and is wallowing in sorrow in the dark on the shitter. I pissed them off with the light. I expected to find some drunken asshole crying over a picture of his now ex lover drinking himself stupid. Still having to releive myself in both ways, I looked at each and every stall. No one in the stalls. Not one of them locked. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. If someone was in there, I would have seen them leaving. there’s just no other way out of there.

I didn’t know what the fuck it was, but my full bladder, and clenched sphincter begged me to rationalize it. So I did. It might have been a pipe knocking or someone in the next room whining.

I sat down to relieve myself and started thinking. “There’s no other rooms around here. The other side of the wall is an old converted Hangar that’s used for storage now. there’s no pipes overhead here, and that sure sounded like a stall door slamming.”

Just as before, although this time with my pants around my ankles and my ass not completely wiped, I heard…BAM! It was definitely a stall door slamming. I ran out of there, with shit dripping down my leg. And someone was crying at me as I ran out the bathroom door. It was the kind of voice people make if they’re pretending to be retarded. I didn’t dare turn around to see. I went to my room and woke up the only other guy who was in our room that night!

“Under! Under! Wake the fuck up man, there’s someone in the Bathroom!”

He looked at me all puzzled

“So?”

“No, dude, they’re fucking with me. I tried to take a dump and they’re wailing and banging shit around”

I was the private, He was a specialist. He got out of bed to see what this dumb ass private was talking about. We went to the bathroom, the lights were off again. He reached inside for the switch, they would not turn on. We both looked at each other, Neither of us would go in, both of us understanding why. He had heard shit in there too before, and was just as freaked out as I was. Just to check, we opened the fuse box. All of them clicked over properly. I cleaned myself with field wipes, and slept restlessly that night. The only comfort I seemed to have was that the weirdness was confined to the bathroom.

The next few weeks I spent in there, I never went near that bathroom except for bright and early in the morning. Even then, always hurrying. It was one more reason I was glad when my wife and kids arrived.

Eventually, they stopped putting people from my unit up there. We handed over keys to the other Battalion here, and I drive by there sometimes, and see the bathroom lights flicker from the road, just glad I never have to go in there again.

God Toilet
Has its own page

Volponi's Basement
Has its own page

Stony Cottage
Has its own page

Tree at the House
I used to live in a house that was about 100ish years old, out by Medina Dam in Texas. I loved that house, it was fucking awesome. Rock walls, cast iron spiral staircase, a sun room, and two fireplaces, one with the chimney part of it rebuilt out of brick they ripped out of the streets of downtown san antonio when they were repaving them. Tons of awesome history around that house. Old bottles, toys made out of metal, ect.

Upstairs, though, was....weird. I was up reading one night at about 2 am, when my little sister (whom I shared a room with) woke up and asked "who are you? Toastface, who's that man?" I turned around, and there was nothing. My sister got a really confused look on her face, and went back to sleep. I chalked it up to her talking in her sleep, since she was known to do that.

About a week later, I was again reading at about 2 am, when I decided it was time to go to sleep. I flipped over to turn off the light, and there was a man, just....staring at me. I was about to scream for my step-dad, when the man just...dissolved. After that, I refused to sleep there anymore, and my sister and I slept in the living room for the rest of the time we were living there.

Years later, I was talking to my mom about that house, and I brought it up. For years she thought we were sleeping in the living room because the floodlight out back was making our room too bright to sleep in. She started telling me about how, when we had first moved in, she had walked around the house taking pictures to send to my grandmother. She took pictures of every single angle of the house she could (my mom sometimes goes overboard with pictures). Most of them developed clearly, except for every single one with one certain tree in it. The tree right outside my bedroom window.

I asked the old neighbor about the history of that house after that, as I still visited her daughter from time to time. Turns out the guy that owned that house in the 50's hung himself from that tree.

can't find my shoes - Side Story
Okay, so the story goes that when my dad's friend moved into his house, the family noticed that the door to the basement was locked with numerous deadbolts. This is millions of years ago when my father was 10 years old or so.

