I want to believe in ghosts. Really and truly I do. I also really want to believe that aliens are out there monitoring us. The problem is that there isn’t any proof. I’m a big fan of proof when if comes to believing in things – this is one of the biggest reasons why I am not a believer of any religion. As Rachel Weisz’s character in The Mummy says, I believe if I can see it, and I can touch it, then it's real. That's what I believe. That being said, I am very open to the idea of ghosts and if I ever see one, then I’ll be a complete convert. Of course, just because I’m a skeptic doesn’t mean I haven’t had a couple of Really Creepy Experiences myself. I had two in particular when I was younger.
Jane’s Ghost Story #1
This story occurred when I was in fifth grade. My parents and I were taking a springtime vacation with our camper. We had originally planned to camp in Torreya State Park, located in the Florida panhandle (south of I-10, about halfway between Tallahassee and Marianna). My father happened to mention our vacation plans to his coworkers. It turned out that one of them owned property only a few miles from Torreya State Park. This property was a large, wooded tract of land containing an old, empty farmhouse. (The owner of this property would apparently go there periodically to go hunting in the woods.) This coworker said that since there was electricity and running water available on the property, we should simply park the camper there – that way we could camp for free and still be close enough to the park to spend our days there.
To us, this seemed like an excellent arrangement. We arrived at the property, and it seemed perfect. There was a nice shady spot under a tree, with both a grounded electrical outlet and a water-spigot: the perfect place to set up the camper. Except that it wasn’t. From the start we had trouble getting things to work. The electricity was turned on, and the camper was plugged in, but nothing was getting through. Then, despite the fact that the camper’s battery was fully charged, nothing would run off it either. I also seem to remember that we had trouble getting the gas to work, too. (My memory is vague on specifically all that went wrong – it’s been roughly 17 years, after all!) What I do remember clearly is that my parents and I got really freaked out. At first it was just stress – along the lines of: why won’t this thing work properly? But the longer we were there, the weirder things got.
We decided to give the camper a break and go for a walk to explore the property. It was at least ten acres, although it might have been considerably bigger. Most of it was wooded, and the woods were crisscrossed with a few sandy-dirt tracks (made, one assumed, by the hunters). We walked for a good distance down one of these tracks before heading back to camp. As we approached camp, we found something really strange: someone had written the word Phillips in the sand, twice. This writing was over top of our footprints, and there were no footprints in the sand other than ours.
At this point, the three of us started feeling really creeped out, as if something were watching us… and as if that something were malevolent. This feeling continued for the rest of the day – as did the problems we were having with the camper. We all felt so uncomfortable on that property that first thing the next morning we packed up and moved to the State Park campground. As soon as we left, we all felt a great feeling of relief. Everything in the camper worked perfectly once in the State Park campground.
Jane’s Ghost Story #2
This story took place when I was in either sixth or seventh grade. My friend Melissa G (not the Melissa who frequently comments here) was visiting me. I lived in the boonies, at the end of a dirt road in a very rural area, ten miles south of Lake City, FL (which is like saying ten miles south of nowhere). As a child I was constantly exploring the various woodlands near my house, and whenever friends came over to visit, I dragged them along on these explorations. Melissa and I had found a patch of swampy woodland near Rose Creek which had obviously once been a favorite play-spot of the then-grownup child of that property’s owner (I hope that makes sense). There were still a few toys strewn here and there, and best of all… we found the remains of a small wooden footbridge. It had been dislodged, and nestled in some brush near the bank of Rose Creek. We carried it downstream to a place with an island and placed it across. We busied ourselves clearing our island and nearby bank of brush and debris, with plans to turn it into our own private park.
Then I felt the incredibly strong sensation of someone watching me. I was about twenty feet away from Melissa. She wasn’t looking at me. I looked around and saw no one, but I just couldn’t shake the feeling. The Melissa turned to me and said, “Jane, I feel like someone’s watching us.” I said, “Me too!” and we immediately dropped what we were doing and RAN. We ran all the way to the bridge. (For those of you who never went to my old Lake City abode, the road to my house crossed a bridge over Rose Creek about a mile from my house. The place where we were creating “our park” was about half a mile from the bridge on the opposite side from my house.) We had reached the bridge, panting and out of breath, and were sitting down, laughing nervously and wondering if we had simply imagined things, when suddenly I felt IT again. Melissa and I looked at each other and simultaneously said, “I feel it again!” and we flat out ran the mile to my house. We locked ourselves in my bedroom, where we remained pretty freaked out until it was time for her to go home.
I never had any other spooky experiences in my neighborhood, and I certainly continued to traipse through the woods near my home for years afterwards. I never went back to that one spot though.
Jane’s Ghost Story #1
This story occurred when I was in fifth grade. My parents and I were taking a springtime vacation with our camper. We had originally planned to camp in Torreya State Park, located in the Florida panhandle (south of I-10, about halfway between Tallahassee and Marianna). My father happened to mention our vacation plans to his coworkers. It turned out that one of them owned property only a few miles from Torreya State Park. This property was a large, wooded tract of land containing an old, empty farmhouse. (The owner of this property would apparently go there periodically to go hunting in the woods.) This coworker said that since there was electricity and running water available on the property, we should simply park the camper there – that way we could camp for free and still be close enough to the park to spend our days there.
