What is your favourite ghost story?

One that involves my mother and her mother. But I’ll tell it only by popular dementia demand.

Tell it! Tell it!

Mother and father get little tired from building Communism, so they want to go to Moscow to buy vodka. They call most trusted babysitter. When babysitter arrives, children already sleep in beds. Babysitter just sits around and make sure everything good with children. Later that night, babysitter gets bored and goes to read Marx, but she can’t read downstairs because there’s no electricity (parents dodn’t want children reading Marx all night long). So, she calls parents and asks if she can get candles to read Marx in their room. Of course, the parents say it okay, but babysitter has one final request. She ask if she could cover up Lenin statue outside the bedroom window with blanket or cloth, because it makes her nervous. Phone line is silent for moment, and father who say, “Take children and get out of house. We will call milita. We do not have Lenin statue.”

Militia find all three of house occupants dead because KGB kill them for trying to cover Lenin statue. Then militia arrest parents for not having Lenin statue. Such is life in Moscow.

Hilarious @ragingloli! And with a Japanese accent to boot! :D

I really like the story of Mark Twain’s about the father who loved his little girl so much that when she died of Typhoid or something, he put her in a glass coffin/ box in the cave on his property so he could look at her any time he wanted.

This happened in the ‘70s. One Sunday my brother drove my mother, then in her ‘50s, to visit me and my wife, a distance of some 50 miles house to house. When she arrived, I took one look her sitting in the car and saw that she was upset and disoriented. My wife took her into the house, and my brother stayed outside to tell me that during the drive she had been very chatty but had suddenly fallen mute and stayed like that for 10 or 15 minutes. She “came to” and told him this story.

During the drive she had suddenly felt herself rise out of her her body into the sky, and then float down to her mother’s room at the retirement home where she was then living (which, ironically, was only a few miles from my house). She then sat with her mother for what seemed hours, saying nothing, just being with her. And then she floated back up and then down into my brother’s car, which was when my brother said she “came to.”

Later that afternoon, my brother and mother left, we got a call from my uncle telling us that my grandmother had passed away shortly before.

Mother was the baby of her family, the last-born of six when my grandmother was in her 50s. They were extremely close through the years, and frankly, her “experience” of seeing her mother at the latter’s time of death makes perfect sense to me.

Incidentally, Mother was never able to fully articulate the story she had told my brother, only tiny pieces of it.

^ really like that one. Here’s one I just heard on the radio: A woman was standing on the street in downtown Sydney, and a bus passed by, she looked up into the bus and saw HERSELF, sitting there, looking out. “how do you know it was not a reflection?” asked the radio host. ” It turned its head and looked me in the eye” she answered. I got the chills hearing that!

@Pachyderm_In_The_Room A great story. Thanks for sharing it. I had in mind traditional ghost stories such as Martin’s Close by M R James. Maybe these aren’t so popular nowadays.

@flutherother, I knew my personal story wasn’t what you were looking for. Should have written it in third person. ;-)

A Christmas Story.