Once the family was getting settled in the friend's father decides to remove these locks from the basement door. The next morning all the drawers and cabinets in the kitchen were found wide open. Same thing the next night. The father decides to put the locks back on the door and the incidents in the kitchen never happen again.

Years later my dad's friend had to get exorcised after playing with a Ouija board. My dad thought it was funnier than hell. Not sure I'll be able to get him to elaborate much more than that though.

Scratching in the Attic
Here's a story my dad used to tell:

When he was a boy, his parents lived on a farm. Not the same farm house with the basement, but a different place. For the first years of his life he was farmer, tending the fields and the animals in virtual isolation from the outside world.

When he was eight he got his own room. It was a fairly sized room with dark wood walls, and a thick wood ceiling. The curtains were kinda see-through and cheap, so they would never block the sun, but always make the room look yellow.

The interesting thing about this room was that it was under the attic. The attic didn't cover the whole upstairs, but just his room and the bathroom. It was small and had been sealed since his parents moved in, so no one really cared to use it.

His first night in his own room was exciting to him. He had a hard time going to sleep, and only around midnight or so did he start to get drowsy. As he was drifting to sleep, he heard something from the attic. It wasn't wind or the house settling, but footsteps, all over the attic. He laid quietly as the footsteps slowly marched all around the attic, and eventually stopped over his bed. Thinking the noises had stopped, he tried to close his eyes and rest until tomorrow when he can tell his parents what he heard. Then he heard the scratching.

Slow, rhythmic scratching from the attic floor, right above his face. Never changing pace, never getting louder, or quieter. Whatever it was kept scratching for an hour, and then stopped for the night.

He told his dad what he heard, and his dad opened up the nailed wooden planks on the attic door opening in the hallway. When the doorway was open, his father looked around so he could see what kind of animal had been scratching, and where it got in. After an extensive search of the basement, his father could find nothing, and told my dad he was dreaming the whole thing. My father knew better, but seeing the heavy planks get nailed back up over the door made him feel more secure.

That night the same scratching happened again.

And the night after that.

And the night after that.

And for the rest of the week.

His parents noticed that he was pale and wasn't eating, and the became very concerned. My dad couldn't eat or sleep because he was so afraid of what has happening in the attic above his room. His father had enough of this silliness, and went up to the attic, removed the planks, took my father into the attic, and pointed to the space above my fathers room, where there were finger sized grooves in the attic floor.

My father says he always remember being scared out of his mind because he didn't know what was in the attic with them now, but his dad didn't panic. His dad just picked him up, calmly left the attic, sealed the attic door again, moved my fathers stuff out of his room, and sealed the room; all within five minutes. His dad never panicked or acted afraid at all, and after the room was sealed he came downstairs and said to his mother "We're leaving this week. Pack your stuff, we're moving somewhere else, and I'm getting a new job."

Then he moves into the house with the hidden basement, but that's not really his fault I guess.

=FORESTS=

The Hand in the Forest
When I lived in New Zealand, a good ten years ago, during school holidays I would go spend some time at an Uncles farm. I think I would have been around 11 or 12 no older then that. The farm wasn't a working farm, my uncle had a fairly rich family yet he was a bit of a...well, slacker. So they bought him a nice property out in the country.

The farm was a great holiday, no need to work or anything, and I always went to the farm whenever my cousin was there. He was a few years older, and together we got up to pretty good mischief. Exploring the farm and the lands, spending all day out just wandering around and getting lost.

A good half-hour walk from the house was a heavily forested area, which is where we spent most of our time. I think we planned on building a fort of some kind, but that never happened.

The woods were a quiet area, even compared to the rest of the farm. The ground was hilly, most of the trees being on a large slope that headed down to a small river. Bones of sheep were scattered all about the area, the farm had obviously been used to raise livestock a few years ago, but not anymore.

The woods were never scary...but not peaceful. There was an odd feel about them, the kind that made you check over your shoulder every so often. I remember laughing at a joke with my cousin, and hearing my laugh echo for what seemed ages, or die down instantly. It was a disquieting place.

