https://myghoststory.com/ Sun, 18 Oct 2026 05:47:11 +0000 MyBB https://myghoststory.com/submission-Confusing-A-child Fri, 03 Nov 2023 18:39:56 +0000 Born_unhappy]]> https://myghoststory.com/submission-Confusing-A-child When I was at the age of 6, I saw my first spirit- or from what I remember, anyway!  No racism intended, but I think it was a 8 year old black kid. He wore  a white top, where's shorts, but no shoes. He ran across my room, and it was a few moments later that I went after him. But he was gone.                                                                                                                              It was night, mind you, so I was petrified....]]> When I was at the age of 6, I saw my first spirit- or from what I remember, anyway!  No racism intended, but I think it was a 8 year old black kid. He wore  a white top, where's shorts, but no shoes. He ran across my room, and it was a few moments later that I went after him. But he was gone.                                                                                                                              It was night, mind you, so I was petrified....]]> https://myghoststory.com/submission-A-Visit-From-My-Old-Friend Fri, 22 Oct 2021 15:44:34 +0000 shadhunter1116]]> https://myghoststory.com/submission-A-Visit-From-My-Old-Friend So, This takes me and us all the way back to 2016. 

About 5 years ago, I had a friend that was probably the most closest friend that I ever had and he was literally the most amazing person I've ever met back then. He was my best friend and he was caring, lovable, and just a tad bit over protective. I honestly cannot describe him just one word. On July 30th, 2016 that day we were hanging out just us taking a nice walk around the neighborhood and about like 30 minutes later we hear shooting somewhere close in a neighborhood. It was scary and I honestly did not want to go any were near it but he did. (oops I forgot to tell you, his name was Zack) Anyways, we both go running towards the noise and shooting and screaming and all that and I see the and I quote "the shooter" but the guy didn't have a ski mask on apparently. I looked at this dude and said he looked dumb and basically almost got myself killed but I hid cause I didn't want to die. Then as I hid I realized Zack took after the guy and tried fighting him which I thought was A. Stupid and B. with is wrong with you. I covered my ears from all the noise and then heard silence... The guy got away...Zack was faced down on the ground dead and I ran over scared for my life crying trying to get him to respond and I just basically was totally traumatized... Few years later, I forgot everything because my mind was surrounded with sadness and anger. I literally thought it was my fault for letting my best friend get killed by someone and do nothing about it... I was scared and I beat myself up every day. A few days later I sat in my room praying to god to bring him back. I prayed and prayed, until I felt something touch my shoulder, I looked up feeling a hand touch my shoulder and with tears in my eyes my lord I swear I was dreaming but I wasn't. It was him... It was my best friend right in front of me smiling and with the softest words and they were faint, "I love you, and I'll never leave your side ever again".]]> So, This takes me and us all the way back to 2016. 

About 5 years ago, I had a friend that was probably the most closest friend that I ever had and he was literally the most amazing person I've ever met back then. He was my best friend and he was caring, lovable, and just a tad bit over protective. I honestly cannot describe him just one word. On July 30th, 2016 that day we were hanging out just us taking a nice walk around the neighborhood and about like 30 minutes later we hear shooting somewhere close in a neighborhood. It was scary and I honestly did not want to go any were near it but he did. (oops I forgot to tell you, his name was Zack) Anyways, we both go running towards the noise and shooting and screaming and all that and I see the and I quote "the shooter" but the guy didn't have a ski mask on apparently. I looked at this dude and said he looked dumb and basically almost got myself killed but I hid cause I didn't want to die. Then as I hid I realized Zack took after the guy and tried fighting him which I thought was A. Stupid and B. with is wrong with you. I covered my ears from all the noise and then heard silence... The guy got away...Zack was faced down on the ground dead and I ran over scared for my life crying trying to get him to respond and I just basically was totally traumatized... Few years later, I forgot everything because my mind was surrounded with sadness and anger. I literally thought it was my fault for letting my best friend get killed by someone and do nothing about it... I was scared and I beat myself up every day. A few days later I sat in my room praying to god to bring him back. I prayed and prayed, until I felt something touch my shoulder, I looked up feeling a hand touch my shoulder and with tears in my eyes my lord I swear I was dreaming but I wasn't. It was him... It was my best friend right in front of me smiling and with the softest words and they were faint, "I love you, and I'll never leave your side ever again".]]> https://myghoststory.com/submission-Study-Buddy Sun, 12 May 2019 12:46:45 +0000 slenderghoul]]> https://myghoststory.com/submission-Study-Buddy
I was no different in college. I took up International Relations in one of the "premier" schools in the Philippines, so standards are pretty high. I was in my junior year, and so I had a bulk of IR major subjects to take. Researching and writing individual term papers, studying for exams (in essay form), and completing projects were finally taking a toll on me.

