Tag Archive | halloween

Ghost Story with Shehanne Moore

Happy Day Before Halloween!!! 

One more sleep until the big day! I hope you all have great plans for tomorrow but in the meantime Shehanne is here to tell us about the ghost she lived with for many years…she is braver than I am, that is for sure 🙂 


 “I know what you think you heard and felt but I swear to you, nobody’s there.”

Sitting there that autumn evening, I couldn’t have been more truthful. Nobody was there. If I’d said to my twelve year old daughter nothing’s there, now I’d have been lying. Something was. And that something was pacing back and forward across her attic bedroom floor, inches from my own toes as I sat on her bed. That something was the house ghost. The presence we’d at that point shared our house with for over that twelve years.

Are you sitting comfortably? Or is your hair beginning to prickle all along the back of your neck?

Firstly I want to thank the lovely Angela Scavone for inviting me here today to her wonderful blog.

Secondly, if you’re sitting really comfortably let’s begin at the very beginning. I do like quoting certain songs.

I was so excited to move into our new house. A big Victorian, with lots of space, overlooking the River Tay in a quietly suburban area? 

Who wouldn’t be? It was roughly day 3 and I was busy putting the sitting room into some kind of order when my older girl tapped me on the arm. I remember it very distinctly because I tapped her hand back. I tried to clasp it anyhow. ‘Mama’s just coming, ‘ I said. But the thing was, she wasn’t there. The room was empty. Then I heard her on the landing upstairs. The thought went through my mind. If that was her up there, then who was that down here who had just tapped me–with a somewhat icy hand too?

Over the next few days, every time I stood in the bathroom –which was two rooms knocked together– I could feel someone screaming at me to get out. This wasn’t my house.

We had bought the house from my sister, and my niece had often told what I had always thought were fanciful tales of a ghost locking her in her room, of something pacing the attic floor at nights. Was it possible these weren’t fanciful?  

There was the time someone drew our bedroom curtains. I heard them and thought it was my husband but it couldn’t have been because he was outside at the time. The time someone knocked on the bathroom door when I was in the bath–there was nobody there when I opened it. The time Christmas decorations fell ‘up’ as if they were being yanked, not down, things were switched on that were off, things went missing and were later found where you just knew you hadn’t left them, the time a toy portable typewriter lying flat on the floor stood up on its side, the times the linen chest in the bathroom creaked as if someone was sitting on it.

My daughters both asked if I thought the house was haunted. Despite having lived in the house at one stage, my sister refused point blank to water plants for us when we were on holiday, after being told to ’get out’ one day , my niece, would never go upstairs when she visited, then there was the incident of the flying plant and kitchen cupboard contents. We had been getting the bathroom redone and the builder wanted to let his wife see. She fled after a plant flew at her off of the top of the boiler. ‘ To let you understand,’ she said, ‘that plant never fell, it was thrown.’

So who was doing the haunting and why did we stay?

Well, I guess I just don’t frighten easily. I really loved my house so I always said, ‘I can live with you, if you can live with me,’ although eventually that didn’t prove to be quite the case.

A lot of the incidents happened when we had the attic properly converted. We wanted to give our younger daughter a big bedroom. A few weeks after it was finished my sister asked me how my daughter was liking it. I had to say she was sleeping on a couch in her sister’s room, insisting the attic was haunted. I thought she would laugh. My sister is a very sensible lady.

Instead she said, ‘yes it is’ and they had experienced everything we had. Also, she’d seen this spirit at the foot of the attic stairs one night and it was a soldier. At that time she’d spoken to the old lady next door– this was the 1970s and the lady had lived there almost all her life–she identified the spirit as Robert who had gone to the First World War and never come home.

So, the following week I was teaching a woman who was a newspaper psychic and she came down from the bathroom to say she had seen a soldier. Despite everything, I am actually a hefty sceptic. I said, ‘ Yeah, as you do.’  

‘His name is Robert Wann,’ she said, ‘and he’s furious that you have taken his chest of drawers.’ 