One afternoon, we were playing in the woods, wandering about and exploring the area. Even in such a quiet place, it was easy to lose track of each other, and after looking away for only a moment, I found myself alone. Of course, simply being alone didn't scare me...but for some reason I stayed silent as I walked, not calling for my cousin. He clearly felt the same, as I heard nothing from him. The only sound I could hear was my own breathing, and suddenly the woods felt far more threatening and frightening.

My footsteps sounded too loud, and I stopped moving. Suddenly I was afraid, really really afraid. I didn't know why, but I just wanted to make sure I made no noise, holding my breath, I looked around at the towering trees, and then I saw it.

What it was...was a person. Or so I think. All I could see of it was a hand, wrapped about a tree perhaps ten metres away. The hand was old, ancient. Withered skin and a mass of veins, the fingers were seemingly impossibly long, the nails yellowed and twisted things.

Time seemed to stop. I waited for an eternity for whatever creature had that hand to step from behind the tree, yet it never came. The tree was thin. Not a sapling, but not some mighty ancient. Whatever was hiding behind the tree was skinny, skinnier then it had any right to be.

I didn't move for long seconds as I watched that hand, almost caressing at the tree, moving in small little strokes, fingernails digging lightly at the bark. Then I ran, downhill, towards the river and away from the farmhouse. So much adrenaline pumping through me, I raced off, crashing through bushes and leaping roots. Slipping and sliding, I eventually came to a stop about half way down the hill.

Silence greeted me, my breath coming in heavy pants. I still remember how I felt with that adrenaline pumping through me. For a second I almost laughed at myself. I was running from a hand? I wasn't a pussy...why I should go back up there and kick that hand right in it's long fingers.

Then I looked back behind myself, the sudden rush of my flight dying off, my fear rising as my adrenaline faded. Looking about, everything looked clear, until I looked further up the hill. Then I saw the hand again.

That hand has bothered me ever since. No person has ever had a hand like that. It was all...wrong. Like somebody had skewed it's measurements.

Once more holding to a tree, this time a further distance then previous. But it had followed me. This wasn't just a ghostly hand, there was something behind that tree. I tilted my head, desperate to try get a look at that creature, yet I couldn't look around the tree. All I could see of it was that old, hideous hand.

The world seemed to hold it's breath as I stared up at that hand, quickly glancing about my surroundings in a paranoid fit, making sure there was nothing else. Convinced nearby trees where clear, I looked back up, to find that the hand had moved.

The hand had moved closer, a tree that was a few more steps towards me. The ground was steep, and for anyone to move silently in the forest would be a near impossible task, let alone move a few metres, down a steep hill, in a few seconds.

I ran again, pelting downhill, just trying to get away from that...thing. I looked back, trying to catch a glimpse of it, but there was nothing but trees there. Suddenly, I broke out of the woods to the river, and to my immense relief, saw my cousin at the bank, throwing stones at tadpoles.

I told him everything, but he didn't believe me. He thought it was all a big joke, but I was certain that there was something in those woods. Not just something...but something malignant. This was no product of my imagination. He started to walk back into the woods, but I begged him to stay, my obvious distraught finally having an affect on him. He decided to walk around the woods and follow the river homewards, something that I was glad of.

Moved to Australia after that year, never went back to the farm. Glad of that though, even now ten years later I know that I saw that hand. There is no doubt in my mind about that. Still creeps me out.

Children's Asylum (SumGayGai)
Alright, not a long story, but true...