It didn't help, too, that just the year before my uncle died. He's my mom's eldest brother, and though I hardly saw him, he loved me as if I were his own kid. This encouraged me to live well, as I didn't have a father to call my own. So when he died, I had a hard time grieving. I started smoking and skipped classes to drink, to down out the pain. While I managed to scrape through sophomore year, I was beginning to feel the effects of my actions when I was reading through theories and applications of globalization in my third year.

It was one of those nights--I was cramming a midterm research paper about something on politics. Our study/family room was situated in a basement-like den, and no one dared bother me while I was attempting to study. Despite setting the air conditioner at maximum cool, I was feeling hot with stress. I was already cursing at the monitor for hanging and wondering why my mom didn't bother buying a new computer. Getting frustrated, I looked at my phone and texted my boyfriend at that time. He didn't reply, so I thought he might have already been sleeping.

I didn't know what time it was, but I could feel my back aching from sitting the whole evening. I barely made one hundred words on my paper, and it was already due the next day. But nothing was going into my head, more so into Microsoft Word. The question stated that it had no right or wrong answers, but I had to explain my case thoughtfully and based on resources. But even with a pile of photocopied readings with highlighted paragraphs and my own notes on the matter, yup... no... I just couldn't express what I thought about the subject. Getting no results, I decided to stand up and take a nap on the couch.

My nap was rather restful, but I had a weird dream about my uncle. He was sitting on the computer chair, swiveling it and facing me. He smiled, but didn't say anything. And then I must have went into a deep sleep.

I woke up with someone whispering "wake up" into my right ear. It sounded like my uncle, the same person who died a year ago; the same person who was in my dream, sitting on my computer chair and smiling at me. I could tell it was him: he had a deep tenor-like voice, gruff with years of smoking. I sniffed the air and smelled the familiar scent of freshly-smoked cigarettes that strong hung onto his clothes. It was how I remembered him, and he must have been waking me up.

So I roused myself, rubbed the sleep off my eyes, and went back to the computer. I looked at my phone and saw that it was already morning--almost sunrise even--and so I had to quickly write my term paper. I dedicated on whole page to my bibliography and four pages to explaining why such and such was a reasonable something. Screw it. I didn't care if it was badly done: better to have a mediocre grade than having no grade at all (I managed to get a C+ I think). As I printed my paper, I smelled those cigarettes again. I looked around me, listening for anything other than the printer's mechanical chugging. No one was awake yet.

It was then when I thought I saw a white mist on the couch, where my head would have been if I had continued sleeping. I rubbed my eyes again, thinking it was my lack of sleep messing around with my vision, but it was still there, only fainter. With the last page printed, I stapled my term paper and turned off the computer. I turned around again to see if the mist was still there. It wasn't. Might have been my brain, I thought. I proceeded to go about my day at school, thinking about the voice and the mist, my uncle, and how it all related to each other.

To this day I still think about it. Beyond the paper, the grade, and the subject, I couldn't help thinking that my uncle wanted to wake me up so I can finish my paper (and possibly encourage me to graduate on time). He came into my dream to encourage me, and lingered in real life to know that I had a study buddy, literally in spirit. He may be gone, but he still likes to make his presence felt... even if it meant waking someone up to finish an important task and get to school on time.]]>
I was no different in college. I took up International Relations in one of the "premier" schools in the Philippines, so standards are pretty high. I was in my junior year, and so I had a bulk of IR major subjects to take. Researching and writing individual term papers, studying for exams (in essay form), and completing projects were finally taking a toll on me.

It didn't help, too, that just the year before my uncle died. He's my mom's eldest brother, and though I hardly saw him, he loved me as if I were his own kid. This encouraged me to live well, as I didn't have a father to call my own. So when he died, I had a hard time grieving. I started smoking and skipped classes to drink, to down out the pain. While I managed to scrape through sophomore year, I was beginning to feel the effects of my actions when I was reading through theories and applications of globalization in my third year.