I kid you not. I also kid you not that a few years after this, I had a roofer in to look at a leak in the bathroom roof and he was out of there in ten seconds. His wife was a medium, he had a slight gift himself. ‘You are not alone up there, are you?’ he asked.  

The thing is I had never taken anyone’s chest of drawers but his wife did come out to the house and she had the same story. The little room that had been taken away when the two rooms were knocked into the bathroom by my sister’s husband– not by myself– had been his. He also had no idea what any of us were doing in his house and wanted us all to get out.

The time had come, not for us to go but for him, really, and this lady agreed to help. Let me kid you not about this either, a black pall descended on the room. I have never experienced the likes and I hope never to again. If ever any doubt lingered, or lingers to this day that there is another world there, that moment dispelled it.

Before anyone asks, we don’t live there now. We live in a ghost free Edwardian house!

I did look for Robert’s name on the local war memorial. It wasn’t there. Nor was it further along the road at the other war memorial either.  

Obviously the psychic got it wrong.

A few years ago I was editing a local history magazine. A local author asked if we would review his new book. It was about the local war dead. The name was there all right. Not on the memorials but on a plaque inside the local church.












































True Ghost Story with E. Ayers

Happy October 26th! We continue Halloween week with another true ghost story from E. Ayers! This is a good one and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did. 

After the ghost story E tells us about her latest release A Skeleton At Her Door. It sounds like a great read for Halloween week and I can tell you it is cued up on my kindle as we speak! It’s also on sale this week!!

Without further ado we welcome E. Ayers and her ghost …


Hi, thanks for inviting me to be on your blog and giving me a chance to meet your blog readers. Waving hello to everyone!

It’s October and it’s my favorite time of the year. I love the fall colors! Okay, I also love the winter colors and the spring colors and the summer colors, but there’s something about the autumn that is extra special. And we polish it all off with Halloween. Don’t laugh, I love decorating with pumpkins but I dislike jack o’ lanterns when decorating. Maybe it’s the waste factor? I can keep a pumpkin and then scoop it out for pumpkin pie, but not if it’s been carved.

When my girls were little I used to decorate for Halloween, but not anymore. I just decorate for fall. There’s something a little too spooky about Halloween!

If someone had asked me a few years ago about real ghosts, I would have laughed at them. Then I moved into this old house. Well, let me back up. Before moving here, we bought a house that had been on the market for years. The owner had died and no one would buy the house. After we had bought it, I discovered that the owner’s daughter had been shot and killed by an abusive boyfriend in the house.

We hadn’t been in it very long when I’d hear what sounded like someone running across the roof of the house. I still think it was a squirrel wearing combat boots! But I mentioned it to my neighbor and asked if she’d ever seen a squirrel or any animal on my roof. My neighbor then told me about the young woman’s death. She said her father often heard her running through the house. Okay, wild imagination, and I still think it was a squirrel. But then I moved here.

I’ve known folks who live in really old houses and they often tell of ghostly things. But to me, there is a reason for noises. Ghosts are not real – until I ran into them and was forced to change my mind.

We hadn’t lived here long when I’d walk into my darkened bedroom and it was as though a cloud over the bed moved. Granted, I’m tired and the play of light coming through the window… Logical explanation, eyes play tricks on us. Except, I kept losing things.

My husband got more than a little upset with me on a few occasions. And every time he did, it seemed I’d lose more stuff. But when I lost my keys, it really escalated. Probably everyone has put keys down and forgotten where they have left them, but when my girls were little, I found a jailor’s ring key chain. I loved it! I could slip it over my wrist and wear it like a bracelet when I was out and when I had returned home I would put it on the doorknob. I was totally obsessive-compulsive with my keys. Losing them was a big deal! Not only had I lost the keys to the house, but I’d lost my key to my car and the one to my husband’s. In this day, car keys are very expensive because they either contain chips or they have that electronic fob with them. My husband’s had a chip and mine had a fob that opened my car doors, etc.