Around where I live there is an abandoned asylum for children. It's all locked up tight now, but we found a way in. Armed to the teeth with flash lights, cameras, and digital tape recorders, we ventured into an area that from the looks of it was where they had school. The windows were high, there were chains on the floor by some rotting wood (we assumed were the desks). We agreed before hand that we wouldn't fuck around (there were 4 of us) and try to scare each other. One of my friends tripped on a chain and grabbed at the teachers rotting desk, ripping a good portion off as he fell. All of us fell silent. No one moved for about 30 seconds, then I walked towards my friends (I was looking into the hallway). A sound of something crashing resounded through the halls and into the classroom while I was walking. The sound was so loud that I had to put my hands to my ears. One of my friends ran by me followed by the others to see what happened, I followed soon after. I dropped my flashlight when I put my hands over my ears so I had to follow the constant moving light of my friends. When I arrived, I almost slammed into a friend. There in the hall was an old refrigerator, still smoking, that fell through what looked like the teachers lounge wall. We left soon after that, freaked out.

When we arrived at my house, we checked the footage we got. Nothing of interested until we checked the audio recorder. After the crash, we heard a voice muttering unknown words for about 10 seconds, then a whistling sound...

We went back a few nights later, but the cops were there, apparently the night before, the security guys that make the rounds every 3 hours (we timed them when we were scoping it) found a body crushed under a refrigerator... It was a mid 20's male who they ID'ed as someone who was held at that hospital until it was shut down. We never found out where the body and the refrigerator were since they increased security after that and did not let press into the building. But I swear there was nobody when we saw the fridge...

=GHOSTHUNTING=

Tales of a Ghosthunter (incarna)
Has its own page

Slave Plantation (pahuyuth)
Michael and I decided to ghost hunting. After we survived our encounted in the House of Scary Shit, we figured we could get through any supernatural crisis.

We heard of an old house that was rumored to be haunted. It was down a long, narrow dirt road in the middle of nowhere (naturally). On either side of the driveway was a marsh. At midnight, we suited up with our flashlights and cameras and headed down the road. It was too overgrown with vegetation to drive, so we walked.

That was mistake #1. We got about 3/4 of the way to the house when Michael’s flashlight died. About 30 seconds later, mine went out too. At this point our reaction was ‘Whaafuck?!’ Since the batteries in BOTH flashlights were brand spanking new, this was indeed strange. After frantic, repeated beatings on it, my light finally came back on. We trudged onward toward the house. The flashlight revealed that the doors and windows had been boarded up. We finally found a way inside, through a cellar door in the back. Opening it and entering was mistake #2.

We looked around the basement, and found jars of all kinds of weird shit. They may have been old containers of fruit or pickled food, but I swear I saw small animals in some of them.

We went up the stairs and found that the door was open. We stepped into the main room and were greeted by a shitload of mice scurrying about. That made us almost shit in our pants right there. Then we saw It.

Something, humanoid in form, was crouched in a corner, sobbing. It was rocking back and forth on its heels. It had very pallid looking skin, with what appeared to be lesions and cuts all over its body. It wasn’t wearing any kind of clothes, and it HAD NO HANDS. Where the hands should have been there was a kind of void… a blackness that didn’t reflect any light. It was completely oblivious to our presence. The light didn’t seem to bother it, and our cries of ‘HOLY SHIT WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT’ didn’t have effect on it either. It made a motion with its ‘hands’ and sort of dissolved away.

We got the hell out of Dodge. The next day we went to the local University’s library and did some research. It turned out that the home was part of an old slave plantation. Apparently the ghost was a slave that, while trying to escape, was captured. His hands were then cut off and he was used to pull plows around by a rope tied around his waist… since he was of no use with tools anymore.

Of course, none of the pictures we took turned out. They were all black.

=ITEMS AND OBJECTS=

Look What I Brought Home!
Just about the only thing to do in the township that didnt involve the murder of woodland animals was hunt for arrowheads. The greater area was apparently some patchwork of american indian villiages. So this is what my cousin Jeff spent his pre-puberty years doing. One lovely day in 1976 Jeff is out in some farmers field digging for pointy pieces of stone when he stumbles across-GASP-a femur! A few more hours digging and Jeff has an entire human skeleton, toe to skull. Whats the most logical thing to do when you dig up a skeleton? Take it home, of course! So the remains of John Doe stay in Jeff's dresser for two weeks. His mother is none to pleased to discover it, and his father decrees that Jeff shall take it back to where he found it and re-bury it.

