Being a devout fan of Creepypasta’s true story section, I felt compelled to share my story with other users. While it is nice to provide all of you with a chilling, and entertaining story, keep in mind I have a much greater goal in mind.

Before my experience two days ago (May 3rd and 4th, 2013) I was a very skeptical person; not just in the paranormal, but in all areas of life. Should something not be able to be factually proven, it was simply not true. While I was always interested in death, the paranormal, and ‘spooking’ myself in general, I had always been a hard-headed person who never believed that there was any truth to it all. I simply wrote things off as, “an interesting story” and never genuinely believed that in anything, “unexplained”. Following my experiences however, I’ve come to terms with the fact that just because things do not follow our illusion of reason, does not mean that those things aren’t actually valid.

As I had stated before, I have a greater goal in mind higher than simply entertaining my fellow Creepypasta members. Contrary to my previous belief, there are things in life that cannot be explained. Like the beginning of the universe, and life itself. We can trace things back in theory, 13.7 billion years ago with the Big Bang; but the further into it you go, the more questions arise. “And what before that, and before that?” Great wars have been fought over the topic ever since the beginning of man itself. We are all fighting and scrambling to answer the unexplainable origin of the beginning of the universe. Why? Simply put, we are very intrigued about a topic that is so complex, and abstract, that it could never be explained.

This is why the Creepypasta stories, true or false, are captivating. We all want to feed our hunger with a glimpse into the irrational world of the paranormal and incomprehensible. My goal above all is to show my peers that you must keep an open mind, and simply give into the inevitable truth that some things in life cannot be explained.

I apologize for the long prefix, but I felt it was an absolutely necessary one. Here are my experiences of May 3rd and 4th.

Seeing as how it was a Friday on May 3rd, I was very glad to be on a small but much appreciated break from work and school. Naturally, I did the old teenager cliché of spending the night at a friend’s house. As usual, I indulged in playing video games, and criticizing old classic movies with my good buddy, Cris. We were a couple of film buffs who loved share impressions of actors, and poke fun at poorly done special effects, etc. The night was honestly going great in true weekend fashion. My friend and I had just come to the realization that he could do a pretty good Nicolas Cage impression, so we spent a large part of that night laughing and talking like him at random points in our hangout.

When I had attempted to follow in and give the impression a try, he shot me down and ridiculed me for doing a bad job. I shrugged, and tried to laugh it off but he continued to pursuit berating me. Eventually, I grew tired of his negative criticism, and we had a small argument. It was no big shouting match or anything, we were used to this sort of thing because we made fun of each other on such a regular basis, it was only natural to have a small little fight now and then. We always got over it within a day or two. I felt the best course was to gather my things and ride my bike home so we could both cool off a little.

I was a little reluctant to bike home because it was really late already. I was no stranger to riding home in the dark, it was actually sort of routine because I got around a lot. It seemed I was always riding home in the late hours from someone’s house. This time was different however because it was now 1:24 AM (May 4th now). I had only ever ride my bike out past midnight only once or twice before for an absolute emergency. I refrained from riding when it was very late because I always had a fear of gangs and other not-so-great characters who tended to be out at that time of night.

Clouded of my better judgment by pride and anger though, I put on my backpack, hopped on my bike, and started off. I recall the cool summer breeze that I had felt as soon as I began to ride home. It was very therapeutic to feel the wind relieving me of my stresses. I was now confident that I had made the right call to leave my friend’s house, rather than stay there and wait in awkward silence until we both went to sleep. I continued to ride home for another ten minutes. At this point I was at a crossroads. Do I ride down Van Ness? Or turn, and head towards the main road, where the prostitutes and gangsters usually hung out?

I continued to go straight and head down Van Ness. Although this seemed like a no-brainer, it took some thinking, and a fair amount of guts. Van Ness was a very tranquil street. It was filled with tall pine trees, little traffic, and certainly no shady characters like Blackstone. It was the quintessential biking trail for the town during the day; a bikers paradise. At night however, it was much different. Van Ness was a bit off a historic part of town, so it did not have street lights. There were so many trees, that even the moonlight could not sneak through to illuminate the street. Me and my friends frequently joked that this was the darkest street in the world. Aside from being very dark it was also very quiet, even the sound of crickets would be relieving because you would know that you were not completely alone.

I had been riding on the street for a while now, and only had about three-quarters of a mile remaining until I was on my street. I had gotten kind of used to the street and was no longer nervous about the ‘spookiness’ of the street. The solitude was actually quite refreshing.

During the day, I frequently rode down Van Ness, as I had mentioned it was a ‘Mecca” for bike riders. I was very familiar with all of the buildings and fields on the stretch of road. So, when I saw an unfamiliar building, it stuck out like a sore thumb. At the end of a long, dry field stood a tall menacing, mansion of a home. Like straight out of a classic horror movie. I could totally imagine a thunderstorm in the background adding to the horrifying look of it. I stopped pedaling, and slowly passed the building by. The curiosity of the building began to burn a hole in my head. I knew that if I did not stop and analyze the building, I would lose sleep wondering at what I had missed.

I turned around and dismounted my bike, and stared at the building in awe. On the front of the building was a green text, the same green that was used on this historic part of town in Van Ness. I was nearsighted, which meant that I need to wear my prescription glasses to see far away. I reached in my pocket and realized that I had left my glasses at Cris’ house in my hurry. I decided that I would have to get a closer look if I wanted to read what it said. I was way too enthused to simply call it a night on that note. I had to at least read what it said.

I stepped onto the crunchy dry field and proceeded to walk towards the building. My imagination was running wild, thinking of what on earth this sign would read. My mind is drawing blanks now as to what I thought it could have said. Finally I got close enough to make out the words. “Van Ness Asylum” Under that what smaller subtext that I could not yet read. I did not know if I should continue to walk towards it, and run like hell out of there. Once again, I figured, I have to at least read it. I walked a little closer and read the smaller text,” 978 N. Van Ness”. I was so puzzled. I was so sure that had I seen this terrifying building before, I definitely would have looked inside of it, and at the very least remembered that it was there. It’s not very often you see an asylum you now.

Second, why would there be an asylum in the middle of all of these nice homes in the first place. All of the homes surrounding, and the asylum itself looked to be built around the same time period. The homeowners would have gone mad had they known a looney-bin was built right next door. The asylum was obviously abandoned as shown by the broken windows and poor upkeep. So at the very least, why wouldn’t the neighborhood have at least petitioned to have the building torn down in recent years?

None of this was adding up. I decided I should call someone and at least get their opinion. Should I go in? Then the grim reality reminded me that it was now about 2 AM. All of family and friends were asleep. Maybe not Cris, but he was mad at me. I contemplated going in, and paced back and forth at the idea.

My entire life, I had been kind of a play-it-safe type guy; afraid to branch out and try new things. In the past two years, I had tried to embrace the spontaneous life and tried to learn to say yes. I had to be absolutely nuts to go into an abandoned asylum on a dark street at two in the morning, by myself mind you. “But imagine what you’d find?” I recalled watching YouTube videos of people who would break into condemned asylums and see what they found. The idea fascinated me, but at the same time, I didn’t think I had it in me. “I couldn’t possibly, could I?”

Once again, clouded by my better judgment; this time by intense curiosity and the drive to take a chance and explore, I proceeded to look for an opening into the building. I circled the building and gave reasons like, “That hole is too small…” or “I’d rip my shirt there…” soon I realized I was making sorry excuses to delay the exploration. I psyched myself up, and crammed myself through broken window.

I saw no signs of graffiti, old soda cans, or cigarettes that would imply that anyone has been in here since it was boarded up and deserted. That scared me. If someone had been in here before, I would have at least known that they whatever dangers may be in here, someone had encountered before me. I had a very annoying habit of scaring myself when having a clear, non-timid mindset was very important. I had a flashlight that I attached to my bike that I used to navigate the dark, cold building. Because this was virgin ground since the boarding up, the inside of the asylum was very well preserved. The white, flawless tile flooring still looked very sterile.

Trust me when I say, neatness was much more scary than if the place was a wreck. It was very freaky. Papers were scattered about from when they were extracting files and sensitive patient information, but other than the papers, the place was pristine. Spotless, no mirrors broken, no cracked porcelain toilets, no piss and excrement all over the walls like you would expect.

Next, I focused on paying attention to where I was and where I was headed. Where were the patient’s bunks, where were the operating rooms, and where was the morgue? It seems I was in the admissions area, where you would be checked in and out. I walked down a narrow hallway and found a cluster of operating rooms. Complete with the anti-septic metal tables, stripped of all warm, comfortable sheets and pillows. I didn’t find any scalpels, or bone-saws. I presume they removed those for health concerns. I scavenged through drawers and found surgical tubing, respirator masks, and sterile gloves, still sealed in the boxes. It was so odd to see that aside from the scattered papers, and no chairs, or furnishings, the place still contained a lot of things necessary to keeping an operational medical facility.

I continued through the asylum and found that the pattern on the floor had changed, the tiles were a different color, almost like a yellow brown, and the tiles were smaller. I noticed that every few feet there were drains on the floor. I looked up and around and saw lockers where I assumed scrubs and other gear was stored. I put it all together, and made the conclusion that I was in the morgue. The drains had been strategically placed to allow for the draining of blood on the floor. A truly haunting thought.

My whole time in there, I heard a few creaks, and whatnot but just blamed them on my stepping, and the age of the building. I had been in there about six minutes when finally I heard something that absolutely made my stomach drop. The only thing that I could assign the sound to was a drawer of a morgue refrigerator slamming shut. (The large lockers where the dead are stored before burial) I did not explode and bolt out of there. I knew that if I had done that, I would have gotten scared that something was right behind me chasing me. I tried to keep calm and walk out of that place without panic, but in the back of my mind, I knew that I had never been so scared in my life. After an eternity it seemed I jumped out of the window and landed back on the porch of the Van Ness Asylum. I ran through the field and got on my bike and rode home. It’s not like my endeavor was over, I still had to ride nearly a mile home in anguishing fear on the dark deserted streets of Van Ness.

Soon, I was home safe and sound. I was so shaken up I didn’t think that I could return to living a normal life again. Falling asleep that night was very hard. I pushed through it, and the next day I felt a lot better.

Now, I suppose I could have sullied the story by making up some bullshit about how I saw a figure, or something touched me, or there was blood all over the walls. I know that some people would prefer to have some truly horrifying experience to make this long story all worth it, but I wanted to stay true to heart, and not spoil a true, and scary story. Need not worry however, the story is not over there.’ Here is the paranormal, truly unexplainable part:’

I called up my friend Cris and it seemed the both of us were done being mad, I told him about what had happened, and told him I’d meet him at his house in about an hour. I rode to his house and was there in about 40 minutes. I was very excited to tell him about it in person.