It was one of those nights--I was cramming a midterm research paper about something on politics. Our study/family room was situated in a basement-like den, and no one dared bother me while I was attempting to study. Despite setting the air conditioner at maximum cool, I was feeling hot with stress. I was already cursing at the monitor for hanging and wondering why my mom didn't bother buying a new computer. Getting frustrated, I looked at my phone and texted my boyfriend at that time. He didn't reply, so I thought he might have already been sleeping.

I didn't know what time it was, but I could feel my back aching from sitting the whole evening. I barely made one hundred words on my paper, and it was already due the next day. But nothing was going into my head, more so into Microsoft Word. The question stated that it had no right or wrong answers, but I had to explain my case thoughtfully and based on resources. But even with a pile of photocopied readings with highlighted paragraphs and my own notes on the matter, yup... no... I just couldn't express what I thought about the subject. Getting no results, I decided to stand up and take a nap on the couch.

My nap was rather restful, but I had a weird dream about my uncle. He was sitting on the computer chair, swiveling it and facing me. He smiled, but didn't say anything. And then I must have went into a deep sleep.

I woke up with someone whispering "wake up" into my right ear. It sounded like my uncle, the same person who died a year ago; the same person who was in my dream, sitting on my computer chair and smiling at me. I could tell it was him: he had a deep tenor-like voice, gruff with years of smoking. I sniffed the air and smelled the familiar scent of freshly-smoked cigarettes that strong hung onto his clothes. It was how I remembered him, and he must have been waking me up.

So I roused myself, rubbed the sleep off my eyes, and went back to the computer. I looked at my phone and saw that it was already morning--almost sunrise even--and so I had to quickly write my term paper. I dedicated on whole page to my bibliography and four pages to explaining why such and such was a reasonable something. Screw it. I didn't care if it was badly done: better to have a mediocre grade than having no grade at all (I managed to get a C+ I think). As I printed my paper, I smelled those cigarettes again. I looked around me, listening for anything other than the printer's mechanical chugging. No one was awake yet.

It was then when I thought I saw a white mist on the couch, where my head would have been if I had continued sleeping. I rubbed my eyes again, thinking it was my lack of sleep messing around with my vision, but it was still there, only fainter. With the last page printed, I stapled my term paper and turned off the computer. I turned around again to see if the mist was still there. It wasn't. Might have been my brain, I thought. I proceeded to go about my day at school, thinking about the voice and the mist, my uncle, and how it all related to each other.

To this day I still think about it. Beyond the paper, the grade, and the subject, I couldn't help thinking that my uncle wanted to wake me up so I can finish my paper (and possibly encourage me to graduate on time). He came into my dream to encourage me, and lingered in real life to know that I had a study buddy, literally in spirit. He may be gone, but he still likes to make his presence felt... even if it meant waking someone up to finish an important task and get to school on time.]]> https://myghoststory.com/submission-Lullaby Mon, 01 Apr 2019 12:41:29 +0000 slenderghoul]]> https://myghoststory.com/submission-Lullaby major issues of the religion itself. Anyway, since I studied in Catholic schools all my life, I've been attending retreats since sixth grade. While the rest have been run-of-the-mill, "Kumbaya, My Lord" type of retreats, there was one retreat that was, despite a little spooky, was nonetheless meaningful.

I was in my senior year of college, and I volunteered to take part in a three-day silent retreat in Tagaytay, a city around two or so hours away from Manila. It's most known for its pleasant weather, even during summer, and its stunning view of Taal Lake and Volcano. 

There are several retreat centers founded by various Catholic orders in Tagaytay. I forgot which I one I had my silent retreat in, but I remember going there with some of my batch mates to seek some silence and some me-time after four years of "studying." It was surrounded by trees and had a nice view of rolling hills with pineapple farms—another highlight Tagaytay is known for. It was truly scenic; it felt like paradise.

Most of my batch mates were staying in dormitory-style rooms, but since I was recovering from a really bad bout of skin allergies then, I had a room to myself. Now, this is a silent retreat, and it meant we couldn't speak. We couldn't converse with each other except during meal times, and even then we had to keep our voices low. It was only when we had our one-on-ones with the priest who joined us that we can speak in a normal volume.

So I did not expect someone singing to me on my first night there.

It was lights out around nine in the evening. With the cool weather and virtually nothing to do (phones were not allowed and there was no internet, of course), I headed to bed, but I had a hard time sleeping. It was suddenly cold. I was already wearing a sweater and a thick pair of pajama pants, but the chill reached my bones quick. But it had left as sudden as it had arrived. As soon as I got into bed and under the covers, it went back to the natural cool of the evening.