Ever since the fellow was buried again, lightbulbs have lasted for unnaturally short amounts of time, and no wiring faults can be found.

Also judging from the description of the remains and the bashed-in backside of the skull, I would not be entirely surprised if the fellow was a murder victim instead of a native.

Haunted N64
Well, it’s finally over. I’ve gotten rid of it. Who’d have thought that one object could harbor so much animosity toward its owner? This tale starts out much the same way as any other horror tale – with the purchase of a secondhand item from eBay.

The year was 2005. I was so excited to receive my mint condition Nintendo 64 I could hardly stand it. I’d scored a monster of a deal. I was getting the system, a controller, Starfox, and an expansion pack, all for ten dollars. Little did I know what havoc this would wreak on my life. When it arrived in the mail, I couldn’t wait to hook it up and play. All my games looked great (by N64 standards) and they played even better. I was in hog heaven for about a year. It was the first day of the 2006-07 school year that the first strange occurrence reared its ugly head.

I was sitting around, catching up with old friends when my head began to throb. An intense pain began to consume my head and, to further increase my agony, I was greeted with a vision of an incredibly embarrassing incident from the previous school year. Then, as suddenly as it began, I was back to normal. Nobody seemed to notice my brief excusal to my own personal slice of Hell, granted it only actually lasted about ten seconds. Ever since, I’ve been having these visions and headaches. I’ve seen countless doctors and had x-rays, CT scans, and MRIs of my head, only for the doctor to say all was normal. I knew it wasn’t but I tried to convince myself and everyone around me it was under control.

The strong painkillers the doctors would prescribe worked for a while but they were by no means a permanent solution and as my body got used to them, the headaches began occurring again, despite my medicated state. Finally, I just told my parents they’d gone away and dealt with them as best I could. What started my mind to buzzing was that every time these bouts would occur, my cat would glare at the Nintendo 64 I had proudly sitting atop my TV stand. Finally, over the summer, another frightening symptom sprang up.

This summer, I was the youth intern for my church. I was driving home from church one evening when I came upon a stop sign. I knew the area and knew that it was not heavily trafficked at that time of night, so I turned without coming to a complete stop. As I was turning, I saw a large, black truck come flying around a blind curve. Its horn rang out as the sound of its brakes resonated through the trees. I could tell it wasn’t going to stop in time. As I closed my eyes and braced for the impact, the truck disappeared. I opened my eyes and surveyed the intersection. There were no vehicles in any direction. I had imagined the whole thing. Chalking it up to the long day I’d had, I got home as quickly as possible and never gave it a second thought.

Part of my job was to stay up at the church to answer the phone or assist anyone who came by. As I sat in the church office, doing some research for class, I heard a thud. It was clearly coming from the fellowship hall. I poked my head out the door to see what the commotion was about, but everything was quiet. There was no one in the building and all the tables and chairs were in their proper place. I’m hesitant, however, to say all was well. The air was heavy and dank and I couldn’t shake the feeling I was being watched. As I slowly eased the door closed, the feeling of being followed remained.

When I returned home, I went into my room, closed the door, and flopped onto my bed. After another of my little headache episodes, I looked over to see my N64 on the floor. Now, ordinarily, I would think nothing of this, but where it was sitting, it could not have fallen of its own accord. I asked my dad about it and he said he heard a crash a few hours ago. My stomach instantly sank. I couldn’t prove it, but I knew somehow that was the crash I’d heard.

As time went by and my mental state deteriorated, I began hearing footsteps through the building, then voices accompanying them. I watched as boy began walking across the parking lot and disappear halfway across. Still, it seemed confined to the building for now. I began to work as much as I could from home and to try and be at the building when others were there. I was so relieved when my term was over. It was a week later that It followed me home.