He was so amazed, that he decided he wanted to go and look at the asylum for himself. He also rode down Van Ness at least twice a year and did not recall seeing an asylum, night or daytime. I was very much still traumatized by last night, but I really wanted to show off the fact that I had gone into that scary fucking house all by myself. We decided we’d both take a bike ride down Van Ness to see the building.
When we arrived there at about 3 PM, thirty minutes later, we had some trouble finding the house. I recalled the length and shape of the field of the asylum, and I saw a field that matched it, but saw no menacing asylum on top of it. This didn’t make sense, it didn’t add up, just like the asylum being there in the first place. I didn’t understand. But as I stated earlier, there are just some things in life you cannot explain.

Credit To – Frankieseshy

On our way home from vacation, my five year old daughter and I got stuck in traffic caused by an accident up ahead. My daughter asked why we had stopped, and I told her someone had wrecked. That’s when she responded with “Remember when that happened to me?” I was confused… She’d never been in a car accident. I laughed, thinking she was playing pretend or something, and asked her what she was talking about.

“Don’t you remember? We was going to the store and then we hit something, and then the glass cut me and it hurt so bad and I was so scared at first, I thought I was dying, but daddy kept saying I would be okay and I knew he wouldn’t lie.”

I just stared at her for a minute, not sure what to say… For one thing, the whole thing was crazy, I had never been in an accident, and neither had my daughter. And the other thing was, she didn’t have a “daddy”… I mean of course she had a father, but he wasn’t part of the picture, never had been, so where was she getting this from?

Traffic cleared and we continued on our way home, and it slipped from my mind. A few weeks later, while on the phone with my mom, I remembered it and told her about it.

After a pause, my mom told me that when she was just about 3 years old, there had been a car accident, and that her older sister, who was five at the time, had been killed when a piece of glass from the windshield had somehow slit her throat. It was such a tragedy that for the most part her family tried to pretend it hadn’t happened, getting rid of everything that reminded them of her sister and and never mentioning it, which is why I never knew about it. My mom said she could barely remember the accident itself, since she was so young, but she said she’d never forget her dad crying as he held her sister in his arms and repeated over and over again “You’ll be okay, you’ll be okay, you’ll be okay.”

I felt chills run down my spine as I wondered how my daughter could have possibly known that.

Credit To – Thenightmaregirl

–

If you would like to read more creepy stories of children seemingly recalling past lives and/or prior deaths, you should check out the Parents of Reddit, what is the creepiest thing your young child has ever said to you? post from last month. Even if you don’t believe in reincarnation, it’s very weird and very fascinating. Kids can be so creepy.

The following books were suggested over the course of the Reddit thread as well – I’ve partially read them and if you find the topic interesting enough, they’re worth a look. As always, our referral code is included in the Amazon links, so if you do order anything through the link – thank you!
Life Before Life: Children’s Memories of Previous Lives
Journey of Souls: Case Studies of Life Between Lives
Old Souls: Compelling Evidence from Children Who Remember Past Lives

In Japan’s Fukushima Prefecture, there is an abandoned amusement park known as Takakanonuma Greenland. It sits in the outskirts of Hobara, a section of the Japanese city of Date. Very little is known about this park, and its exact location is largely unknown. You can’t find it on any Japanese map, as it simply isn’t there. Supposedly, its coordinates are 37°49’02.16″N 140°33’05.78″E, but if they are put into Google Maps, the search will be directed to the center of Hobara. This is inaccurate, since the park is hidden in a mountainous, rural area.

The only major information known about Takakanonuma Greenland is that it opened in 1973, and closed two years later. Some claim that this was due to poor ticket sales and needed renovations, but locals say that it was because of a significant amount of deaths on the rides. Miraculously, the park reopened in 1986, but struggled to remain open due to increased competition from bigger parks such as Tokyo Disneyland, as well as financial trouble. Finally, in 1999, Takakanonuma Greenland closed for good.

Following its closure, the amusement park was left to rot. Photographs from urban explorers who have infiltrated the area show a massive amount of decay. The ferris wheel and the roller coaster are covered in rust, the entrance is covered in graffiti, and the premises are being reclaimed by plants. The most notable feature of the park is the dense fog that always looms over it, giving off a Silent Hill feel. Like the information about the area, there is very little photography and video of it.

Allegedly, Takakanonuma Greenland was demolished in 2006, and now sits as an empty lot. However, in 2007, a citizen of the United Kingdom named Bill Edwards claimed to have visited an untouched, completely intact park. Supposedly, he took numerous pictures that were identical to those taken before the park’s supposed demolition, showing the same rusty, forgotten rides. However, according rumor, when uploading these photos, only one appeared on his computer. This picture shows the entrance to the park on a foggy night, illuminated by the flash from the camera. In the center of this picture, you can barely make out the figure of what looks like a six year old girl in a white dress. She appears to be staring at the photographer with a serious, indifferent face.

The girl has never been identified, and the whereabouts of Bill Edwards are currently unknown…

****

The above was a recently submitted pasta, but it’s about a very real place. Takakanonuma Greenland did, in fact, exist. You can Google image search the name and come across a host of creepy photos of the misty, decaying amusement park. Some people claim that it’s the basis for the creepy amusement park/portal to the spirit world in Spirited Away, though I cannot find any confirmation of that particular theory. The park has even been tied to the mysterious rusty clown head that I use as my avatar – though it seems that almost every single abandoned amusement park has been named as the source of the image (most popular theory is that it’s from a park in Chernobyl, but I’ve seen many people saying that’s not true at all).

If you’re interested in reading more about Takakanonuma Greenland, here are some links:

Late At Night: Location #1: The Abandoned Takakanonuma Greenland Park, Japan
Takakanonuma Greenland @ Tumblr’s abandonedplaces
Tofugu: Japan’s Abandoned Amusement Parks
Takakanonuma Greenland @ AtlasObscura
Dark Roasted Blend: Abandoned Amusement Parks in Asia

If you’re just staring to read my experiences with this horror, you should read my other stories first. You can find them here:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Okay guys, a lot has happened since the last time I checked in. Lot of you messaged me asking if I was doing ok. Some of you even went as far as sending me you phone numbers and really reaching out. I thank you for that.

We have not encountered Rose since the last time. Also, we decided to move. I got a decent job on the south of the US and we thought it’d be a good idea to get out of here (any Atl folks, holla at me). My father did go see the priest who baptized me and the story actually become more convoluted, if you can call it that.

Anyways, I got baptized in a church called Ostrog, in Montenegro. Here is the pic of it. I don’t believe in god in any kind of way, but this church is amazing. It was built a long time ago. When the Turkish Empire came to take over, people took it stone by stone and moved it up in the mountain where the Turks couldn’t reach it. It is a magnificent building. Many people of different religions, including Muslims and Buddhists, come to that church in search of a spiritual help. That is the only place I ever felt something “more” than just my non-believer reality.

So, when I was six, my dad decided to baptize me there. Neither of my parents are particularly religious, but my dad fallows traditions, and baptizing kids is one of them. He decided that baptism should be performed at the most famous church in Balkans, Ostrog. You had to schedule it, and demand was so high that I was going to do it with other kids as a part of a group baptism. When we arrived there, and disappointment awaited (at least for my dad, I couldn’t give any less fucks). At the entrance of the church, the priest stopped me.

“You. You cant go in.” He physically stopped me with his hand. Priests in our country wear long black robes and rock long beards. So I was standing there being held by this batman looking dude. My dad jumped in front of me and asked what the problem was.

“You my child (talking to my dad), I know you. I baptized you. I can tell. (He did baptize him 20 years ago or so). But your son, he can not go in here.”

“And why is that?” My dad asked, shocked.

“I cant really tell you, but it is better for us all if he went elsewhere.”

“But why?”

“Son, please, leave. But remember this, don’t dare not baptizing him. You have to.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Nor will you ever. Just do it.”

So my dad took my hand and walked away not knowing what in the fuck was going on. On our way home, he was trying to figure out what happened. He thought that maybe I messed something up, like peed behind the church or something (which sounded like my kind of thing, but I didn’t do it).

When we got home, we got a phone call. It was from that priest. He wanted us to come back. Right away. It was a 35 minute ride back. My dad and I were more confused than ever. We arrived at the church, and all the previous baptisms have been performed already. It was only 3 of us there.

“I decided to baptize your son despite…”

“Despite what?” my dad asked curiously.

“I could not tell you. But it is important we do this fast.”

So we did. I walked in a circle and he went on with his prayers spraying holy water on me. I remember getting bored as hell right before he finally finished. He told us to go away and not to come back unless something out of the ordinary happened to me.

My dad was just glad we got it done. That was 20 years ago. My dad went back there few days ago. Priest was still alive, although retired. He still lived on the church grounds. It took some talking into (and donations) for him to speak up.

I got baptized on February 13th 1992. On the night before my baptism, priest was handling his sheep (back in the day, priests raised sheep and cows and lived mostly off of that) when he saw a figure in the dark. It was strange for someone to stand there that late at night, especially because visits were over and all the clerical staff was already in their designated housing.

“Hey, who is that?” Priest yelled.

“Come, father.” Woman’s voice spoke calmly.

Priest explained that from time to time, he’d get visits from desperate people, begging for blessing or shelter. So he went ahead to see what the woman wanted. He said that when he came there, he saw a woman in white, standing, not moving. She was standing among sheep, but they formed a circle around her, almost like a safe distance. Priest claims that he immediately felt something unholy.

“ What do you want?” he asked in a defensive aggressive voice. At that point he knew it wasn’t a peaceful visitor he was talking to.

“Tomorrow. Tomorrow you will encounter a boy. Just like any other. His name will be Milos. You won’t baptize him.”

Priest told my father that he performed several exorcisms before but he was never actually scared. This time, he felt unsafe.

“You and your kind have no place on this holy ground.”

“My kind, father? What would that be?”

“You, demons.” His voice was cracking in fear.

She laughed. “Demons? I realize you’re a man of cloth, but believing in demons? That takes a lot of faith, father.”

“I want you to leave, now.”

“Listen to me you pity priest. I know who you are. I know what you think. I know you feel my strength. Deny my request, and you’ll never sleep in peace again.”

Then, she left. Rest of the story you know. He refused to baptize me than he changed his mind. Apparently, he told my dad that he’d rather be tormented by an unholy spirit than deny god’s child a chance to connect to Jesus. He also said that he has been paying for it since the day he baptized me.