I started dozing off not long after but I could still hear my surroundings. The window was closed but one can still hear the crickets or beetles chirping on the trees and the leaves whistling through the leaves. Nothing stirred outside in the hallways: no one was making rounds or making a fuss in the other rooms.

That was when I heard her singing.

Or rather, humming. There were no words to her lullaby, but its tune was like that of a swooping bird—one low note followed by a sharper high note. It might sound off to the regular human being, but it was making me extremely sleepy and even brought me back to an almost forgotten childhood when my own mom (or sometimes nanny) would sing me off to sleep. I didn't bother opening my eyes, my emotions mixed with a slight fear of what I might see and a deep desire to just go to sleep. 

I was probably knocked out moments later, because I woke up the next day in time for breakfast, well-rested and energized. The second night came without a lullaby, so maybe that friendly nightly singer drifted elsewhere to send someone off to a good night's sleep.

We all left the retreat center with renewed faith in ourselves. I didn't bother asking who sang to me that night. Some things are meant to be a mystery, even friendly spirits.
fantasy-2879984_640.jpg
(Size:79.34 KB / Downloads:1873) ]]> major issues of the religion itself. Anyway, since I studied in Catholic schools all my life, I've been attending retreats since sixth grade. While the rest have been run-of-the-mill, "Kumbaya, My Lord" type of retreats, there was one retreat that was, despite a little spooky, was nonetheless meaningful.

I was in my senior year of college, and I volunteered to take part in a three-day silent retreat in Tagaytay, a city around two or so hours away from Manila. It's most known for its pleasant weather, even during summer, and its stunning view of Taal Lake and Volcano. 

There are several retreat centers founded by various Catholic orders in Tagaytay. I forgot which I one I had my silent retreat in, but I remember going there with some of my batch mates to seek some silence and some me-time after four years of "studying." It was surrounded by trees and had a nice view of rolling hills with pineapple farms—another highlight Tagaytay is known for. It was truly scenic; it felt like paradise.

Most of my batch mates were staying in dormitory-style rooms, but since I was recovering from a really bad bout of skin allergies then, I had a room to myself. Now, this is a silent retreat, and it meant we couldn't speak. We couldn't converse with each other except during meal times, and even then we had to keep our voices low. It was only when we had our one-on-ones with the priest who joined us that we can speak in a normal volume.

So I did not expect someone singing to me on my first night there.

It was lights out around nine in the evening. With the cool weather and virtually nothing to do (phones were not allowed and there was no internet, of course), I headed to bed, but I had a hard time sleeping. It was suddenly cold. I was already wearing a sweater and a thick pair of pajama pants, but the chill reached my bones quick. But it had left as sudden as it had arrived. As soon as I got into bed and under the covers, it went back to the natural cool of the evening.

I started dozing off not long after but I could still hear my surroundings. The window was closed but one can still hear the crickets or beetles chirping on the trees and the leaves whistling through the leaves. Nothing stirred outside in the hallways: no one was making rounds or making a fuss in the other rooms.

That was when I heard her singing.

Or rather, humming. There were no words to her lullaby, but its tune was like that of a swooping bird—one low note followed by a sharper high note. It might sound off to the regular human being, but it was making me extremely sleepy and even brought me back to an almost forgotten childhood when my own mom (or sometimes nanny) would sing me off to sleep. I didn't bother opening my eyes, my emotions mixed with a slight fear of what I might see and a deep desire to just go to sleep. 

I was probably knocked out moments later, because I woke up the next day in time for breakfast, well-rested and energized. The second night came without a lullaby, so maybe that friendly nightly singer drifted elsewhere to send someone off to a good night's sleep.

We all left the retreat center with renewed faith in ourselves. I didn't bother asking who sang to me that night. Some things are meant to be a mystery, even friendly spirits.
fantasy-2879984_640.jpg
(Size:79.34 KB / Downloads:1873) ]]> https://myghoststory.com/submission-Last-Goodbye Mon, 06 Aug 2018 22:29:52 +0000 Countess]]> https://myghoststory.com/submission-Last-Goodbye Taking in the sights of festively decorated windows, behind which stood proud conifers bedecked with multicoloured baubles and vibrant fairy lights I longed to be finished for the day; spending done, food refrigerated, gifts swathed in tissue and ribbons.

