Absolute Halloween

As Halloween approaches, Absolute Press has decided to release a special edition of spooky stories in celebration of the holiday. What follows is three TRUE tales of my encounters with the paranormal:

THRILL-SEEKER

She invited me out for an impromptu second date. I met her in OKC on our first date, so she offered to come to Norman for this one.

I had no idea what I was going to do.

I was as fascinated with her as she was with the macabre. She dressed in black and spoke casually of death. She’s not the kind of girl you can entertain with just dinner and a walk.

What would a girl like this enjoy? Graveyards? abandoned churches? Haunted houses? She told me she didn’t believe in ghosts.

Would she be such a skeptic after an encounter with the supernatural?

We got in the car and I drove us east. To a little shed at the intersection of two well-traveled country roads. We stepped into the dark structure, formerly a gas station, and listened. A gentle March breeze whistled through gaps between the walls and the roof, the metal creaking as it flexed. The interior was completely stripped except for the trash littering the floor. She looked around, but didn’t seem too impressed.

“I’ve known about this place for a long time. I remember discovering it in high school. Some friends and I came in and we kept feeling spider webs on our arms. We’d do everything that we could to brush them off, but it was no use. One finally had to leave when he said he felt it on his face. It was after he stuck his head in that closet over there.”

In the corner was a small, dark closet. The whole building had an oppressive air about it. Every alarm in my body was begging me to get out. I could fight this feeling. But I couldn’t fight my body’s refusal to go near that closet. Like how you can’t force yourself to bite your own tongue off.

But she made no indication she felt the same apprehensions.

“What about the spiderwebs?”

“As soon as we stepped outside, the feeling disappeared.”

“I don’t feel any spider webs. Where to now?”

“There’s an old cemetery up the road, if you’d like to go.”

Her kiss was answer enough.

We rolled under a tall sign reading “MORAL” against the night sky. Parked all the way at the back, we had a spectacular view of the whole graveyard.

Crumbling headstones stuck out like rotting teeth from the dark earth. The waning moon left us in near total darkness. I shut the engine off and turned the radio down. Wind beat against the car. Sticks and branches clattered in the bare trees. Crickets chirped nearby.

The cacophony kept us company as we smoked cigarettes and listened to music. We only stayed for half an hour before we got bored of the arid ambiance. I turned the key forward and started the car. As soon as I pressed the gas pedal, it stalled and died.

“Uhh, that’s strange.”

I’d never had that car stall out while pulling out of a stop in all the four years I’d been driving it so far. I fumbled with the ignition and tried again.

It didn’t even crank. Shitshitshit.

We would’ve been hopelessly stuck in this cemetery had I not realized my error and jammed the shifter into park. On the second try, the engine roared to life. This time, I applied plenty of gas to avoid another stall.

We had made it out of Moral Cemetery, despite its permanent residents hampering our getaway. It’s entirely plausible that some rare mechanical hiccup occurred in just the perfect way to stall my car. I’m willing to accept that.

I just wish it wouldn’t have happened in a remote cemetery on a cold night with my date. But she didn’t seem to care. We were back on the move, listening to blues and blowing smoke into the night air.

THE SACRED RULE

Even the pale faces know to respect the legends of the local tribes. And that’s just what we’d do every time we’d go out camping on Jasper’s land. Before we’d even have a chance to stretch our legs after the long ride out there, he was warning us: “if you hear voices in the creek, ignore them. If you hear someone call your name, don’t go to them. And above all else, DON’T WHISTLE AT NIGHT.”

And that was that with no further questions. The afternoons were usually spent shooting, playing games, cooking, and finally, gathering around the campfire.

There were a helluva lot of us that particular night. But every ear was cocked towards Jasper as he told stories passed down from his older relatives. About seeing deer standing straight up before making a vertical jump of ten feet, and other odd and supernatural tales.

The circle was silent before the fire, fear and horror in their eyes. Each person struggling to comprehend what new knowledge had been imparted upon them. Except for one.

One of the younger, more defiant members of the group stood up from the fire and marched off towards the woods, casually whistling a tune. It pierced the night air like flying shrapnel, setting us all to plead with them: “don’t do that! Don’t whistle!” but they kept right on.

The rumbling and crackling of the fire filled the silence. We stared into the red depths and followed sparks up into the night sky. As suddenly as they had left, our missing member returned, their pants still unzipped. When we asked them what the rush was, they fearfully replied: “something whistled back.”

NIGHT SHIFT

What should have been the easiest part of the night was actually the most challenging. The threat of falling asleep was always present after ten o’clock. That’s when the staff put the residents to bed. After that, I was alone.

I had a chair and small table just outside the common room they slept in. And for seven hours, I would sit and read until the end of my shift. My eyes struggled to stay open in the silent hallway. I’d killed five hours already. Just two more to go.

I was midway through a paragraph when the light turned off and I was plunged into darkness. Red letters reading “EXIT” glowed above me. I waved my arm around, expecting the sensor to pick up on my movement. But the hall remained dark.

I stood up and searched the wall for the switch. I pressed it and the light came back on without issue. It was strange, but no stranger than anything else I had experienced in the basement of this church.

I sat back down and found my place in my book. About a page later and it happened again. Frustratedly, I stood up and pressed the button again. I turned my back to return to my seat and the light went out once more.

“That’s enough!”

I stood by the button and pressed it. The light came on, and then went back out. I pressed it again. Same result. On, off, on, off, on, off. It was tug-of-war with forces unseen. Just when I was resigning myself to reading my book by flashlight, the light stayed on. And it never went off for the rest of the night.

I asked the staff about it before I left, asking if the room had ever had any electrical issues. They said the wiring was fine. It was probably just the little girl they’ll hear occasionally. The one that laughs in the elevator.