Every single night for two weeks after he baptized me, he has been seeing a woman in white appear on his window. She’d just stand there, looking at him with hand tilted. No smile though, but only a face of anger. He’d say many prayers but it didn’t seem to affect her. Then, his sheep started dying. There were no wolf marks, no sign of force. Just laying dead. Finally, number of exorcisms skyrocketed. He claims that this was a direct consequence of him disobeying woman’s orders. He even showed an exorcism videotape (they started filming in the chapel in the mid 90s) to my dad. My dad says it was unreal. Apparently a 13-year-old girl came in the chapel with her mom. Her mom was sobbing in tears begging for help. Priest started performing his ritual when the little girl started throwing stuff around. Priest called two young guys who came in to pray that day and asked them to hold her. She kept walking in circles, with two grown men holding her. And right before she fell to her knees, she said “You shouldn’t have done it father.” She was cured.

My dad had more than enough of information thrown at him, but he wanted to know what this woman was. Priest said that he originally thought it was a demon, but a lack of prayer efficiency and her freedom of behavior on the holy ground was concerning. He then thought it was some sort of a cult, witchcraft maybe. The problem is, she has been visiting him on February 13th every year. All the livestock he’d have would die on that day. Any sick person coming for help to the church that day would get worse. Number of possessed people would skyrocket abnormally on the 13th. And at the end of the day, she’d come to the window, no matter where he was. He tried talking to her many times, asking what/who she was. She never responded. She never aged. Priest was finally broken down to the point where he quit. He remained living at the grounds, but he couldn’t do his job anymore. He lost faith. He claimed that the god should’ve protected him. My dad says he may be mentally unstable at this point. He was mentioning something about Morana, whatever that meant. It appears to be a goddess of death in some cultures, but I really think this man has gone mad.

I think that this whole story was jabber of an old man gone senile. Goddesses? Demons? Hardly.

That would be the disappointing story of my baptism. I have not had any encounters with any of them since the last time. I am moving away, hoping it helps. I also decided this: if I encounter them again, I am taking the orange. I cant go on like this forever. I just… can’t.

For the ending of this story, go HERE - it will not be posted on Creepypasta. I feel that the final part is most effective when left at its original source.

Credit To – Milos Bogetic

NOTE: This is the sixth in a series of several popular Reddit posts documenting some seriously creepy experiences. We are publishing them here with express permission of Milos Bogetic aka inaaace, the original poster. The story is in multiple parts, and will be published completely over the next few days – much like what I did with the ‘Bedtime’ series earlier this year. After the stories have all gone up, I’ll edit each post with links to the other parts.

The OP has finished the continuation book that he promised during his successful kickstarter project.

You can find the paperback and Kindle e-book versions here: The Story of Her Holding an Orange by Milos Bogetic  - full disclosure: our referral link is included.

I know that this will not be new material for all of you, but for those of you who – like myself – don’t use Reddit, I wanted to post it so that you guys could enjoy it as much as I did after having it brought to my attention. Thanks again to Milos for letting me post it, and enjoy!

Formalities first: If you’re just joining my diary of horror, please read part one, part two, part three, and part four.

I have become almost indifferent to what’s going on to me. Since my first story, so much shit happened/was discovered that I became dulled down to the point of almost not giving a fuck. Put that attitude together with the fact that nothing happened (until yesterday) to us since Rose’s break-in, and you have one dude who doesn’t give a shit anymore. I suppose everyone reaches that point at some time. Maybe it’s a defense mechanism.

Anyways, yesterday (Wednesday), I had a day off from work. My girlfriend decided that she wanted to get away from everything for a little while. She went to her friend’s house in our town for few days. I like to alleviate my stress by working out. I had a day off and wanted to do a bit more than just lift weights, so I decided to go on a long bike ride. 50 miles to the next city. It was really cloudy in the morning, so I decided to take nothing with me but a couple of bucks for the bus ride back. (also, ATT&T sent me iPhone 5, and I definitely didn’t wanna take that if it was going to rain). So I went on the bike trip with nothing but my Trek and few dollars.

About 30 miles into the trip, I got on this bike trail that led almost to the end of my destination. It is a 22 mile trail. I did this trip once in July and the place was packed. Hundreds of fucking cyclist everywhere, could barely move. This time, the trail looked deserted. Nobody on it. And weather became shittier and shittier. Heavy fog set in. I almost felt as if I were in a cloud, it was so moist, but without the actual rain. My shirt was dripping with water, and visibility was shit, but I decided to keep going. Few miles into the trail, I started noticing benches on the side, something I haven’t noticed before. Cool idea since the road is so long, I guess you need a break sometimes. I kept riding though. Visibility was 15 feet at best. About 7 miles into the track, I thought I heard laughing. I squeezed my breaks and slid for few feet. I listened. Nothing. Well, I know what you think, and you’re right. I’m a fucking idiot. Going for a long trip on a secluded track when I have some crazy cunt following me. Plot of a cliché horror movie. I know. And I regret doing what I did. But my reasoning was that nobody ever physically attacked me, so the worst-case scenario would be I am offered another fucking orange.

I got back on the bike, did few pedal strokes, and heard the laughing again. It was coming from ahead. Fuck it, I’m biking through. Fog decided to have mercy on me and increase the area visibility to about 25 feet. That’s when I saw someone sitting on the bench ahead. I lied to myself saying that its normal for a biker to sit on the side and rest. That’s what it is probably, right? You and I both know that no, it wasn’t a biker sitting there. It was a man. He wore a black suit. No hat or cane though, so I felt a little better. I switched my shit into the highest gear and started pedaling Armstrong style. As I was passing him, he started laughing again. There was nothing around him. No newspapers, no phone, no bike. Just sitting, hands on his knees, not even looking at me. Just looking ahead. And just as I am passing, this fucker starts laughing hysterically. I got fucking scared. It was then that I noticed an orange right next to him on the bench. Then he looked straight at me. Rose encounters were scary as hell, but this man, this man was on a whole new level. I just kept pedaling. I heard the laugh one more time as I was riding away from him. Next 12 miles or so took me about 45 minutes, in other words, I wasn’t slowing down. I got to the town where I wanted to catch a bus and another shock was waiting for me. I arrived at the bus station at 4:10 pm. Last bus was leaving at 4:30. The way these schedules work, this bus would take me to a small town at the beginning of that trail, where I’d catch another bus to home. Well, I come at the bus station and I see that bus only has two bike racks and they’re both taken. Yup, let’s cut the artistic description shit and jump to the point: driver said it was against the rules to put a bike inside the bus. It was the last bus and if I wanted to go back home that night, I’d have to bike to the other town and arrive before 7:00pm, when the last bus for my place leaves. I had 2 and half hours to do 20 miles. Either that or spend the night there. I only had $10 on me so…yea. Bike back you stupid shit. And good luck with that laughing man on the trail.

I wish I could tell you that I persuaded the driver to let me in. I wish I stayed there that night. Could have maybe tried to pay for the hotel by giving them my credit card number? Could’ve tried. No, I decided to bike, and I got what I deserved.

Two miles into the trail, I saw something on the ground about 20 feet ahead. I remember thinking how clean they kept this track, so it was strange that the trash would be just obviously laying around. I slowed down. It was a GI Joe action soldier toy. Looked pretty new. Oh well, some kid dropped it while biking with his family. Keep pedaling son. A mile later, another object ahead. Basketball. I stop. Pick it up. Drop it. Eyes full of tears. When I was in about eight grade, there was a basketball 3 on 3 tournament in my school. I was so fucking excited for that shit, man. I gathered the best team I could find. If we’d win, we’d go to an even bigger tournament and maybe win some money. We arrived at the court and realized that only two teams signed up in our age category. We were full of joy because that meant that even if we lost, we’d win some kind of award. We lost, well actually got destroyed by the other kids. But, since we ended in second place, we got a $50 gift card each for a store equivalent to a Foot Locker here. We all ran to that place. My friends all picked shoes and jerseys, but I picked this basketball. It was so unique: it was painted like a chess board-64 squares, 32 black and 32 white. They called me crazy for spending my gift card on it but I loved it. At least for few days until I realized that the colors on it give me headache when it spun and that designers of this ball were stupid assholes. So I threw it in the river when I crossed one of the bridges near my house. And now, now I was holding that same ball, 5000 miles away from home, in the middle of the woods on some bike trail that only I knew I’d be crossing that day. I froze, dropped the ball, and just wanted to yell. You get mad at some point, you know, you get mad that your life isn’t as normal as other people’s. Why cant I worry about shit like whether my NFL team is gonna go to playoffs or whether I’m gonna get a raise? Why do I have to go through this? What did I do? Well I could contemplate about life or I could get the fuck out of these woods and try to catch that bus. I chose the latter. So I kept biking, carefully. After few miles, another thing. A page out of newspaper. It got wet from a light drizzle. I picked it up. It was an article about me. When I just came to the US, the school I played ball for published an article about my life in their paper. There it was, in my hands. I dropped that shit and decided not to stop anymore. I biked by a bike I owned when I was living in Bosnia, I biked by my old Iron Maiden shirt, and by a picture of my family in a broken frame. I biked by a dead cat that was identical to the cat I had when I was 15. The faster I biked, the items from my life became more and more common on the road.

At this point, my story is becoming more unbelievable than any cheesy movie you’ve seen. Feel free to express all your disbelief, call me a liar. I would. I would call bullshit 3 stories ago. I wish I was fucking with ya’ll. I wish I was doing this for entertainment. I am doing this to get help, advice, to set my mind at ease, at least for a minute.

So I am flying down the trail. About two more miles and I am out of these woods of hell. It’s getting dark. Dark and more foggy. And then, and fucking then, I hear the laugh. Only this time, it is a child. Or not. I slow down, scared of what’s coming. I see a silhouette sitting on the bench ahead. The same bench where that man was. Laughing again. Not the kind where some criminal mastermind laughs at the evilness of his plan. Playful laugh. I guess you can call it giggle. Only it is not a child. It is a woman sitting there. She is dressed in white. It is Rose.

I pressed my breaks so hard I was surprised I didn’t fly over the wheel. She was sitting there, legs crossed, looking straight ahead of her, not at me, and laughing. Then she turned towards me, tilted her head, smiled with the many-times-described grin, and said: “Sit.” This was the first time I got scared to the point that my extremities gave up for a second. Other encounters with her, I was in my home, or at least in somewhat of a safe place. This…This was in the woods. And as I type this, I realize even more how fucking stupid it was of me to embark on this trip at a time like this. Maybe subconsciously, I wanted to meet her again. Meet her and bring an end to it. I regained some courage, and got off the bike. I put the bike down slowly and noticed a photo of me and my first girlfriend laying on the road. It was wet and looked burnt. Fuck if I’m stopping now. I’m gonna talk to her. I walked over. She was still smiling, not moving at all.