 The bus slowed to a stop to allow more passengers to alight and my attention was suddenly caught by a familiar figure, inside a tanning salon I spied Stacey, an old friend from my youth! I marvelled to myself about how fantastic she looked, her coal black hair expertly coiffured into upswept spikes, her still slim and girlish physique encased in leather and lace and a stack of silver bangles glistening on both of her bone white, slender wrists. Back in the day we had both competed to be the Queen of the Goth scene and although on that day Stacey would have won hands down I couldn't help but giggle to myself - a Goth with a tan? what was she thinking? No self respecting Goth would be seen dead in a tanning salon surely!

  Continuing on my journey I couldn't help but muse on the sighting of my friend, the years hadn't treated me too badly, but she had looked a total knock out, she didn't seem to have aged at all. Later that evening, my chores complete I mentioned the encounter to my fiancé. He laughingly suggested she had discovered the elixir of youth and I had to agree with him! In a subsiquent phone call to a mutual friend I discussed the experience at some length bemoaning the fact of the passing years as together we pondered what Stacey's secret could possibly be.

 Just as I was intending to retire for the night my phone beeped shrilly, indicating a late night text from my aforementioned pal. Rather ominously the message read 'Check Facebook.'
Thinking she could only be referring to our earlier conversation I logged in and tentatively typed Stacey's full name into the search bar. Upon reaching her page I read the most current post and my blood ran cold . . . it was a heartfelt message from her beloved husband, lamenting the passage of his beautiful wife who had cruelly been taken from him by cancer.
It seemed she had been ill for sometime and had lost her battle with the dreadful disease only the day before.

 As I brooded on this tragic state of affairs, experiencing the bitter sweet remembrance of our friendship and epic nights out together an unexpected recollection hit me like a bolt from the blue: Sundaze Tanning Salon had previously been an insurance brokers with a cosy flat above, a flat where Stacey and her then boyfriend Michael had resided for a time, a place where we had all shared some fabulous times and made some very wonderful memories.]]> Taking in the sights of festively decorated windows, behind which stood proud conifers bedecked with multicoloured baubles and vibrant fairy lights I longed to be finished for the day; spending done, food refrigerated, gifts swathed in tissue and ribbons.

 The bus slowed to a stop to allow more passengers to alight and my attention was suddenly caught by a familiar figure, inside a tanning salon I spied Stacey, an old friend from my youth! I marvelled to myself about how fantastic she looked, her coal black hair expertly coiffured into upswept spikes, her still slim and girlish physique encased in leather and lace and a stack of silver bangles glistening on both of her bone white, slender wrists. Back in the day we had both competed to be the Queen of the Goth scene and although on that day Stacey would have won hands down I couldn't help but giggle to myself - a Goth with a tan? what was she thinking? No self respecting Goth would be seen dead in a tanning salon surely!

  Continuing on my journey I couldn't help but muse on the sighting of my friend, the years hadn't treated me too badly, but she had looked a total knock out, she didn't seem to have aged at all. Later that evening, my chores complete I mentioned the encounter to my fiancé. He laughingly suggested she had discovered the elixir of youth and I had to agree with him! In a subsiquent phone call to a mutual friend I discussed the experience at some length bemoaning the fact of the passing years as together we pondered what Stacey's secret could possibly be.

 Just as I was intending to retire for the night my phone beeped shrilly, indicating a late night text from my aforementioned pal. Rather ominously the message read 'Check Facebook.'
Thinking she could only be referring to our earlier conversation I logged in and tentatively typed Stacey's full name into the search bar. Upon reaching her page I read the most current post and my blood ran cold . . . it was a heartfelt message from her beloved husband, lamenting the passage of his beautiful wife who had cruelly been taken from him by cancer.
It seemed she had been ill for sometime and had lost her battle with the dreadful disease only the day before.

 As I brooded on this tragic state of affairs, experiencing the bitter sweet remembrance of our friendship and epic nights out together an unexpected recollection hit me like a bolt from the blue: Sundaze Tanning Salon had previously been an insurance brokers with a cosy flat above, a flat where Stacey and her then boyfriend Michael had resided for a time, a place where we had all shared some fabulous times and made some very wonderful memories.]]> https://myghoststory.com/submission-Watching-over-me Sun, 15 Jul 2018 15:34:49 +0000 Rlcasella125]]> https://myghoststory.com/submission-Watching-over-me
The next day I told my grandma about my experience.  I described the man and suddenly she teared up.  She told me that that was her father just making sure I was tucked in,  just like he used to do to her when she was young.]]>
The next day I told my grandma about my experience.  I described the man and suddenly she teared up.  She told me that that was her father just making sure I was tucked in,  just like he used to do to her when she was young.]]>