by Simon Murik
True Ghost Stories and Hauntings
True Ghost Stories and Hauntings
Chilling Stories of Poltergeists, Unexplained Phenomenon, and
Haunted Houses
Volume II
Simon B. Murik
Published by:
Paranormal Publishing
www.ParanormalPublishing.net
Copyright © 2016 by Simon Murik and Paranormal Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Acknowledgements
A special thank you to all those who shared their experiences of the paranormal to make this collection of ghost stories and hauntings possible. Whether you believe in ghosts or are just curious about the other side, we sincerely hope you enjoy reading this book.
Names and places within the stories have been changed to protect the privacy of those who contributed to this book.
Contents
Introduction
The Old Gray Church
Alone on Alpha Base 6
The Wrath of Rover
Difficult Patients
My Wife … Again
Sorority Sister
Racing the Ghost
On the Run
Ice Skating with a Ghost
Late Night Arcade and the Pinball Wizard
Grandpa’s Watch
In the Hospital
My Uncle’s Hunting Knife
Additional publications of interest
True Ghost Stories and Hauntings, Volume II, is the second in the extremely popular series of books featuring true ghost stories and hauntings which have been collected, reviewed, and edited by Simon B. Murik. Simon is the son of a long line of mediums and sensitives originally from Eastern Europe. Many of the stories come from his own experiences while others have been contributed by family members and those who have shared their paranormal experiences with him.
If you enjoy ghost stories and reading about paranormal experiences, you will love this book. Get ready for a few chills and goosebumps as you read about haunted houses, poltergeists, and other unexplained phenomenon!
Be sure to check out Volumes I and III of True Ghost Stories and Hauntings as well as other offerings from Paranormal Publishing at www.paranormalpublishing.com.
The cab pulled up to the black iron gate and the driver threw it in park. Beyond the gate the 1,000-year-old Irish church loomed over its infamous cemetery like a stone overlord. The driver bristled. With one hand still on the wheel, he turned to me. “Are you sure you want to stay here, Father? Believe me when I tell you, the stories you’ve heard about the place are true.”
I rubbed my chin and stared through the cab’s window. So much grayness. The church, the sky, the tombstones. I bit my lower lip and nodded. “Yes, I’m sure. This is what I came here for.”
The driver shook his head, popped open the door, and got out. I scooted over and got out, too. It was about fifty degrees out, but the bleakness of everything made it feel chillier. The cabbie had already taken my suitcase out of the trunk and I walked up to him and handed him a fifty.
“Thank you, Father,” he said as he tipped his cap. He then hurried back into the cab and sped off.
I took a deep breath and let it out. I knew the stories the cabbie was talking about and I didn’t take them lightly. I couldn’t.
My mentor, Daniel O’Connor, was one of those stories.
I picked up the suitcase and walked up to the gate. The church’s bloody reputation had made its way Boston long before Daniel had come here to investigate; he’d lasted a week and then died of sudden heart failure while exploring the basement.
And now I was here.
Whether I believed the place was haunted or not.
I pushed open the gate and walked up three stone steps to a path that stretched past the cemetery towards the church. It started to drizzle and I quickened my pace. By the time I reached the twin oak doors of the church it was pouring. I set the suitcase down, knocked, and waited.
A few moments went by before the door creaked open to show a thin, clean-shaven man wearing black slacks and a light blue button-down shirt. He held his hand out. “Father Murphy?”
I smiled and shook it. “Yes. Michael?”
“Yes, very nice to meet you.” He took my suitcase and I followed him into the church.
“How was your flight in from the States?” Michael asked as he led me past a library and down a hallway lined with windows looking out at the cemetery.
“The flight was fine—a little bumpy once we got over the UK,” I said.
Michael nodded, “Yes, things always get a bit choppy at that point.” We walked past a dining room with a long, cherry wood table and then the entrance to what I could see was a kitchen. I looked ahead again and Michael led me to a staircase at the end of the hall.
“So the arrangements are for three days, two nights, correct?” Michael said as he stepped up the first few stairs.
“Yes, two nights. And you’ll be here the entire time?”
“I will be,” Michael said as the staircase winded and a white stone hallway with windows lining the wall came into view. “Except for when I go into town, I’m always here. I inherited the church over ten years ago and we’ve been together ever since.”
Michael reached the top and a couple of seconds later I was up there with him. I chuckled as I looked down the hundred-foot hallway. “Together, huh? You sound like you’re friends with the place.”
Michael’s face tightened a bit and he gazed out a window. “Friends, no. Partners in some way, maybe, but not friends.” He tilted his head towards the hallway. “Come on, your room’s down this way.
I followed him, and when he stopped outside a small bedroom I peered in to see a full-sized bed, an old ivory dresser pressed against the far wall, and a window that overlooked the cemetery. I started to walk in and Michael grabbed my arm.