To us, this seemed like an excellent arrangement. We arrived at the property, and it seemed perfect. There was a nice shady spot under a tree, with both a grounded electrical outlet and a water-spigot: the perfect place to set up the camper. Except that it wasn’t. From the start we had trouble getting things to work. The electricity was turned on, and the camper was plugged in, but nothing was getting through. Then, despite the fact that the camper’s battery was fully charged, nothing would run off it either. I also seem to remember that we had trouble getting the gas to work, too. (My memory is vague on specifically all that went wrong – it’s been roughly 17 years, after all!) What I do remember clearly is that my parents and I got really freaked out. At first it was just stress – along the lines of: why won’t this thing work properly? But the longer we were there, the weirder things got.
We decided to give the camper a break and go for a walk to explore the property. It was at least ten acres, although it might have been considerably bigger. Most of it was wooded, and the woods were crisscrossed with a few sandy-dirt tracks (made, one assumed, by the hunters). We walked for a good distance down one of these tracks before heading back to camp. As we approached camp, we found something really strange: someone had written the word Phillips in the sand, twice. This writing was over top of our footprints, and there were no footprints in the sand other than ours.
At this point, the three of us started feeling really creeped out, as if something were watching us… and as if that something were malevolent. This feeling continued for the rest of the day – as did the problems we were having with the camper. We all felt so uncomfortable on that property that first thing the next morning we packed up and moved to the State Park campground. As soon as we left, we all felt a great feeling of relief. Everything in the camper worked perfectly once in the State Park campground.
Jane’s Ghost Story #2
This story took place when I was in either sixth or seventh grade. My friend Melissa G (not the Melissa who frequently comments here) was visiting me. I lived in the boonies, at the end of a dirt road in a very rural area, ten miles south of Lake City, FL (which is like saying ten miles south of nowhere). As a child I was constantly exploring the various woodlands near my house, and whenever friends came over to visit, I dragged them along on these explorations. Melissa and I had found a patch of swampy woodland near Rose Creek which had obviously once been a favorite play-spot of the then-grownup child of that property’s owner (I hope that makes sense). There were still a few toys strewn here and there, and best of all… we found the remains of a small wooden footbridge. It had been dislodged, and nestled in some brush near the bank of Rose Creek. We carried it downstream to a place with an island and placed it across. We busied ourselves clearing our island and nearby bank of brush and debris, with plans to turn it into our own private park.
Then I felt the incredibly strong sensation of someone watching me. I was about twenty feet away from Melissa. She wasn’t looking at me. I looked around and saw no one, but I just couldn’t shake the feeling. The Melissa turned to me and said, “Jane, I feel like someone’s watching us.” I said, “Me too!” and we immediately dropped what we were doing and RAN. We ran all the way to the bridge. (For those of you who never went to my old Lake City abode, the road to my house crossed a bridge over Rose Creek about a mile from my house. The place where we were creating “our park” was about half a mile from the bridge on the opposite side from my house.) We had reached the bridge, panting and out of breath, and were sitting down, laughing nervously and wondering if we had simply imagined things, when suddenly I felt IT again. Melissa and I looked at each other and simultaneously said, “I feel it again!” and we flat out ran the mile to my house. We locked ourselves in my bedroom, where we remained pretty freaked out until it was time for her to go home.
I never had any other spooky experiences in my neighborhood, and I certainly continued to traipse through the woods near my home for years afterwards. I never went back to that one spot though.
5 comments:
I would love to go there one Halloween, not that I know when that will ever be since I have know idea what I will be doing in the future. If you ask me, that is really scary.
I do remember playing in the woods and near rose sink as a kid. Tresea Wilson and I used to play in huge sink holes all of the time in the woods near bgy our house including on the property where the Meads home now stands. The one where the huge fence surrounds his compound. I vividly remember a lake on the property and fishing in it with my brother and tresas brother. Another wired place was a huge windmill that I always personally found creapy that was buried in the woods in the middle of no where out somewhere between the end of the Hudsons property and the field at the end of the road that I lived on. The old cracker shack adjacent to our property was prety spookey as well though Teresa, Frank Evans, and I did find an old model T. Cargo truck from the twenties that had wrecked near the woods and was still filled with all of its cargo shipments. We found tons of glass medicine bottles and clorox bottles and different old perfumes and lotions from the twenties. I still have most of them. I am not sure if Frank or Tersea have theres or not. That was definently an intresting area. I think that it is funny that children have a natural compulsion to explore. We always used to spy on the end of timers kids until we moved. Of course, the did some spying on us as well. Ok must head to bed. Hope that all is well.
Christopher
Did your dad ever ask his coworker (who owned the property) about who Phillips might be?
I remember that my dad told the man about our experiences and why we only stayed there one night, although I don't remember if he mentioned Phillips specifically or if the coworker had ever had any spooky experiences at the place. I'll email him and see if he remembers.
"I never had any other spooky experiences in my neighborhood,"
What??? I had a spooky experience every time I visited you!
Melissa
Except those experiences were spooky for those of you who *didn't* grow up out in the woods, not for me. And they were usually amplified by me stting tape recorders playing spooky sounds in the woods behind our tent or something.
Post a Comment