Paranormal Stories.

Short Stories.

My grandma fell down last year, and had to spend time in a nursing home. While she was gone, I was cleaning up old shit she had accumulated around the house so she could get around better, and mom and I found many important papers.

I found an old (not really old, like 80′s or 90′s) black and white slide. It was of some guy laying in a coffin. Dead, of course. I thought it was creepy because he looked like me.

I asked my mom if she knew who it was. She said "It's you." (she was joking) Then she looked at it and her eyes got huge and she started crying and hugged me and said she was sorry she made that joke. I said "It doesn't look like anyone BUT me, does it?" and she said "no, it really doesn't."

Gramma doesn't remember anything about the slide. I still have it. Yet I still don't understand.....it looks like me. Just like me. 

___________________________________________________________ THE DRAFT

I was planning on writing a short horror story about a haunted castle. I love classic stories with a twist, so that was right up my street. The location was an easy choice, since I live in an eight hundred year old town in Germany, and there is a castle near my house. I snooped around there for a while, looked at some old paintings, strolled through the old cellars and climbed the towers. 

It was perfect! The entire time I was there I felt the anxiety growing. We all know the feeling of being watched - the feeling that someone is following your every move from the shadows. The longer I stayed in the castle, the stronger that feeling got. Yes, this old building would be the perfect setting for my new story.

After thanking the castle's owner for letting me have a look around, I went to the local library to dig up dirt on the previous owners. I knew that regents and knights had lived there. Perhaps one of them killed a servant girl or wife during the dark ages. That would make for a brilliant "Bloody Mary"-like story. What I found, however, was way better than that.

As it turns out, there used to be a Jewish temple in that old castle, right up until the Nazis decided to 'evict' them. Of course, a WWII gore story about Nazis torturing Jewish children is not really my style, but you all know I like to shock my readers.

The muses were with me on this one. The story had already started to form in my mind, and it was getting better by the minute. I checked out a few books on Nazi torture practices and a book on local genealogy for inspiration. The librarian gave me a funny look, but as he was used to me taking strange books home, he didn't say anything about it.

When I got home I began writing immediatly. I always write the first draft by hand, instead of using a computer. It just feels better, more comfortable that way. It's almost as if my pen has a will of its own, and it does a lot of the work for me.

After an hour or two, I had finished writing the draft and decided to go to bed early. I slept like a baby that night. Little did I know that would be my last good night's sleep for weeks to come...

When I woke up the next morning I made coffee, like I always do, and decided to read over my work before typing another draft on my laptop. I looked over at my desk, but it was empty. I remembered that the maid usually places everything I leave on my desktop in the drawer, so I didn't think anything of it. I opened the drawer only to find it empty. Now I was starting to worry.

I checked the trash, searched my house, but I didn't find anything. Naturally I got angry with the maid for throwing out my work, but it wasn't as if I couldn't write the story a second time. I rewrote my first draft, placed it in an envelope marked "do not throw out" and went out for a walk.

It was raining outside. I remember this, because it hasn't stopped raining since. I always enjoy long walks in the rain. I find it inspiring to look at the bleak, empty streets while water pours down in seemingly endless streams. So I walked for a good thirty minutes.