“Sit.” In my language. In child’s voice.

“No.”

“ You’ve been a very stubborn boy, Milos”

“I am not a boy. I don’t want to have anything with you people. Why cant you leave me the fuck alone? What do you want from me?” It felt liberating to be able to express all of the frustration and scream at the cunt that caused my girlfriend and me so much pain.

“No need to yell Milos.”

“No, there IS a need to yell. You’re fucking with my life!”

“I only want you to come with me.”

“First tell me what you want. And then I’ll decide.”

She took an orange sitting next to her, and offered it to me.

“It is not your decision to make.” Her voice changed to a more adult one, but still not appropriate for a woman her age.

“It is my life you fucking bitch!”

She lost her smile.

“You know Milos, all this goes far back. You have no power over this. You WILL come.” She yelled that word, “will”. Like yelled it at me. I stepped back, ready to knock her the fuck out. She got up.

“I will fight you people. I’ll call police, I will…”

“You can’t do anything.” She cut me off. “Who do you think I am? You think the police can help you? You think your friends can help?”

“What the fuck are you? A cult? You want me as a sacrifice?”

She started laughing. She laughed while never closing her eyes, never taking them off of me.

“You silly boy.” Her voice switched to a child’s version again. “You have so much to learn about us.” She stepped towards me.

At that point, I honestly believed I was dealing with something other than a human being. I will admit, after I got home and cooled down and thought logically, I went back to my theory of it being a cult. But at that moment, right then, I believed I was encountering something else.

“I will ask for help from others then.” I said, not knowing what I even meant.

“Church maybe?” She said it in a way like when I child is imitating your voice just to irritate you. ”You think your gods will save you? Ask your priest about me. Ask and then decide.”

I had no idea what the fuck she was talking about, but I decided I had enough. It was time to run. At the same moment, she stepped back, sat back down, and started looking at the orange. I ran back to the bike, got on it and started pedaling like the devil himself was behind me. As I passed her, she started laughing uncontrollably, still looking at the orange.

I got on the bus at the last moment. I was a wreck during the ride and when I got home. I called the guy from the police station, told him what happened, and he said he’d contact the local police and ask them to go check the trail out. I expect nothing. I spent the whole day thinking about what happened. How could she/them get all my stuff that I am sure didn’t exist anymore? Was that really the same cat I had 12 years ago? How? And what did she mean by “ask my priest”? So many questions and exactly zero fucking answers. I am mentally drained. I didn’t tell my girlfriend about this, because this would probably cause her to have a nervous breakdown. I might have one myself. I am a broken man tormented by something I am not familiar with. I am lost.

Credit To - Milos Bogetic

NOTE: This is the fifth in a series of several popular Reddit posts documenting some seriously creepy experiences. We are publishing them here with express permission of Milos Bogetic aka inaaace, the original poster. The story is in multiple parts, and will be published completely over the next few days – much like what I did with the ‘Bedtime’ series earlier this year. After the stories have all gone up, I’ll edit each post with links to the other parts.

The OP has finished the book that he promised during his successful kickstarter project.

You can find the paperback and Kindle e-book versions here: The Story of Her Holding an Orange by Milos Bogetic  - full disclosure: our referral link is included.

I know that this will not be new material for all of you, but for those of you who – like myself – don’t use Reddit, I wanted to post it so that you guys could enjoy it as much as I did after having it brought to my attention. Thanks again to Milos for letting me post it, and enjoy!

If you haven’t read my previous posts, please read stories one, two and three.

Hey guys, after many PMs asking for an update, I decided to bring you up to speed on whats going on. But first, here is the screenshot of the desktop picture that Rose/her cult put on my laptop. I haven’t been able to find the original photo or any kind of a hidden file. Woman on the left is my mother holding me, and woman on the right is her friend holding my childhood friend. We do not know who the child on the left or woman way in the back are. None of them remember this picture ever being taken.

So after I told my mom what was going on, she talked to y grandma. Grandma didn’t tell her much but my mom had a feeling that she got upset after hearing what was happening. I decided to call my grandma and after much begging, I got this story out of her.

My grandma was born in Croatia but grew up in Bosnia. She was the kind of a child who’d spend every waking our outside playing, exploring, etc. Her favorite play spot was down by the river not too far from where she lived. She’d often go there with her friends, but on this particular day, none of her friends came along. She went there anyways. She was doing her traditional build-a-fortress-in-the-sand thing, when she heard someone calling. She looked to the road nearby (the only place where anyone could come from, there was only one path to the beach) but nobody was there. She shrugged it off and kept playing. She heard the call again. “Dana.” She looked around. Nothing. “DANA!” She jumped, terrified, and ran to the road to see what in the fuck was going on, but nobody was there. She thought one of her friends was fucking with her and decided to turn around and go back to the fortress. Then she saw him. It was a man, of above average height, maybe 6’4”, dressed in the suit and one of those hats that gentlemen wore in thirties. He had a dark, dark black suit on with white dress shirt underneath and a black tie. Holding a cane. Thing is, he was standing in the water knee deep. In a suit that probably cost arm and a leg at that time. She was taken aback, but as any curious kid, she decided to check what was going on. She walked up to the border where waves were ending. He was still standing in the water. “Yes, mister?” she asked politely.

“I got something for you.”

“Yea? What’s that?”

Well, as predictable as the story may be getting, it is unfortunately fucking true. It was an orange. My grandma grew up in wealthy-ish family and even in the tough economic times, she had an abundance of fruit, so the orange wasn’t causing a “wow” factor in her.

“Uh… Thanks mister, but I just had lunch. You can give it to someone else.”

“No, no Dana, this one is specially for you.” He tilted his head to the side and for a second she thought his hat would fall into the river. It didn’t. He still held an orange in his other hand, offering it.

“But I don’t want it.”

“You take it, and you take it now.” My grandma’s been through a lot of shit. World war II and Bosnian war. She’s seen shit man. But she said she’s never seen something as scary as that man’s face that day. She was a child and therefore very impressionable with vivid imagination, but she swears that when he said that, his eyes (the white part not the pupils) got much darker and she could see the anger on his face, although he had somewhat of a grin on.

She started running away. She stopped and turned around to look if he was chasing her. He was just standing there, looking after her. She said she could see the darkness going away from his eyes. He put the orange back into his pocket, turned to the side, and started walking away. Through the fucking river. Like step by step, with his cane, just walking like he was on the street.

My grandma was scared for a while, but after few years, he was just a memory that was rarely recalled.

My grandma gave birth to my mom in ’52. It was a happy day because my mom was her first child. Birth went fairly easily, but she was kept in the hospital for few days. Last night before she was released, the man in the black suit came back. Almost 20 years later. She was sleeping (she had a room to herself). She woke up because light came on in her room. In scary movies, you hear the noise but there is nobody there, then suddenly they jump you from behind. Yea, that didn’t happen. She opened her eyes, and he was just standing there in the middle of the room. The same man, same suit, same hat. Not a day older than how he looked 20 years ago.

Orange in his hand.

“You did good.”

“What…what do you want from me?”

“You brought her.”

“Who? What do you want?”

“You only now have to take this, and it will all be over.” He was showing an orange, smiling. It wasn’t a crazy grin, just an almost friendly smile.

“I don’t want anything from you. Leave or I’ll scream.”

Well, that’s when he pulled the Rose shit. He tilted his head to the side, put the scariest grin on his face revealing the whitest teeth you’ll ever see. He started speaking in the voice of a 10-12 year old child.

“But Dana, you don’t know.”

“GET OUT!”

“He will take it.” As he said that with his child voice, he lost the grin, put his head back in normal position, turned around and walked away. Before he got out of the room, he turned the light off. She never told anyone about this man until I pulled it out of her.

It’s been little more than 30 years since then until she saw him one last time. It was war in Bosnia. Country demolished by politician assholes who just wanted money. You know how wars work. Anyways, times were tough. Food supply was extremely limited. My grandma and grandpa would go days without eating. They’d hunt pigeons on the balcony and shit. That bad. But then, an orange started appearing on their doorstep every day. One orange, in the center of the welcome rug. She remembers how bright it was compared to the grayness surrounding them. She’d throw every single one of those fuckers out. My grandpa was confused as to why she’d throw away perfectly good food in times like these, but she wouldn’t tell him. Until they showed up. Yes, they. The man in black and…well, Rose. It was ’93. They were bombing the shit out of their town that day and nobody would even so much as stick their head through the window, let alone walk out. But my grandparents heard knocking. They thought someone had finally come to take care of them. Knowing that intruder would enter anyways if they really wanted to, they opened. On their left, the same man was standing. Same black suit, same hat, same cane. Same age. More than 50 years later. Next to him was a woman in red shoes, white dress, long black hair, extremely pale skin color, and a lipstick so bright it would make you nostalgic for the grayness of wartime. She had her head tilted too, smiling ear to ear.

“Hello Dana.” She spoke in a voice my grandma says could only belong to a very, very young girl.

“What the fuck is this?” My grandpa asked. Immediately, both of these people’s (I still call them people) faces lost grins and looked at my grandpa.

“You may want to be silent.” Rose spoke in her original, adult voice (or what my grandma assumes would be her natural voice.)

My grandpa had been shot at, tortured, starved, but he never felt the fear like that. He lost his voice and shut the hell up.

Their grins returned, head tilted, teeth popped out shiny as ever.

“Where is he?” Rose asked her in her childish version of a voice.

“Who? What do you want from us? We have nothing!”

“Don’t do this. Just tell us where.” Seemed like Rose was losing patience.

“But who?”

“Your grandson.” Her eyes pierced my grandma’s soul. She felt blood freeze in her veins.

“He…he is not here. He is in Montenegro.” She though that whoever these people are, they’d give up once they found that her grandson (presumably me) has moved away hundreds of miles away.

They produced even wider smiles, if that was actually possible. They turned around almost synchronized, and walked away. My grandparent watched them leave over the balcony. Bullets were flying around, bombs falling everywhere, and they were just walking down the street with no fucks given. Heads still tilted. They could see them smiling.

So, I’ll be the first to call it. Bullshit. Bullshit bullshit bullshit. This is becoming a fairy tale. This ain’t happening man. Yea. I’m with you. Had I read it here or anywhere else, I’d enjoy the story then tell OP to go fuck himself for trying to convince me this shit is real.

But, this shit is real.

I have no logical explanation for it. Are they a cult? Maybe. Why don’t they age? Why are they everywhere? Why are they following everyone I know? Fuck me if I know.