Hubby finally helped me look for them, after he blew off a little steam over my being careless, scatterbrained, etc. Then all sorts of things began to happen. Oh, come on. Who loses the basket in the coffeepot? Out of desperation, I asked him to get into the car and we drove to a nearby shopping center where I tried to explain to him that every time he got upset with me, even when he wasn’t really upset and just voicing his frustration, more things vanished. When he thought about it, he realized I was right.

We moved bookcases, etc. in an attempt to find the keys. They were gone! Determined that they would show up, we avoided buying new keys for the cars. Then one night while sitting in the keeping room eating dinner, we discussed the fact that they had been gone for almost six months and still had not reappeared. They needed to be replaced. I was going to call the locksmith in the morning and have them made. I knew the combination would probably run close to two hundred dollars, but living without a second set of keys to the cars was probably dangerous. My husband agreed. It was a chunk of money from a budget that couldn’t afford it.

My husband left the table and went to watch some TV in the living room while I cleaned up the kitchen. My hands were in the dishwater when I heard the tinkling of keys by the back door. I looked over and there was my key ring swinging on the doorknob. “HONEY!!!!”

Suddenly, the idea of a ghost was no longer funny. My husband looked at the keys and asked where I found them. I told him I hadn’t. I was just washing the dishes and heard them. I’m not sure he believed me.

Shortly after that incident, I heard a strange noise as I cleared the keeping room’s dining table one night. I stopped and looked across the foyer to the living room.

On the other side of the living room doorway, I have a 4-door cupboard where I keep seasonal items for decorating along with a handy supply of candles, a flashlight, and some other general clutter. I couldn’t imagine why my husband would be going through that cabinet. I stood there just watching him. Finally I opened my mouth. “Honey, what are you doing, and where did you find that old plaid shirt?”

He didn’t respond. I shook my head, put the dirty dishes into the sink, washed my hands, and went to investigate. I didn’t see all of my husband, only part of his arm and shoulder. Enough to recognize that horrid old wool shirt that I swore I ditched years ago. Nor could I understand why he’d wear it when it wasn’t that cold.

Hubby wasn’t in the living room. I heard water running upstairs and followed the sound. “What were you…”

A few moments of conversation and we both went downstairs to check the cabinet. Yes, stuff was missing, starting with the flashlight. But that ugly shirt became my clue as to who my ghost was. Little pieces began to come together. My ghost liked my husband and hated me. I seriously think he tried to run me off. It was always my stuff he stole. And he seemed to enjoy creating problems between my husband and me. But he really enjoyed driving me nuts, and he was doing a good job of it.

One morning after my husband had left for work, I went to make a cup of tea and my infuser was missing. We all have our favorite items, so slightly upset I opened the cabinet to get another one and those were missing. I didn’t even have an infuser for a teapot. Gone! Not in another cabinet, or drawer or anyplace that I could find. Not a single one turned up anyplace in the house.

After I huffed a few times, I decided I’d had enough of this ghost’s games. I’ll spare your readers the sordid details of this previous man’s life, and leave it with he was quite wealthy but had some issues. But he was the most likely possibility as a ghost in this house as there were several matching pieces of the puzzle that pointed to him. So I did what any normal person would do. I stood in the middle of my living room, called his name, and scolded him with all the skill of the meanest drill sergeant. I told him to return everything he had taken. Then I left.

I met my husband after work and we returned to the house together. My infusers were tossed across my stove. Several flashlights reappeared in the living room along with a variety of other things. My husband just shook his head and looked at me. I’m not certain he really believed me, but there was no question in my mind.

That ghost lingered until after my husband died, and then vanished. That has left me with one little whirling dervish that seems to giggle, and then vanish into the living room fireplace. I’m really not certain what it is, but the animals in this house watch it. The other day, I realized that I hadn’t seen that giggling, spinning ghost in quite a while.