“You don’t have to actually stay here, you know. There’s an inn less than a mile from here … a bed and breakfast, very charm—”
“Thanks. I’ll be fine here,” I said and tried to pull away.
Michael’s hand tightened. “You need to realize that you’re on your own from this point. I can tell you where things are and answer any general questions about the church’s structure itself, but I can’t talk about its history or—”
I looked hard into his eyes. “I appreciate that, but I paid a thousand dollars for two nights here and I know exactly where I am. Do whatever is appropriate, but please understand, I came here to get answers.
We held each other’s stare for a long second and Michael removed his hand. “Very good, Father. As I said, please let me know if there’s anything I can do within the guidelines.”
“Thank you. I will.”
Michael turned and hustled back to the stairs like he was late to catch a train.
I walked into the room. There was a small bathroom with a little white sink and a shower to my right. I set the suitcase down by the dresser. Through the window I could see that the rain had stopped but the sky was still a blanket of gray. I walked up to it and set my hand on the glass. The tombstones stretched the entire length of the church and a thick row of trees behind the cemetery pretty much blocked my view of anything else.
I tapped my fingers against the window and stared at the tombstones. Daniel had also known what he was getting into when he came here—I didn’t buy that he’
d died of heart failure. I’d known the man for eight years and he was as healthy as a horse; three Iron Man Triathlons, a hell of a tennis player, and a brown belt in Judo—no way his heart just gave out on him at forty-four years old.
I rubbed the side of my face. My skin was so grimy from the long day it was like it had scotch tape stuck all over it; I headed into the bathroom and splashed cold water on it. Taking a neatly folded green towel that hung on a hook next to the sink, I dried off. Feeling a little bit fresher, I put the towel back and headed downstairs. Michael was nowhere in sight as I walked down the hall towards the library and I suddenly felt very small, almost like a child whose parents had left him inside a cold mansion by himself.
I got to the library and went straight to the stacks of hardcover books lined up on the floor-to-ceiling bookcase next to the window. Tracing my finger along the alphabetical titles, I stopped when I reached a black book with gold lettering called Ghosts of the 1,000-Year-Old Church. I slid it off the shelf.
The cover showed a black-and-white photo of the church I was standing in.
Opening the book, I started to thumb through the pages. Chapter after chapter described the volatile past of the church. Accidental deaths, suicides, and even murder. Daniel had been fascinated with the place ever since I’d met him. When he’d touched down in Ireland he’d called me to let me know he was here and then again the next day to tell me he was going to check out the basement.
That was the last time I ever spoke with him.
A sharp knock on the open door made my heart jump. Michael stood in the doorway. “Just wanted to let you know that dinner will be ready at six o’clock sharp.”
“Sounds good,” I said, nodding.
Michael took a step inside. “Settling in OK?”
I closed the book and looked around the room. “Yeah; it’s a fascinating place you’ve got here.”
Michael put his hands in his pocket and walked over to me. His face had softened. “Look, I want you to know that I do understand why you’re here, and as I said before, I can’t answer many questions,” he leaned in a bit, “but I can offer you a bit of advice. Although I’m sure you’re already planning on it, don’t go into the basement.”
I set the book back on the shelf and looked at him. “You said dinner’s at six, right?”
Michael stared hard at me, but I didn’t think it was to intimidate—more like he was trying to show me just how serious he was. There was a hint of fear in his eyes. His face then relaxed. He nodded, “Correct. Six.” Michael turned and walked out of the library. I then headed back to my room to take a nap.
I woke up an hour and a half later and looked over at the window to see a starless black sky. Pushing myself out of bed, I stretched my arms out and went downstairs to the dining room. Michael was already seated. Sitting in the middle of the table was a thick slab of roast beef, a loaf of fresh-baked bread, and a bottle of red wine.
“Hey, Michael,” I said as I walked to my chair. He didn’t answer and I saw that his eyes were closed and he was mumbling to himself. “Michael,” I repeated. His eyes opened and for a second he stared at me like he didn’t know who I was. I sat down and reached for the wine. “You OK?” I asked.
Michael nodded, his eyes lost their blankness, and he smiled. “Yes, yes. That’s a fantastic merlot. Please, enjoy it. We have a collection of over two hundred bottles.”
I poured myself a glass and for the next hour Michael and I made pleasant small talk but the hidden tension was there. He knew I hadn’t come all the way from Boston just to leave without answers and I knew that the fear in his eyes was real.
When I finished eating I went back into the library. Michael had started a fire in the fireplace and I flipped on the lamp next to the couch. I’d taken Ghosts of the 1,000-Year-Old Church from the shelf again and sat down in front of the fire with an eight-year-old bottle of Cognac that Michael had brought out for me. I took a sip and started reading.