Credit To - Milos Bogetic

NOTE: This is the fourth in a series of several popular Reddit posts documenting some seriously creepy experiences. We are publishing them here with express permission of Milos Bogetic aka inaaace, the original poster. The story is in multiple parts, and will be published completely over the next few days – much like what I did with the ‘Bedtime’ series earlier this year. After the stories have all gone up, I’ll edit each post with links to the other parts.

The OP has finished the book that he promised during his successful kickstarter project.

You can find the paperback and Kindle e-book versions here: The Story of Her Holding an Orange by Milos Bogetic  - full disclosure: our referral link is included.

I know that this will not be new material for all of you, but for those of you who – like myself – don’t use Reddit, I wanted to post it so that you guys could enjoy it as much as I did after having it brought to my attention. Thanks again to Milos for letting me post it, and enjoy!

Anyone who hasn’t read my story should do so before looking in this thread. My first story had some updates to it too. My second story is my girlfriend’s account of the events.

Hey guys, I promised pictures and updates, so here we go. I will also respond to some questions. So first’s things first, let me bring you up to speed:

• We have not had any encounters with Rose since last night’s “break-in.”
• Police called this morning to check on us and told us to stay careful and call should anything happen.
• I talked to my mother on Skype and it was, well, disappointing. She only knew Rose as a normal person. She actually doesn’t even remember Rose asking about me much. She never got the hint that Rose may be a crazy cunt. My parents are now really worried. Not sure if they think I’m going crazy or they are legitimately afraid for my well-being.
• Lila hasn’t gotten a hold of her mom at this point (her mom is in England).
• We’ve been talking a lot. We decided that it must be some cult in action since neither of us are believers in the spiritual side. It is hard to explain how Rose would know us both before we met each other.
• I got tons of PMs asking me about how we met. That’s a good question, an I forgot to include that part in my story. Basically, last summer, I was out with my best friend in a club. Club closes at 1:00am and then everyone gets in front of it and sort of chills for a while. We were standing outside when this older man came up to us. He started openly hitting on me (in a homosexual way). I am far from a homophobe but this man was persistent. Then I heard Lila’s voice: “Hey baby, what are you doing?” I turned around and saw her sitting at the nearby bench with two of her girlfriends. I realized she was talking to me. The look on her face told me everything. She was saving me from the man. I said “excuse me, my girlfriend is waiting” and walked away and sat with Lila. He came after me. Lila and I had an immediate chemistry. Man didn’t believe us that we were together and kept asking questions about us, but Lila and I played off each other so well that he finally decided we were telling the truth and left. We kissed that night. She was visiting that town for only two days, but promised to come back and see me. And she did two weeks later. We’ve been together since.

I realize that some may suggest that the man was part of the cult and tried to “force” us onto each other, but it still took free will from both of us to do what we did, so I doubt the possibility of that conspiracy.

• Lila is in a bad mental shape right now. She is terrified and jumps on every little noise. I don’t know how to help. I am scared myself, but am trying to appear strong for her.
• Some of you have suggested that this story is fake. I will say this: I am fully aware of how incredible this all sounds and this is exactly why I posted it here. Many of you helped with advice and kind words and I thank you guys. Others that don’t believe me, you can view the story as a piece of shitty fiction. I never said it’d be good, just true.
• If you guys feel that the story of my baptism may have something to do with this, I will find time to write it, although I have to note, you are an inpatient bunch. Please realize that we are going through a lot right now. Thanks.

Some updates regarding the pictures I am posting here:

8 So, I snapped a few pics before the police came. Also, after they left (and left the orange), I noticed something engraved/written on the peel. I took a photo of that too. Bottom word I was able to decipher: It says “OTVORI” which means “open” in my language. Top word I cant tell what it is.

• I don’t know what to do with the orange. I still have it. Will throw it out soon.

Enough bullshiting.

Picture 1 is of our staircase leading to the room.

Picture 2 is the view from the door of our room.

Picture 3 is closeup of oranges.

Picture 4 is a closer look at oranges. Notice the peel.

Picture 5 is another blow-up of the fucking thing.

Picture 6 is of the message written/engraved in the peel.

Picture 7 As I said, someone changed it to the picture from my childhood that I didn’t have on my laptop.

If anyone can make any sense out of this, I’d appreciate any help at this point. Polaroid picture is at the police station, but the cop I know told me that if nothing happens within few days, I’d be able to at least come and make a copy of it if I really wanted to.

That’s all for now.

Edit: I blurred out part of the last image to protect my privacy, it was revealing my name. Kind Redditor discovered it and messaged me.

So, here’s another update: (also, do I update on these posts or create new ones?)

I told my mother what’s going on and she asked to see the picture. She recognized it. The woman in the picture is her friend from when I was a child and the kid in the picture is her son. She doesn’t know where the pic came from, or that it was ever taken for that matter. My mom said she spoke to my grandma who still lives in Bosnia and my grandma seems to know something. I will have to call her tomorrow. Later on, I will upload the desktop pic that was put on my lap top. Still in search of original files and/or hidden folders.

Credit To - Milos Bogetic

NOTE: This is the third in a series of several popular Reddit posts documenting some seriously creepy experiences. We are publishing them here with express permission of Milos Bogetic aka inaaace, the original poster. The story is in multiple parts, and will be published completely over the next few days – much like what I did with the ‘Bedtime’ series earlier this year. After the stories have all gone up, I’ll edit each post with links to the other parts.

The OP has finished the book that he promised during his successful kickstarter project.

You can find the paperback and Kindle e-book versions here: The Story of Her Holding an Orange by Milos Bogetic  - full disclosure: our referral link is included.

I know that this will not be new material for all of you, but for those of you who – like myself – don’t use Reddit, I wanted to post it so that you guys could enjoy it as much as I did after having it brought to my attention. Thanks again to Milos for letting me post it, and enjoy!

Before you read my girlfriend’s side of the story, you may want to read my first post that also contains last night’s unfortunate update. Here is the update copy/pasted:

Okay guys, I realize I am a bit late with my girlfriend’s story, but when you read my latest update, you’ll see that I was quite consumed with what was happening to us. Nothing happened since the incident last night. Police called to check in with us this morning; they still have no clue what is going on really.

So her story… Let me begin by telling you a bit about us. As I said before, I was born in Bosnia, moved to a nearby country in Balkans where I grew up. I came to the US over 6 years ago. My girlfriend was born in India, grew up in Kenya until she was 3, when she moved to Canada. I met her little over a year ago, and we’ve been together since.

So, my girl, let’s call her Lila, did have few encounters with Rose. First one that she remembers was on the plane. She was a flight attendant for Air Canada for several years. One day, about 6 years ago, she was flying her regular flight, but she can’t remember what destination it was. It lasted maybe two hours. Once they took off and seat-belt signs went away, she got up to serve complimentary drinks. Halfway through her section, she met Rose. She didn’t know it at the time, of course. She said that something was terribly off about the woman; she had this creepy grin on her face, was really pale and kept staring at her. When Lila offered her a drink and some snacks, she got no answer, only a wider and creepier fucking smile. Then, Rose spoke.

“I have something for you.” She said in a voice that definitely wasn’t natural for a woman her age. Her voice belonged more to a teenager than an adult. There was something playful but terrifying in it.

Now, Lila has seen some shit while flying, so she wasn’t taken back by this interaction.

“Yea? What would that be, ma’am?”

“Don’t patronize me, you bitch.” She said that fast. Like really fast. Her jaw was closed while saying that. Then she started grinding her teeth, never letting go of that fucking smile. This was a red flag for Lila. When passengers get aggressive, attendants walk away unless there is physical contact.

“Alright, well, you have a pleasant rest of the flight ma’am, okay?”

“I have this for you.” She whispered it holding taking an orange from behind her back. Never moving a muscle on her face. Still a teenage voice. Like when a 12 year old hits puberty kind of voice.

“No, thanks.” Lila decided to call it a day with the crazy cunt and walk away.

“Oh, but you should. Or one day, you know, one day.”

And that’s that. Lila gave her the fuck off look and walked away. Lady never bothered her again during that flight. During that flight.

Lila went home few days later and didn’t think much of what had happened. When her mom asked her how her flight was, Lila smiled and said “Good, other than one really crazy lady.” Mom wanted to hear more, so Lila started telling her about what happened. By the time she said the word “orange”, her mom started crying. Lila was in shock. It was story time. Well, apparently, when my girlfriend was a baby in Kenya, she had woken her parents up a few times with loud crying. When they’d walk into her room, she’d have an orange next to her in her crib. Everything in the house would be locked though. Windows, doors, everything. It got to the point where her parents moved the crib into their room and installed security cameras. Well, on Lila’s third birthday, that morning, when they woke up, they saw an orange laying on Lila’s chest. They were absolutely taken over by horror. They called the police; police came and looked over the camera footage. Cameras clearly showed a woman opening the front door (that was locked), walking into their room, placing an orange on Lila and just standing there. For like an hour. Just standing there, with her head tilted to the left, looking at her. By this point, it is unnecessary to say that Lila was completely horrified. Her mom wasn’t doing much better either. Anyways, to keep the story going, her parents didn’t know what to do. Police couldn’t find the mysterious woman, and no security measure (other than 24/7 bodyguards which they couldn’t afford) was enough. Some of their family was already in Canada and were pressuring them to move, so this incident was a final push. They moved and left this creature with an orange behind. Until that day, on that flight.

Lila was completely unable to do anything for the next few days after that conversation. She didn’t eat much, didn’t communicate with anyone. After a while, she got better. There was no sign of further horror, so she started believing it was all a fucked up coincidence. And she went on with her life. She hasn’t seen Rose in years after that. Last time she encountered Rose was one month before she (Lila) met me.

Lila did many transatlantic flights. She loved those. Long travels, decent money, seeing the world. She had it all. One month before we met, she was coming back from a Hong Kong trip. She flew to Toronto I believe (she’s asleep, and I don’t remember exactly, I believe it was Toronto though). Crew had a nice hotel, everyone had their own room. Lila was on the third floor. She loved drinking at that time, and got pretty drunk that night. She passed out at about 1:00 am. At around 4am, she heard a knock on the door. Then another one, and then another one. But they weren’t loud or fast knocks. No, they were slow and silent, yet loud enough to wake her drunk ass up. She rolled out of bed thinking it was one of her equally drunk crew members. Not thinking much, she opened the door and there she stood. Lila said that lights in her room were off, but TV was on. Light from the screen was shinning on Rose’s face. Shining on the grin. Shinning on the pearly white teeth, bright red lipstick and a white face paired up with tilted head. You know how when you’re drunk and some scary shit (accident, cops, etc.) happens and you sober the fuck up immediately? Yea. She just let out this helpless sound of horror. They both stood there. Rose started rocking back and forth. Every time she’d rock back, she’d reveal red shoes hidden underneath her white dress. Her teeth were grinding. Then she pulled out an orange.