People don’t talk about such things. Non-believers seem to think they are superior, and if we see such things, then there must be something wrong with us. Please believe me, I’d much rather I never encountered that ghost in this house. I wish my keys had not vanished for six months or been returned in such an unexplained way. I wish my tea infusers had remained where I had put them, along with my flashlights, and all the other things that kept vanishing. I only know what happened and what I saw. But for those of us who live in these old houses, ghosts stories are common.

So Happy Halloween to those who love the holiday. I love the season but I really don’t want anything to do with the paranormal! I prefer to keep the holiday light-hearted and fun. With our neighborhood free of small children, no one around here even bothers with treats for children, except for a new family that has just moved in and I think those children might be too old to trick or treat. So I’m planning to buy a bag of apples and the kits to candy them. I’ll take that to their door and tell the teens to have fun making candied and caramel apples.

Would you believe I wrote a book that involves Halloween? I promise, it’s not spooky and it’s more of autumn story as it goes through November and a little beyond. It’s about a second chance of finding love especially when having been burnt the first time – it’s often hard to trust again.

When Tom shows up dressed for a Halloween charity auction at the wrong door, he has no clue his life is about to change. Angie thought the skeleton standing before her was her neighbor until her young daughter informs her that the man in costume is not Matt. Add Tom’s two teens, some Chinese fortune cookies, the willingness to try one more time, and it’s the perfect read for a chilly autumn night.

This book has a little sizzle and is not meant for the younger crowd, but it should not be offensive to the average reader. It does contain some adult topics, which includes an ex-wife’s infidelity and a physically abusive ex-husband. 

Buy it here:


Or read for FREE as a Kindle Unlimited


Ghost story with Abrielle Fuerst

To continue with our Halloween theme, today we have Abrielle Fuerst

First She is going to tell us a little ghost story, then we can check out her book Lady Shadow that just came out in paperback!! 

Now on to the ghost story …




This is an instance in two parts. Perhaps related, perhaps not.

Six years ago. 

We were, at the time, renting a small house in a dubious neighborhood. My sister and I were given the massive, grey-carpeted room that had once been the garage, from which we could hear everything that happened outside after dark.

We slept side-by-side for the first couple months. My sister nudged me awake one such night and whispered—in a broken code—that there was a man hiding under the table.

“There is not.”

“There is.”

There couldn’t be. The garage had been permanently sealed years ago. There was only one other door, which led to the kitchen, and I slept facing it. No one had entered, I would have known.

“Go to sleep.”

“Go and check.”

Well, I’d woken her up for things of less import. I kept the lights off to not betray my position, and went creeping around in the dark, seeking a man hiding under the table.

I found none.
Incidence 2.

At some later point I was lying in bed, trying to sleep but not, when I felt someone very distinctly sliding two fingers up the inside of my leg.

I called out to my sister. “Were you just in here a minute ago?”

“No, why?”

“Someone was touching my leg.”

“It wasn’t me.”

I looked; she was right. The door creaked when opened; the floor shifted when stepped on. She would have had to make quite a bit of noise to actually get it here, and she just hadn’t.

But no one else had, either.

Years later, she and I were sitting in a sunny living room of a much more peaceful residence, reminiscing about that little house. 

“I still can’t believe you didn’t see anything under the desk that night. I was so certain someone was there. I heard it. I saw his outline.”

I stopped. “What desk?”

“Don’t you remember? I woke you up and told you to look under the desk.”

“You told me to look under the table.” The kitchen table, off our bedroom. The one I’d found no one under.

We both thought about that little desk in the far corner of our room, built right into the wall. Nearly out of sight. Almost.

“I couldn’t remember our word for ‘desk,’ and I didn’t want him to know that I found him there. I was sure you’d figure out what I meant.”

Well, I hadn’t figured it out.

And I’d never looked under the desk.


Oooh that is creepy!! Great story Abrielle! Thanks for sharing with us today!

Don’t forget to check out Abrielle’s novel Lady Shadow now in paperback!! 

Here is a little secret. Assassins do exist. They’re right here, in the kingdoms.

And the one they’re looking for? The mercenary who betrayed them?

