loriliesong
replied to your post “Somebody should ask me for Appalachia. Hoo boy do I have stories.”
May we hear some Appalachia ghost stories? Please?
Another one that happened with my ghost-hunting friends:
The setup for this one is that the historian called us several days early and asked if we’d be free on a set date (which date it was, I can’t remember anymore). He wanted to check something out, he said, and for various reasons he didn’t want to go alone.
So we got together on the day and he drove us to a cemetery. On the way, he told us the story so far.
He got a call at home one day from an old man who told him to visit a specific cemetery on a specific day at a specific time. “You’ll see something,” he said. When the historian tried to press for more information, the old man just hung up.
This was a bit weird, but not too weird. A lot of people in the area knew the historian and that he collected local stories. It wasn’t the first time somebody’d called him to drop a tip. But he thought it seemed fishy enough that it was best to go with backup–not out of concern for ghosts so much as living people.
We arrived at the cemetery and it was pleasant as hell. I mean, one of those just lovely medium-sized-town ones. The community clearly kept it up. It was clean, mowed, gravestones were in good shape. There was a gravel road that looped through the middle of it in a half-moon, coming in on one side and leaving on the other. It was early afternoon when we arrived, and sunny and a nice temperature. None of us could really imagine anything dire going down in a place like this and we had no idea what we were looking for, so we just fanned out and explored.
An hour or so later, we’d pretty much combed the whole place and had spontaneously returned to sit around by the car to lounge around and enjoy the pretty day. The sunlight was just turning the buttery gold of mid-afternoon in summer. A pearl-white sedan turned up the gravel road, crunching along at a sedate cemetery-visiting speed and driven by an old lady with a halo of grey curls and a blue blazer. She didn’t even glance at us. We continued to chat.
About a minute later, the smart guy looked up, startled, and asked, “Did anybody hear that car leave?”
None of us had. But it was gone. But we hadn’t really been paying attention, so.
Except.
About two weeks later, the historian dropped by. He said he’d gotten another call from the old man. This is the story he told us:
“Did you see it?” the old man had asked.
“See what?” the historian asked back.
“At (an exact to-the-minute time I can no longer remember), a white car should’ve turned into the cemetery, driven around, but never left.”
That was indeed the time the old woman had driven through–to the minute, because at that moment the historian had happened to look at his watch and call our day quits. The historian, completely shocked, demanded, “Who is this?!”
The old man hung up.
The historian dialed call-back, which was a thing that used to be fairly reliable at retrieving numbers on landline phones.
It had taken a while before somebody picked up, and it was a completely different man who sounded much younger. My historian friend asked, “Did somebody just place a call from this phone?”
The young man informed him that it was flat impossible, because this phone was the back office phone for a gas station a couple of towns away, and the young man was the only person in the shop at the time.
And that was all we ever knew.
from Tumblr http://ift.tt/2aIP6K1