“Wh…what do you want from me?” Lila begged.

Rose kept rocking with a smile.

“Please, just leave me alone. I don’t have anything.”

“You take it. You take it now. He will too.” She said that with that same teenager voice, only a little more playful tone was used this time. Like a happy-ish child.

Don’t know if it was her defense mechanism activating, but Lila took the fucking orange and threw it over Rose’s head and screamed “Get the fuck out of here, and take this shit with you, you freak!”

That was the first time either of us saw Rose lose her smile. White teeth disappeared underneath the thick red lips. Head went back from a gentle tilt into its natural position.

“I will see you two soon.” She said it in adult voice. And this voice was scarier than the teenager one. Lila says its because it sounded real. Like a conscious, normal person making a threat. Of course, at that time Lila didn’t know me and had no idea who “you two” were. She assumed it’d be her mom.

That brings us to today. Yea. If you read the update from my previous story, you saw that our room was broken into by Rose (logical assumption). Pictures of the break-in were taken before police came. They will be up on here today. Some stuff in our room was moved around. We are scared as fuck, clueless as to what’s going on. I will be skyping with my mom soon to see if she has any answers. Lila will talk to her mom as well.

I am personally just shocked at these developments. I never believed anything like this was even possible. Quite honestly, if one of you wrote this story here, I wouldn’t believe shit you said. And I cant blame you if you don’t believe me. But if you have any idea about what this might be, I’m all ears. I assume it’s some sort of a cult, but the only thing that fucks with my head is the fact that Rose knew my girlfriend before I did. Everything so far could’ve been explained in a logical way, but this took it to a super-fucking-natural level. Were they putting an effort into getting us together? How’d they do that? And more importantly, why? For what possible benefit? Fuck this man, fuck this.

Credit To - Milos Bogetic

NOTE: This is the second in a series of several popular Reddit posts documenting some seriously creepy experiences. We are publishing them here with express permission of Milos Bogetic aka inaaace, the original poster. The story is in multiple parts, and will be published completely over the next few days – much like what I did with the ‘Bedtime’ series earlier this year. After the stories have all gone up, I’ll edit each post with links to the other parts.

The OP has finished the book that he promised during his successful kickstarter project.

You can find the paperback and Kindle e-book versions here: The Story of Her Holding an Orange by Milos Bogetic  - full disclosure: our referral link is included.

I know that this will not be new material for all of you, but for those of you who – like myself – don’t use Reddit, I wanted to post it so that you guys could enjoy it as much as I did after having it brought to my attention. Thanks again to Milos for letting me post it, and enjoy!

Okay guys, before I begin, I gotta give you a fair warning. This story is absolutely true unfortunately. It is also very long. It goes back to my childhood, but it wasn’t as terrifying until very recently. Now I am completely lost in fear. I am an adult man, logical and intelligent (or I’d like to believe so) sitting in my bed, scared shitless right now, goosebumps all over my body and tears of horror in my eyes. I ask for your help in explaining this fucking horrifying thing. Caution: you’ll notice that I curse quite a bit.

I want you to know that what you read from now on is the situation perceived by my mind. I like to think that I am a very rational person and I haven’t been able to explain these occurrences in any natural way.

Since my mom got a new job, she started making new friends. It is common in our country that friends come to each other’s houses for a cup of coffee, cake, gossip and whatnot. Few weeks into her new job, my mom made friends with this woman, Rose. She would come maybe twice a week and they’d sit around the coffee table on our balcony and just talk. One day, when I was 17, I was at the balcony with them. I’m not sure why I was there, but knowing me, I probably ran out of internet hours (back in a day we bought internet monthly per hour in my country) and was bored as fuck. So we’re sitting there, they’re gossiping about who knows what, and mom gets up to go get some cake she had baked recently. I remained sitting at the table with Rose and that’s when my life changed forever. Rose was a good looking woman. She was about 5’6”, skinny, long black hair, pearly white teeth. Attractive woman overall. So anyways, I am sitting there with her, and she turns to me. She has this creepy grin on her face; bright red lipstick with bright white teeth underneath are just making it look more scary. Her head is moving slowly, almost as if she became a puppet. She says something in the lowest tone possible, certainly not loud enough for me to understand. “Excuse me?” I say, still not being scared, just a bit weirded out.

“You ready to go now?” She said this in a voice of a child, I kid you not. Like maybe an 8 year old girl.

Grin is still there. She mustered those words through her teeth, never opening the jaw.

“What?” I ask, starting to get scared.

“You ready?” The same thing again. Only this time, she pulls out an orange out of her purse. That’s it, she just took the orange out, and held it there. Didn’t offer it, didn’t eat it herself, just held the fucking thing.

At that point, I was getting scared as fuck. Thankfully, my mom came with the cake. Rose, almost as if someone pushed a button on a remote control, switched back to her normal self, putting the orange back into her purse without my mom noticing. I left the balcony creeped out, but I was 17 so I brushed it off quickly.

That night, I had trouble sleeping. My room is on the first floor and my window is at a maybe 5’ height, so I kept looking at it praying not to see some scary monster. I would turn in my bed constantly and look at the window maybe every 5 minutes. It was getting late and I started to doze off, but decided to look into the window one last time. And there she fucking was. Standing in the fucking window. Rose. Just standing, looking directly at me (moonlight was bright enough for me to see), with the same grin on her face. Lipstick was red as ever, and teeth were whither than ever. I was paralyzed with fear. I often imagined what I’d do in situations like these, and I always had an escape plan for any hypothetical I threw at myself. But now, when this friend of my mother’s was staring at me through my window at 4am, just smiling, I was motionless. My mouth got dry, I got goosebumps (have them now as I type this), and I swear it became freezing in my room, probably just the way the body reacts to shock. I finally gathered the courage to get up. I started walking towards the door. Hear head was turning with me. Slowly. With the grin still there. Again, it was as if she were a puppet. I wanted to scream for my parents, but knowing how tense they are, I decided not to cause panic just yet. There had to be some rational explanation, right? For fuck knows what reason, I decided to walk to the window and ask her what the fuck her problem was. I made two slow steps towards it and froze. I froze because she moved. You know what her movement was? Taking the orange out of her purse. Does anyone know what the record time is for having goosebumps? Because they sure as shit aren’t going away. Anyways, after being terrified for a minute, I decide to go on. I am a big guy and figured I’d be able to fight her off if push comes to shove. My windows pull up in order to open. I pull it open maybe some 10 inches and stop. She’s not moving, just holding the fucking orange and looking at me with the scariest grin you’ll ever see. I stand there. She stands there. Then, she starts bending. But every move she makes is so slow, so mechanical. She’s bending so she can reach the open part of the window. I’m horrified. She pushes her head through it (just enough space for her head to go through).

“You go with me now?” As she’s saying that, in her 8 year old voice, her hand is making its way through the crack, holding an orange. What do I to? What you’d do. Fucking run. I run out of my room, screaming for my dad. My dad being a light sleeper, he jumps out of his bed and screams back at me asking what the hell is going on. All I can muster to say is “Rose…window.” While dad is putting his pants on, I run back to my room, wanting Rose to be there so he can see that I am not crazy. You know how in horror movies the person you saw is gone by the time witnesses come? Yea well similar thing happened, except I caught Rose leaving. There is a house some 100 yards away from mine, and it had one of those motion activated lights (lots of crime back home). I saw the light turn on, and a glimpse of Rose disappearing behind that house. By the time dad ran into my room, she was gone. After much talking, he decided that it was just a nightmare and told me to call him only if someone physically comes into my room. “You and your fucking imagination” he said walking away. Needless to say, I got exactly zero hours of sleep that night.

Nothing happened in the next few months. Rose would still come to visit my mom, but I’d make sure I wasn’t there. Fuck that. As in every teenager’s life, so many things were happening around me and I forgot about the Rose incident. Then one day, I was spending my afternoon browsing internet (years before Reddit unfortunately). I got pretty hungry so as any spoiled child, I yelled from my room to see if my mom would come. She didn’t. Oh well tough luck, I have to go to the kitchen and make myself a sandwich. Kitchen in our house is connected to the living room, but you can’t see the living room until you’re at least in the middle of the kitchen. So I open the kitchen and walk in. I freeze. There it is, right there on the kitchen table. An orange. Immediate thought of that creepy night. Rose is here. I am still motionless in my spot. Few seconds later, I realize how stupid I am for relating a common piece of fruit to a crazy window stalker. So I walk towards the table, wanting to put the orange back in the fruit cabinet. I grab the thing and hear the voice behind me: “You will have to come with me soon, you know.” Child’s voice. It’s Rose. I produce some kind of noise resembling scared pig about to get slaughtered. Lightning fast, I turn around and there she is, standing in the middle of the living room. Just standing there, same grin on her face, same lipstick on her lips, teeth white as ever. Only she started tilting her head to the left a bit, in slow motion. I remember it as if it happened yesterday: her long black hair falling down her shoulders, white summer dress, bright red shoes to match her lipstick. I forgot to mention that she was very pale. Even in the summer, she seemed to not be friends with the sun. This added to creepiness. There’s this woman who already scared the shit out of me once, standing alone in the middle of my living room, pale as a ghost, bright red lipstick and shoes, tilting her head to the side, speaking in child’s voice. And then, and fucking then, she takes an orange out of her purse. Takes it out slowly, and looks at me, as if she wants me to have it. Just as my self-defense mode is about to take over and I either run away or tackle the crazy bitch, my mom walks in. I know it didn’t happen, but it seemed like my mom brought the light into the room. I released a breath of relief. Rose, of course, went back to her “normal” self. They were about to go for a walk and my mom was getting ready in her room while she was pulling her grudge shit on me.

Since my parents wouldn’t believe anything I was saying about her, I wasn’t sure what to do. Only thing I could do at that age is nothing, I suppose. But I swore I’d punch that woman should she ever come close to me again.

A year or so had passed without any incidents and I was getting ready to go to the United States to study in college. Since I was going to play basketball there, I had to prepare for it. I spent summer away from home, working out in a training camp in a town about 40 miles from my city. During the last night of the camp, the last incident happened. My roommate had left the camp the day before and I had the room to myself. I was very excited about going to America in few days and had trouble sleeping. My room had a beautiful balcony (I was on the third floor of a hotel). Since it was warm, I decided to sit in the chair on the balcony for a while. I walked out, sat down, and immediately regretted it.