She lives.

Betrayal is a death sentence—and Umbra makes a living at it. 

When she was nine years old, Umbra was trained to be a mercenary. They are silent shadows with faces of men: ruthless combat masters, and Umbra was the best among them. Trained to swear fealty to assassins no one else believes in, sworn to die by her own hand before she dares betray them, Umbra becomes the spearhead of the assassins’ revolution: a hidden war to claim the kingdoms.

But what if she was wrong? What if she misjudged them?

So she changes sides, falling overnight from the deadliest assassin to the woman at the top of their most-wanted list. To the woman who, singlehandedly, is preventing the assassins from attaining the position she once killed to help them claim. 

Now Umbra must confront the machinations of her past, from the old assassin masters who taught her everything, to the assassin heir and the man she would have married. But one aspect of her life might be too sharp to overcome. One betrayal runs too deeply to be reckoned with. 

Because you don’t cross the Kai Assassins and walk away unscathed.

Sometimes, you don’t walk away. 

Buy it here: http://www.amazon.com/Lady-Shadow-Abrielle-S-Fuerst-ebook/dp/B00PT84RVG/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1416609065&sr=8-1&keywords=lady+shadow

Welcome L.D. Rose!!


First of all, I want to thank the awesome Angela Scavone for having me! ❤ Since I’m on a roll with doctorly posts this week and Halloween is just around the corner, I figured I’d talk about my experience as a night float intern in the ICU during my intern year at a small community hospital. We had some crazy cases, as you can imagine, but what I’m going to share with you are the ghost stories the staff told me about their haunted ICU. Yes, you read that right—haunted!

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Us interns and residents used to hang out in the quietest corner of the unit, studying/sleeping/goofing off/etc. I noticed the nurses and staff would stay away from our end of the unit and remain gathered on the opposite side (our ICU was split in two, separated by the entrance and all the break rooms, stock rooms, and bathrooms). So I came over to them one night and asked what the deal was. That’s when they spewed a barrage of ghost stories at me that they swear were true. I’d never experienced anything paranormal at that hospital (my house was haunted growing up, but that’s a whole other blog post), but here are some of the stories they told me…just in time for Halloween!

ROOM 910

Room 910 is like any other bed on the unit, roomy with huge glass doors and windows revealing a gorgeous view of the city. A cardiac monitor and various medical paraphernalia are hooked to the wall opposite a flat screen TV. A white board identifying who your caretakers are sits on the wall in front of you. Obviously, lots of people die in the ICU, and sometimes their deaths can be quite traumatic. Motor vehicle accidents (MVAs), exsanguination, codes, attempted murder; you name it, we saw it. One of the first patients I coded was in room 910. So you can imagine my reaction when the nurses told me this room was one of the creepiest in the joint.

From eyewitness accounts, an attractive middle-aged man in a suit haunts this room. As to what happened to him, no one knows, but people have caught glimpses of him standing there, beside the bed, staring out the window. His apparition isn’t “ghostly” in the sense the media portrays it; he looks like a real person, just standing there, before he vanishes into thin air. He’s never actually looked anyone in the eye, always keeping his gaze locked on the landscape. I’ve always wondered how he died and if he’d been so critical that he wasn’t able to look out the window before his death. Now, it seems in the afterlife he can take in the view all he wants.

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ROOM 902

Room 902 also has its own creepy history, and a respiratory therapist told me about her experience while she treated a patient there. The patient was an elderly man who’d been brain dead for quite some time, but his family refused to give up on him. The RT (let’s call her Tammy) had been in the room with the patient, going over her notes as she signed out to the next RT coming on shift. Tammy had been sitting down, wearing her glasses, and she had them attached to a cord around her neck. As she was chatting away with the next RT (let’s call her Jane), a cold wind swept over them (“it froze me to the bone”) and they both looked up, trying to figure out the source. The brain dead man was still laying there on his bed, his heart beating away as the ventilator breathed for him. Then Tammy felt an icy hand touch her shoulder and her glasses were suddenly lifted off her face, hovering in the air in front of her. Jane’s jaw dropped, terrified as the glasses then fell around Tammy’s neck, held by their cord. Jane bolted as Tammy sat there, frozen, the hand still on her shoulder. Finally, the spirit let her go, and she got the hell out of there.