I was sitting watching TV and heard my name. Instinctively, I yelled back asking what whoever was calling wanted. I received no reply. After finishing my show, I walked outside to get the mail. It was on the way back that I noticed something. Mine was the only car in the driveway. I hadn’t noticed as everyone was gone when I woke up. I went back in and called out to see if anyone was home. No one answered, but I saw something out of the corner of my eye. This incident repeated itself many times. Finally, two weeks ago, things came to a head.

My sleep was utterly thrown off for no apparent reason. I was staying up until 5 a.m. every night and having to wake up at 8. Finally, that Saturday, I slept for about 16 hours and just couldn’t get out of bed. This pattern continued into the next week. Also, I’d started reading horror stories from Creepy+Pasta. After reading a few stories, I had another of my incidents but more horrific. People’s faces were blurred, the images darker, and everyone was laughing at me with malice in their voices. I didn’t know what to do anymore. I secluded myself from the world, communicating as little as possible, haunted by what I was experiencing. I just couldn’t shake the feeling that wretched machine was tormenting me.

A week ago, another incident occurred. My dad was in his office (the room on the other side of the wall from me) and I was in my room. We were the only two home when all of a sudden we heard a crash. It sounded like an N64 falling, complete with the vibration in the floor. The thing is, I was looking at the Nintendo the whole time. My dad said something must have fallen upstairs but a cursory glance suggested that nothing was out of the ordinary.

Finally, I’d had enough. This morning, I woke up at 4:30 in the morning. It felt like someone had punched me in the face. I went to the bathroom to take a shower. After, starting the water to warming, I looked in the mirror, seeing a bruise right under my eye, right where I’d felt the pain that woke me up. Forgoing my shower, I went to eBay. They didn’t have the record of my purchase. Then I remembered I had a folder for receipts in my old e-mail. I came up with a username.

eBay didn’t seem to have a record of him so I Googled the username, figuring he probably had a standard username. The only result I came across was a forum. I checked his posts and at one point, he talked about his mom making him sell his N64. Apparently he was quite fond of it. The last post was from his mother. She just wanted to tell people his declining health had gotten the better of him. He’d died. The date on the post was about a year after the eBay receipt.

As soon as Play ‘N Trade (the only store I know that still sells retro games) opened, I packed up the system, controller, and games and traded it all in. I told the guys who worked there my story and they laughed it off. It’s probably just as well they don’t buy into it. The whole way to the store, that feeling of heaviness and of being watched was in the car. I kept feeling like there was somebody in the back seat but the mirror revealed nothing. The feeling was also throughout the store through the trade-in process and as I figured out what to get with the credit. A good sign was that the car ride home felt relaxed. For the first time in years, I felt at ease.

I got home and I wasn’t paranoid and depressed. Everything felt natural. That malevolent spirit is gone. It’s at Play ‘N Trade. Ask Brandon or the newer heavyset guy. We were the only three in the store through the process of trading. Come to think of it, nobody walked in until I was on my way out and the whole way there, every intersection was clear and every light green. Maybe he was tired of my fighting back and wants a new challenge. To be honest, I really don’t care. I’m just glad to be rid of it.

I don’t believe in anything supernatural, and if it hadn’t happened to me, I’d have written it off as someone’s overactive imagination. I know there are those who will think this is funny or a complete fabrication and I don’t care. I know that it’s the unbridled truth. I don’t even know what I hope to accomplish by writing this. I guess I’m just trying to assure myself that it’s really over and that it really happened. I was just too afraid to write about it or tell anyone about it. Whatever it was that attacked me did so unprovoked. I guess I was afraid of what it would do to me.

(This story is credited to a person called Charles Blake. In a followup email I received from him, he had this to say:

"The story didn't come from a forum or anything. It's totally original. Also, I figured I should tell you, it's mostly true. By that I mean I actually had what I believe to be a malevolent spirit follow me around and I encountered all the crazy symptoms I wrote about. I was never able to trace the N64 back to any owner, living or dead but I was able to trace the happenings back to the N64 and i did pawn it off on a Play 'N Trade up here in Virginia.") Source