“It is really time to come now.”

I nearly shit myself. I mean, it’s been a while since I last heard that voice, but something like that stays with you forever. I turned my head to the right, and Rose was standing on the fence of a balcony of the room next to mine. Mind you, not standing on the balcony, or sitting at the table, but standing on the fence. How she was balancing I don’t know. Balcony was at least 50 feet from the ground. And she was holding the orange. Fucking orange. Only this time, orange seemed to have been somewhat rotten, not nearly as bright as the first three times. I was scared that she would attempt to jump over to my balcony, as there was only few feet distance between them. I was also scared she’d die in attempt to do so and I’d be blamed somehow. I had no idea what the fuck was going on.

“It really is time, you know.” She said it in that child like voice, never opening her jaw, her teeth forever clenched together, and lipstick the color of fresh blood. She seemed even paler this time, and her head was tilted to the left even more. She wore red shoes.

“What the fuck do you want from me?” I screamed in desperation, angry that this woman is causing me so much distress, but also hoping that someone would hear me and come witness this crazy bitch’s harassment.

“I only want you to go where you belong.” She said that, and again, never opened her teeth. She only sprang her hand more towards me, almost offering me that semi rotten orange.

“Fuck you, you crazy bitch.” I opened the door of my room, and as I was walking in, I heard: “You will come.”

I slammed the door, deciding this woman was schizophrenic. I would’ve probably flipped out more, but I was leaving the continent in few days, at which point I was safe. Wrong.

I know I have a wall of fucking text but this is the shortest version of these creepy events. I came to the US, and have been here for 7 years now. I forgot about the incidents and went on with my life. Only time I ever thought about Rose was when talking to my mom who said that since I left, her friendship with the crazy bitch fell apart. I was glad. Last 7 years were the best of my life. I got bachelor’s and master’s degrees, I got a wonderful girlfriend, you know, life’s good, man. But then. But fucking then. I am a big technology geek, and I love Apple (don’t shoot me down for this please). So, it was Last Friday, September 21st, the release of iPhone 5. I am in front of the store with about 50 other people. I am maybe 15th in line. It’s raining. It’s cold. I’ve been there for about 4 hours now. Doors finally open. We start moving in slowly. I look across the street and instantly stop. People run into my back, I can hear complaining. But it’s all bouncing off of me. Across the street, I see a woman in a white dress, head tilted, holding something orange-ish. Grin on her face. Lipstick so bright red, I can see it from across the street. I can’t move. Someone from far in the back pushes, causing me to fall. While I gather myself, I see the woman disappearing behind the corner. I remain sitting on the ground. It was Rose. It was her, I swear. I sit there for few minutes, get myself together, and walk in the store. No phones left. I decide to walk across the street. And there it was. At the place where she was standing now only sits a mushed, terribly rotten orange. That’s it. Just a rotten orange. I started crying. All memories came back. I thought that my whole life would constitute of being stalked by some maniac. And how did she find me anyways? I spent next few hours in a nearby coffee shop, drinking tea and reasoning how this could be logically possible. I kept no secret from my friends and family about my whereabouts. Did she stalk my Facebook? My friends? Did she travel here to harm me? What the fuck is her deal? Answering no questions I asked myself, I went home, deciding to keep it all to myself. My girlfriend noticed something was wrong with me for the next few days, but didn’t push it. I figured it was all a fluke, my mind playing tricks because I was up all night before that morning. Plus, it was raining. How could I see that well? And that orange, well that was just a coincidence. I convinced myself that I was just making it all up.

So today, a letter came. I get a lot of mail, so it’s not that out of the ordinary. But there was this envelope with no return address. I opened it and was immediately shocked. I was holding a Polaroid picture. In it, there was me, standing in line in front of the store last Friday. Only the picture was taken by a person behind me. It was taken at the moment I was looking across the street. I can tell because I could see the horror on my face. On the back of the photo, there were few words written with a black pen:

“you come with me, NOW.”

I dropped the picture and started crying like a baby. Like really crying my ass off. My girlfriend found me in our room, curled up on bed, still crying. She was terrified that maybe someone close to us had died, as she’s never seen me let a single tear before. I had to tell her. I started telling her the story, leaving most details out, so I can get to the point quicker. As I was talking, she was getting more and more pale. She never said a word. I finished my story and she was pale as ghost, not moving. Then she asked. She asked a fucking question that honestly caused me to almost faint. She said: “This woman, did she happen, to… um, hold an orange?” I froze, she started crying like I’ve never seen her cry before.

We had a long talk that night, and her story would require another wall of text. Honestly, I am fucking tired from typing this much and am pretty sure nobody will be willing to read this much. I am also lost. Terrified. Confused. But if someone does read this, I’ll write the rest. I’ll write in hope that someone can offer a solution, and an answer maybe. Currently, we are both scared as fuck, not knowing what to do next. Police is an option, but what do we tell them? I don’t know man, I am fucking scared for mine and her well being. Help me.

Update: Well guys, shit. Don’t know what to tell you. It happened again today. Except I didn’t see her. Let me give you a quick rundown of events:

• 9:00 am – I go to the local police station with my girlfriend. We tell them all that we know and show them the Polaroid. Although quite friendly, they say they really can’t do much other than maybe file a restraining order against the person who probably (their words) isn’t even in the country. They think I mistook her for someone else and the picture, well they said it was probably a prank. They did take the photo and open a file about it, just in case it escalates. It did.
• 1:00 pm – We arrived in town where I saw her. Went to the location, there was nothing there. Don’t know what the hell I expected anyways. We stayed there for a while.
• 6:30 pm – Arriving home. Front door of the house is open, but this is not uncommon as we live with 5 other roommates. We go upstairs to our room. Our room is open. That is unheard of as we always make sure we lock it. And our landlord is the only other person who has the key. I yell asking if someone is there, no response. Also, no roommates are in the house, it seems. We walk in. We freeze. Our room is decently small, constitutes of two queen size beds put together and a little dresser and that’s about it. So what did we see? Pillows are all on our dresser. Towels on the bed.Our sheet is taken off the bed and put on the floor. It is spread out. In the center of it is an orange cut in two halves with a little peel next to it. My laptop is facing the door and is playing the same song on repeat. My laptop was turned off before I left and was also password protected. The song playing is my favorite from childhood, “Africa” by Toto. My desktop background was changed to one picture from my childhood that I didn’t even have in the computer.
• 7:00 pm – We call the police, they arrive 15 minutes later. I take about 5 pics of the mess just before they come. They say they’ll start an investigation, but claim that it’s still not “serious enough” for fingerprints and stuff.
• 8:30 pm – They leave and tell us to call should anything happen again, and also advise us to stay with friends if possible.

We spent next few hours just talking, man. Trying to figure it out. We’re exhausted both mentally and physically. I am going to Skype with my mom tomorrow and see if she knows anything. I will type up my gf’s story tonight, but may post it in the morning if I don’t finish it all in time. I will include photos I took, I promise you that much.

Holy fuck, this shit is happening to me.

Credit To – Milos Bogetic

NOTE: This is the first in a series of several popular Reddit posts documenting some seriously creepy experiences. We are publishing them here with express permission of Milos Bogetic aka inaaace, the original poster. The story is in multiple parts, and will be published completely over the next few days – much like what I did with the ‘Bedtime’ series earlier this year. After the stories have all gone up, I’ll edit each post with links to the other parts.

The OP has finished the book that he promised during his successful kickstarter project.

You can find the paperback and Kindle e-book versions here: The Story of Her Holding an Orange by Milos Bogetic  - full disclosure: our referral link is included.

I know that this will not be new material for all of you, but for those of you who – like myself – don’t use Reddit, I wanted to post it so that you guys could enjoy it as much as I did after having it brought to my attention. Thanks again to Milos for letting me post it, and enjoy!

DERPNOTE: Since the “This Man” post was seemingly well-received, I’m going to continue tossing in these sorts of posts every so often. They’re not actual pastas, but interesting things to read about “real life” paranormal events and experiences. My hope is that you will enjoy both learning about and discussing the events described in these sorts of posts, and maybe even glean some inspiration for future submissions.

With that said, what follows is the original text of a very famous eBay auction where a harried seller tried his best to unload a possibly cursed item: The Dibbuk Box.

–

All of the events that I am about to set forth in this listing are accurate and may be verified by the winning bidder with the copies of hospital records and sworn affidavits that I am including as part of the sale of the cabinet.

During September of 2001, I attended an estate sale in Portland Oregon. The items liquidated at this sale were from the estate of a woman who had passed away at the age of 103. A grand-daughter of the woman told me that her grandmother had been born in Poland where she grew up, married, raised a family, and lived until she was sent to a Nazi concentration camp during World War II. She was the only member of her family who survived the camp. Her parents, brothers, a sister, husband, and two sons and a daughter were all killed. She survived the camp by escaping with some other prisoners and somehow making her way to Spain where she lived until the end of the war. I was told that she acquired the small wine cabinet listed here in Spain and it was one of only three items that she brought with her when she immigrated to the United States. The other two items were a steamer trunk, and a sewing box.

I purchased the wine cabinet, along with the sewing box and some other furniture at the estate sale. After the sale, I was approached by the woman’s granddaughter who said, I see you got the dibbuk box. She was referring to the wine cabinet. I asked her what a dibbuk box was, and she told me that when she was growing up, her grandmother always kept the wine cabinet in her sewing room. It was always shut, and set in a place that was out of reach. The grandmother always called it the dibbuk box. When the girl asked her grandmother what was inside, her grandmother spit three times through her fingers said, a dibbuk, and keselim. The grandmother went on to tell the girl that the wine cabinet was never, ever, to be opened.

The granddaughter told me that her grandmother had asked that the box be buried with her. However, as such a request was contrary to the rules of an orthodox Jewish burial, the grandmothers request had not been honored. I asked the granddaughter what a dibbuk, and keselim were, but she did not know. I asked if she would like to open it with me. She did not want to open it, as her grandmother had been very emphatic and serious when she instructed her not to do so, and, regardless of the reason, she wanted to honor her grandmother’s request.

I finally ended up offering to let her keep what seemed to me to be a sentimental keepsake. At that point, she was very insistent and said, No, no you bought it!

I explained that I didn’t want my money back, and that it would make me feel better to do what I thought was an act of kindness. She then became somewhat upset. Looking back now, the way she became upset was just plain odd. She raised her voice to me and said, you bought it! You made a deal!

When I tried to speak, she yelled, we don’t want it! She began to cry, asked me to leave, and quickly walked away. I wrote the whole episode off to the stress and grief she must have been experiencing. I took my purchases and politely left.

