Here are 7 of the most creepy paranormal stories I could find on Reddit. If you are lonely, dim the lights and read these 7 paranormal stories. After a while it won’t feel like you are alone anymore…
5. Her side of the bed
Few weeks ago I moved into a new apartment with my girlfriend. Last night around 4 AM, the doorbell rang. I shook my girl a little bit hoping she would get up and see who the hell was at the door. She didn’t respond, which was fine because she’s a heavy sleeper. I walked to the door holding my baseball bat. I looked through the peephole. In front of the peephole, my girlfriend stood smiling.
I forgot that she was arriving on a late night flight from visiting her parents yesterday. I ran back to our room. Bed was empty. I decided I was dreaming and after a short talk, we decided to go to sleep. As I was dozing off, she said: “Aw you even warmed up my side of the bed for me.”
4. Short Tale
You may have have heard this one before, but is one of my favorites. A young girl is playing in her bedroom when she hears her mother call to her from the kitchen, so she runs downstairs to meet her mother.
As she’s running through the hallway, the door to the cupboard under the stairs opens, and a hand reaches out and pulls her in. It’s her mother. She whispers to the child, “Don’t go into the kitchen. I heard it too.”
I’ve always loved ghost stories, writers like M.R. James, L.P. Hartley, Joan Aiken, Stephen King, Joe Hill. But the scariest story I’ve ever heard was a true ghost story.
There were eight or nine of us at a restaurant in Raleigh, North Carolina, and we were telling ghost stories. The friend of a friend said, ‘When I was a girl living in Texas, I had a recurring dream. In this dream, I was walking down the street of my hometown, and a man would walk toward me. Sometimes he was older and sometimes he was younger. He didn’t always have the same face, but I always knew it was the same man.
He would get closer and closer, and I would know that something bad was going to happen, but I would wake up each time before he reached me. I would be terrified. One night, in my dream, we finally got face to face and I spoke to him.
I said, “What is your name?” He said, “My name is Sammy.” And then I woke up, and I was so afraid that I couldn’t go back to sleep. I went to my sister’s room and said, “Can I get in bed with you? I’ve just had a really bad dream.” My sister said, “Was it Sammy?” I said, “What did you say? How do you know Sammy?” And my sister said, “I don’t. But you just brought him in the room with you.” I turned on the lights and I saw that my sister was asleep.
It’s a strange feeling when your childhood home is named as the site of a brutal double murder in a national newspaper. This is the feeling I experienced earlier this week. The article in question described how the mother had been killed while watching television at around 10:30 pm.
Her assailant had presumably crept up behind her with a knife, as there were no signs of a struggle save for the slit across her neck. The perpetrator had then moved upstairs and killed the three year old daughter in her bedroom. My bedroom. The father claimed to have come home from the pub that evening just before 11:00 pm, and then phoned the police at about midnight.
He attributed the hour delay between arriving home and calling the authorities to a mixture of shock and incapacity while he vomited after seeing his daughter’s body. He had been taken to the police station for questioning. The journalist listed the husband’s previous violent offences, and short of outright libel did everything to insinuate his guilt. I am sure he is innocent.
Reading the article in the paper, I thought back to my years in the house. My mother had been a caring and nurturing woman, and I loved her dearly. My fondest memories growing up there are of her, reading softly to me in bed, then gently stroking my hair as I closed my eyes when the story finished. Those years she looked after me, in that house, are the only happy ones I have.
Her only real fault in my view was weakness. My father is an alcoholic, and an angry one to boot, and I see it as a weakness of hers that she never left him. My life would have been happier without him, and hers would have been longer. One night, after a pointless argument between her and my father, he had struck her. As she fell, she hit her head awkwardly on the coffee table. She was dead before the ambulance arrived.
My father went to prison for three and a half years for manslaughter, and since I was fourteen when it happened, I was taken in to care by social services. This was ten years ago, and I still seethe with rage when I consider the shortness of his sentence in light of the gravity of his crime. He took the only person in this world I cared about away from me. So you can understand why, after he spat on the only happy memories I have by moving his new family in to the same place I shared with her, I had to do to him what he did to me.
1. Don’t Leave the Car
I was driving a shortcut from Twentynine Palms, CA to Albuquerque, NM. Twentynine Palms is located in the desolate high desert east of LA. The shortcut was all two lane road through total nothingness, except for passing through Amboy, CA. Amboy is a nearly abandoned town nearly as far below sea level as Death Valley, with a dormant volcano and lava field on one side and a salt flat on the other. It was also, at the time, a hotspot for satanic group activity.
So I was driving by myself in the afternoon. I stopped in Amboy and snapped a picture of the city sign, just to prove I was there to friends who dared me to take that route to I-40. I got back in my car and proceeded to drive up into the mountain range between Amboy and I-40.
Once I reach the top I am driving north through a canyon with high grass on both sides of the road. Up ahead I see some stuff in the middle of the road. As I approach I slow down to see a red Pontiac Fiero stopped sideways across both lanes, a suitcase open with clothes scattered everywhere and two bodies laying face down in the road, a man and a woman.
I stop a hundred feet or so away and the hair on the back of my neck is standing up. Being a Marine, I reach under the seat and pull out a 9mm pistol and chamber a round. Something seemed very wrong, it looked too perfect as if it were staged. An ambush? Was I being paranoid? Something was just wrong. Getting out of the car seemed unthinkable, it was the horror movie move.
As I scanned the road I saw a line I could drive. Pass the guy in the road on his left, swerve to the right side of the woman, behind the Fiero and I’d be on the other side. I dropped it into first gear, punched it and drove the line I planned.
I passed the back of the Fiero without hitting it or either of the bodies in the road. I continued forward a couple hundred feet and slowed down so I could breathe and let my heart slow down. As I looked up into the rear-view mirror I saw that the two bodies had gotten up to their knees and twenty or so people emerged from the tall grass on either side of the road by the car and bodies.
At that moment my right foot smashed the gas pedal to the floor and did not let up until I had to slowdown for the I-40 east on ramp. I will never know what would have happened to me had I gotten out of the car to check on the bodies or stopped my car closer to them. Somehow I do not think it would have been good. Sometimes real life can be scarier than a movie.
That’s it! I hope some of these paranormal stories creeped you out! Leave a comment below with the story that scared you the most!