In the first chapter, the book talked about Martin Halligan, a “dark priest” who had run the church 800 years ago. Martin had two passions: painting and killing. And by the time the town had caught on to what he was up to, he had murdered thirteen people over a span of seven years. Halligan was arrested, tried, and hung all on the same day.
The church’s legacy of ghostly deaths began shortly after that.
For the next few hours I continued to read about the church’s deranged history. When my eyes got heavy, I closed the book, leaned back against the couch’s thick cushion, and felt myself doze off. While asleep, I dreamt that a black dragon was breathing against my face. The breath grew hotter and hotter until my skin was burning. The breath then turned ice cold.
I woke up in a dark room.
The fire had gone out and the lamp had been turned off. I got up and walked out of the room. Except for the moonlight shining through the windows, the church was dark. My watch said 1:17 a.m. and I assumed that Michael had put out the fire and gone to bed. I made my way to the staircase and went up it.
A thin, blurry man stood at the end of the hallway.
“Michael?” I called out.
He didn’t answer.
I started to walk down the hall and he turned and walked into what I guessed was another bedroom. I kept going and when I reached the room I stared into total darkness.
“Michael?” I asked again.
A flash of lightning lit up the room and I saw a bunch of crucifixes hanging on the wall, a bed broken in half, and what looked like a dead white cat laying upside-down in the corner by the window.
But no one was in there.
I hurried back to my room and locked the door.
Somehow I fell asleep within the next hour and the next thing I knew it was morning.
After showering and getting dressed I went downstairs to find Michael reading the newspaper.
“Good morning, Jon. There’s coffee in the kitchen,” he said without looking up.
I went into the kitchen, poured a cup, and then went back out to the dining room. “Michael, did you sleep upstairs last night?”
Michael put down his paper and shook his head. “No, I never sleep upstairs.”
I scratched the back of my head, “Well, it’s just that I thought I saw someone standing at the end of the hall late last night and—”
“Jonathan,” Michael interrupted, “Remember what I told you, I can’t answer questions or discuss things like that. Whatever you saw is for you and you only.”
I bit my lip and nodded. After breakfast I went back upstairs and walked down the hall to the room.
The door was closed.
I turned the handle and opened it. Nothing—completely empty. No crucifixes, no broken bed, no upside-down cat. Just plain white walls and a window. I shook my head, closed the door, and walked back down the hall. When I got back downstairs I saw a note taped to the front door of the church and went up to it.
Had to go into town. Be back soon.
- Michael
I took the note off the door and scrunched it up. This was interesting. I liked the idea of exploring the church and its grounds without Michael around.
The next couple of hours flowed by like a hazy dream. Voices whispered down the hallways, I swore I saw reflections of blurred faces in the mirrors and windows, and when I returned after wandering through the cemetery - many of the names on the tombstones matched those in the book - a fog had wrapped around the church so thick that it took me almost twenty minutes to find the big double doors again.
And then there was the basement. I’d read in the book that the entrance to it was in a hallway that ran behind between the church’s nave and with Michael still gone, I figured now was as good a time as any to go down there. I walked through the kitchen and into a white-walled hallway. The entrance to the nave was across the hall just to my left and there was a door at the far end of the hallway. I went up to it and stared at its gold handle.
Time to go down there.
I opened the
door.
Wooden stairs descended into candlelit darkness. I put my foot on the first step and it creaked like an old man’s spine. I left the door open and started walking down. The staircase curved a bit and I counted another tens steps before I reached a cement floor. Bottles of wine lined the wall on my left side and a couple of candles flickered on the wall to my right. Had Michael come down here and lit them for me?
My gut said no.
Straight ahead more candles illuminated a white stone hallway that looked like it stretched out at least two hundred feet from the room I was in.
And then I looked up and my stomach twisted like I’d just drank a bottle of turpentine.
A mural of death covered the ceiling. Priests slitting their own throats, strangling each other, hanging themselves—one with a narrow face and long, black hair was clutching his heart, his face twisted in pain.
Daniel.
I bit my lip and looked ahead. Somehow I knew the answer to what happened to Daniel was down that hall.
I walked forward. The hallway was similar to upstairs: cold and impersonal. I thought about Michael’s warning.
But I kept going.
A black cloud crept out of the ceiling.
I stopped and watched as it swirled towards me. It was almost as wide as the hall and my heart suddenly felt like it had a syringe filled with misery stuck in it. I took a step back and felt hot breath on my face.
And then it was ice cold.
Everything went dark.
I turned around and started to run back down the hall but the hallway seemed to curve and swerve in the darkness and I smacked into the wall. My forehead ached and I couldn’t get a bearing on which way was which. A cold sweat broke out on my body and my heart raced. I stumbled ahead not knowing if I was heading back towards the mural room or straight at that cloud.
And then in the darkness I saw a thin, pale face and the white collar of a priest’s vestment under it floating towards me.
“Daniel?” I whispered.
It said nothing and as it came closer.