At the time when I bought the cabinet, I owned a small furniture refinishing business. I took the cabinet to my store, and put it in my basement workshop where I intended to refinish it and give it as a gift to my Mother. I didn’t think anything more about it. I opened my shop for the day and went to run some errands leaving the young woman who did sales for me in charge.

After about a half-hour, I got a call on my cell phone. The call was from my salesperson. She was absolutely hysterical and screaming that someone was in my workshop breaking glass and swearing. Furthermore, the intruder had locked the iron security gates and the emergency exit and she couldn’t get out. As I told her to call the police, my cell phone battery went dead. I hit speeds of 100 mph getting back to the shop. When I arrived, I found the gates locked. I went inside and found my employee on the floor in a corner of my office sobbing hysterically. I ran to the basement and went downstairs. At the bottom of the stairs, I was hit by an overpowering unmistakable odor of cat urine (there had never been any animals kept or found in my shop). The lights didn’t work. As I investigated, I found that the reason the lights didn’t work also explained the sounds of glass breaking. All of the light bulbs in the basement were broken. All nine incandescent bulbs had been broken in their sockets, and 10 four-foot fluorescent tubes were lying shattered on the floor. I did not find an intruder, however. I should also add that there was only one entrance to the basement. It would have been impossible for anyone to leave without meeting me head-on. I went back up to speak with my salesperson, but she had left.

She never returned to work (after having been with me for two years). She refuses to discuss the incident to this day. I never thought of relating the events of that day to anything having to do with the cabinet.

Then, things got worse.

As I already indicated, I had decided to give the cabinet to my Mother as a birthday gift. About two weeks after I made the purchase, I decided to get started refinishing it. I was surprised to find that the cabinet has a unique little mechanism. When you open one of the doors, the mechanism causes the opposite door, and the little drawer below, to open at the same time. It is very well made. Inside the cabinet, I found the following items: 1 1928 U.S. Wheat Penny; 1 1925 US Wheat Penny; One small lock of blonde hair (bound with string); One small lock of black/brown hair (bound with string); One small granite statue engraved and gilded with Hebrew letters (I have been told that the letters spell out the word SHALOM); One dried rosebud; One golden wine cup; One very strange black cast iron candlestick holder with octopus legs.

I saved all of the items in a box intending to return them to the estate. The family has refused the items, so they will be included in this sale of the cabinet.

After opening the cabinet, I decided not to refinish it. I cleaned it, and rubbed in some lemon oil. It was at this time that I noticed that there was an inscription in Hebrew carved into the back of the cabinet. I have no idea what it says or if it is significant. I have included a picture of that inscription below. On my mother’s birthday, October 28, 2001, my mother called to tell me that she was going out of town with my sister for three days, and we postponed celebrating her birthday together until she returned. On October 31, 2001, my mother came to my shop. We were going to have lunch together, but before we were going to leave, I gave her the wine cabinet. She seemed to like it. While she examined it, I went to make a phone call. I hadn’t been out of sight more than 5 minutes when one of my employees came running into my office saying that something was wrong with my mom.

When I went back to see what the matter was, I found my mom sitting in a chair beside the cabinet. Her face had no expression, but tears were streaming down her cheeks. No matter how I tried to get her to respond, she would not. She could not. It turns out that my mother had suffered a stroke. She was taken to the hospital by ambulance. She ended up suffering partial paralysis, and losing her ability to speak and form words (she has since regained the ability to speak). She could understand things being said to her, and could respond by pointing to letters of the alphabet to spell out words she wanted to say. When I asked her the following day how she was doing, she teared up and spelled out the words: N-O G-I- F-T. I assured her that I had given her a gift for her birthday, thinking that she didn’t remember, but she became even more upset and spelled out the words: H-A-T-E G-I-F-T. I laughed and told her not to worry. I told her I was sorry she didn’t like the cabinet, and that I would get her anything she wanted if she would promise to get well soon.

Still, I didn’t associate anything that had happened with the cabinet itself or anything paranormal. Frankly, I don’t think I ever even used the term paranormal until this last month.

I’ll try to make this short now. I gave the cabinet to my sister. She kept it for a week, then gave it back. She complained that she couldn’t get the doors to stay closed and that they kept coming open. There are no springs in the door mechanism and I have never found that the doors come open. I gave it to my brother and his wife who kept it for three days and then gave it back. My brother said it smelled like Jasmine flowers, while his wife insisted that it put out an odor of cat urine. I gave it to my girlfriend who asked me to sell it for her after only two days. I sold it the same day to a nice middle aged couple. Three days later, when I came to open the shop for the day, I found the cabinet sitting at the front doors with a note that read, This has a bad darkness. I had no idea what that meant. Anyway, I ended up taking it home.

Then, things got even worse.

Since the day I brought it home, I began having a strange recurring nightmare. Every time I have the horrible dream it goes something like this: I find myself walking with a friend, usually someone I know well and trust at some point in the dream, I find myself looking into the eyes of the person that I am with. It is then that I realize that there is something different, something evil looking back at me. At that point in my dream, the person I am with changes into what can only be described as the most gruesome, demonic looking Hag that I have ever seen. This Hag proceeds then, to beat the living tar out of me. I have awakened numerous times to find bruises and marks on myself where I had been hit by the old woman during the previous night. Still, I never related the nightmares to the cabinet, nor do I think that I ever would have.

About a month ago, however, my sister, and my brother and his wife came over to my house and spent the night. The following morning, during breakfast, my sister complained that she had had a horrible nightmare. She said that she recalled having had it a couple of times before, and went on to describe my nightmare exactly to the last detail. My brother and his wife froze as they listened, and then chimed in that they had both had had the exact same dreams during the night as well. The hair was standing up on the back of my neck and still is. As we talked, it became clear that the common denominator was that each of us had had the nightmare during the times that the cabinet was in our respective homes. I called my girlfriend and asked if she could recall having any nightmares recently. She described the same nightmare, same Hag, everything. When I asked her if she remembered the date when she had the nightmare, she said she did not. Then I asked if it happened to be the night before she gave me the cabinet back to sell for her. She said, Yeah!  Hey, how did you know that?!!!

Now then, since my family discussion, it seems like all hell is breaking loose. For a week afterward I started seeing what I can only describe as shadow things in my peripheral vision. In fact, numerous visitors to my house have claimed that they have seen these shadow things. I put the cabinet in an outside storage unit and was awakened when the smoke alarm in the unit went off in the middle of the night. When I went to see what was burning, I opened the door and didn’t see any smoke. However, I did get hit with the smell of cat urine. When I went back inside, the smell was there in my house. I DO NOT OWN A CAT AND I NEVER HAVE. I went back outside and grabbed the cabinet. I brought it back inside and tried to research it on the Internet. While I was surfing the net, I fell asleep and once again had the same freakin nightmare. I woke up at around 4:30am (when it felt and smelled like someone was breathing on my neck) to find that my house now smelled like Jasmine flowers, and just in time to see a HUGE shadow thing go loping down the hall away from me.

I would destroy this thing in a second, except I really don’t have any understanding of what I may or may not be dealing with. I am afraid (and I do mean afraid) that if I destroy the cabinet, whatever it is that seems to have come with the cabinet may just stay here with me. I have been told that there are people who shop on EBAY that understand these kinds of things and specifically look for these kinds of items. If you are one of these people, please, please buy this cabinet and do whatever you do with a thing like this.

Help me.

You can see that I have no reserve price or minimum bid. If I can make things any easier let me know and I will do everything within my abilities.

One more note. On the same day my Mom had her stroke, the lease to my store was summarily terminated without cause.

The measurements are 12.5″ x 7.5″ x 16.25″

ALL OF THE ITEMS THAT I ORIGINALLY FOUND INSIDE THE CABINET ARE INCLUDED IN THE SALE AND WILL BE DELIVERED WITH THE CABINET.

On Jun-12-03 at 02:15:30 PDT, seller added the following information:

There is no way that I can respond to all of the e-mails I’ve received since I put this thing on-line. I’ll try now to update and answer the most common questions I’ve been receiving.

1. No, I am not religious.

2. No, I do not wish to have or participate in any sort of exorcism, or case study, or photo sessions at my home.

3. No, I will not sell any of the individual pieces which were originally found separate from the other pieces and the cabinet.

4. No, I do not speak Hebrew nor do I know what the word “keselim” means. I don’t know that the word is even or or a Hebrew word.

5. At the end of the auction, I have decided to take an opportunity to speak with the winning bidder for two reasons: a.)To make sure that the winning bidder is a serious adult who has employed some valid reasoning skills in making the decision to accept whatever this is. I will not be judgmental. Do whatever you want or need after the sale. b.)To offer full details of the events that have transpired. After I have carried out those responsibilities, and upon payment, I will have the cabinet and its contents delivered by U.S.MAIL, FED-EX, or UPS to the winning bidder. At that point, I will have no further involvement with the matter in any way, shape, or form. Period.

6.) To all of you who have offered to pray, I may not be religious, but I am certainly open to the possibilities –no matter what your religion might be. THANK YOU!

On Jun-14-03 at 05:216 PDT, seller added the following information:

Here is another update for everyone following this listing.
NO! No, I will not circumvent, or make any deals outside of EBAY – EVEN FOR MORE MONEY THAN THE FINAL AUCTION PRICE!!! If you want to win the auction and have the kind of money some of you are offering, there shouldn’t be any reason why you cannot simply place your bid in an open honest fashion. I’m sure you can understand why I might be suspicious.

ALSO….

For those of you wanting to know if I am still experiencing anything out of the ordinary, I thought everything was going OK until I got home on Friday – the 13th of June – and found that the fish in my fresh water aquarium – all 10 – were dead.

I’m still hoping that all of this is coincidental crap.

–

DERPNOTE PT2: Now, I seem to recall that more follow-up information was initially available on this website, but it seems to have been removed – most likely, to encourage interested parties to just bite the bullet and buy their book about the whole thing instead. For now, I’m just linking the book, but if anyone else stumbles onto pages that go a bit more into detail with the follow-up investigations and other details about this particular story, I’d appreciate if you would drop me a link in the comments. I’ll edit it any new links into this post as they come, so that eventually we can have a nice little “main menu” page here about the dibbuk box for both discussion and discovery.

Mirror of the original eBay auction
Paranormal Review Podcast Episode: The Dibbuk Box with Jason Haxton
Mysterious Universe Episodes 209 and 524 both deal with the dibbuk box
The Dibbuk Box on Amazon - full disclosure: our referral link is included.
Syfy’s Paranormal Witness episode on the topic – full disclosure: our referral link is included.
The “official website” of The Dibbuk Box
The wikipedia entry