The elderly man ended up dying the next day. Whether the spirit was him or not, we’ll never know, but Tammy was convinced he was trying to say goodbye.


The hospital is kind of strange in a sense that the main elevators never stop at the second or fourth floor; they’re not even options on the panel. The building is old and has been expanded into multiple parts, so I’m sure a few areas are boarded off, private, or for offices only. The ICU is on the ninth floor, the very tippity-top, and there’s a morbid running joke that patients go to the ninth floor to die. Although that may be true, I wonder what the fourth floor is all about.

Another respiratory therapist (let’s call him Tom) told me about his experience during the “witching hour” or around 3 in the morning. Tom had been grabbing some equipment with a colleague in an old part of the building on the third floor. The stockroom there had been filled with ventilators and cardiac monitors, and he and his colleague were loading a rack to bring the equipment up to the ICU. While they were chatting away, one of the cardiac monitors turned on—and it wasn’t plugged in. The monitor showed a regular pulse, beep-beep-beep, and Tom even remembered the reading—76 beats per minute at normal sinus rhythm. Both he and his colleague exchanged terrified glances, dropped their shit, and ran right out of there. They quickly got onto the elevator and he hit the button for the ninth floor with trembling hands. However, the elevator slowed down between the third and fifth floors. The doors opened to what he assumed was the fourth floor, boarded up and musty, the air stale and dead. Once again, both he and his friend exchanged horrified glances and a young girl’s laughter suddenly rang out as if she were standing right between them. They jumped, pressing their backs against the stainless steel walls (“I nearly pissed myself!”). The clack of shoes then cut through the air as the invisible little girl ran out of the elevator, stopping in front of it. Right before the doors closed, she flashed into view; a white child wearing a white dress, her hair long and blonde, smiling at them mischievously.

Let’s just say Tom never used the elevators again and now makes good use of the stairs!

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And last, but not least, there’s Sophia, a dead nurse who stirs up trouble in the ICU.

In the past, the hospital had its own in-house nursing school, back when nurses wore the traditional white uniforms. Sophia had been one of these nurses and she’d ended up in the ICU with a severe infection, eventually dying at a young age (nowadays, we’re almost too good at keeping people alive). Her spirit decided to take up residence in the unit, disrupting the peace whenever she can. She pulls charts off shelves, dropping them on the floor, tosses needles, blood collection tubes, and even pens wherever she pleases. If you walk into her, your blood runs cold, like an icy draft blowing through your body. Her whispers can be heard at odd hours of the night, and sometimes you can hear her walking if you listen hard enough. She’s been there for years, wreaking havoc and making her presence known. Makes me wonder if she’s still waiting to graduate and is trying to help the other nurses in her own disturbing way!

These are just a few of the many stories the staff told me about their creepy little corner of the world. Funny thing is, not a single physician on the unit had experienced these paranormal encounters…isn’t that strange? I used to actively put myself in situations to interact with these spirits, hanging out in room 902 and 910 when they were empty, staring out their windows. I used to ride the elevator at every opportunity in the middle of the night and wander around the unit, waiting for Sophia to throw something at me or whisper in my ear.

Nothing ever happened. Not a single thing.

Hell, for all I know, they were probably scared of me! 😛

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* * *

L.D. Rose is a neurotic physician by day, crazed writer by night, and all around wannabe superhero. She writes paranormal romance and urban fantasy, but she’s been known to delve into horror, sci-fi, and medical suspense on occasion. L.D. Rose is a member of the RWA, FF&P, NEC-RWA and CoLoNY. She currently lives in Rhode Island with her studly hubby, her hyperactive boxer, and her two devious cats.

Where to find her:

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