I am not sure as to when it was sold to the rental property from who I rented, but she said when they bought it, there was a heart-shaped bed in the penthouse! It consisted of 9 apartments on 3 floors, with 8 efficiency apartments and the top floor penthouse had 4 bedrooms. There was a winding staircase in the front hall that led to the second and third floors, and a chandelier hung from the ceiling in the main entryway.

Kate had lived there for a year before I moved in and had made friends with quite a few of the tenants. One of the first things Kate told me when I moved in was that the place was haunted. Being very curious, Katie and I went exploring all through the building in hopes of finding evidence of the building’s history and/or ghosts. There were hidden stairwells, sealed doors, tiny cupboards, and so many places to explore. The big pile of bed frames in the basement made us think, “If those frames could talk…”

I always felt that I wasn’t alone in my apartment. It wasn’t a scary or threatening feeling, but just the sense that I wasn’t the only one wandering around my tiny apartment. When things started to go missing, I knew I definitely wasn’t alone. My table knives kept on disappearing. Katie had a key to my apartment, and when I found myself with no knives one day, I asked if she had borrowed any. She said she hadn’t. I looked over my entire apartment many times and didn’t find a single knife. I was very frustrated and said “Okay, ghost. Return my knives.” The next morning I opened the silverware drawer and there were all my knives, right where they should have been in the first place. I later learned that a man was murdered in my apartment in the late 1980s. The police had to break down the door, as he had been in there for a few days in the hot summer heat and started to smell. That explained the large chunk of my door that had been nailed back into place…

Things would disappear now and then, I’d search, demand for them back, and they would appear, in their rightful place, a day or two later. Thankfully it was never anything major, like car keys, term paper, or a book I needed for class.

The only thing I ever witnessed during my year there was strange lights. I was sitting on my futon, watching tv and doing homework, and all of a sudden I was surrounded in these strange, bright lights. It was like there were a million illuminated glass shards, floating all around me. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me so I shut my eyes. Complete darkness. I opened them and the lights were still all around me. I shut my eyes again. Complete darkness. I opened them again. The lights were still around me. Then all of a sudden, they were gone. I had been sitting the entire time and it hadn’t been a case of standing up too quickly. The same thing happened a couple times, and when my friend Sarah, who had moved into to Katie’s apartment in December after Kate graduated, had the same thing happen to her, I knew it wasn’t my eyes playing tricks on me.

The most amazing story to come from that year I spent there came from Katie. She was in a larger apartment that was in the front of the building. Mine was much smaller and at the back, but I had a lovely view of the river. Kate’s bed was lofted and overlooked the living area. One night she woke up and heard what she said sounded like a music box. She didn’t think much of it and went back to sleep. The next night she woke up to the same music and turned over to look down to the rest of her apartment. In the middle of the living area, she saw a woman in a long blue dress who was, what Kate described, cranking “one of those old fashioned record players.” I said, “You mean a Victrola.” She said, “Yeah, but it sounded like a music box, not a record player.” My response was, “But that’s what the early ones sounded like.” Kate said that she got scared, turned her face to the wall, the music stopped, she turned back around, and the woman was gone. It took Kate a long time to get up the courage to tell me because she had been so freaked out about the experience.

Chad Lewis, a paranormal researcher based in Eau Claire, came to my local library and talked about ghosts a few years ago. Afterward I went up and asked if he had heard any stories about 113 Ann Street, and he said, “Yes, I always get a few emails every year from tenants who live there.”

I went to Eau Claire last Saturday and drove by the old apartment, as I do every time I’m in town. It was no longer there. The area was going to be where the jail expansion was going to take place but never happened. The city had bought many of the buildings, which sat for a couple years, fell into disrepair, and were torn down. I was so very sad to see an empty spot where I spent my senior year of college, which was by far my favorite. I am very thankful to be able to have been part of that building’s long history.

Rest in peace, 113 Ann Street.

Now it is all up to you! Cast a vote for your favorite poem by entering the number next to the poem’s title in the comments field of this blog post. One vote/comment per person.

Please submit your vote no later than Thursday, October 29, 2009, at 4PM CST. The winner will be announced on Friday, October 30, 2009, at 12PM.

#1 – “The Banshee” by Anya Elude

She is lifted up in Moon’s bright light
To fly above the little lives below
To watch the unsuspecting soul
Who ventures into the night

De-sending fast through inky dark
To hunt her prey’s beating heart
And find they have wandered off the path
And take from them that precious spark …

#2 – “They Come” by Andrew Brett

Shadowy figures walk the streets each night,
I see them everywhere,
muffling the embers of their candle light,
stumbling in there own despair,
murmuring in there hollow step,
an ancient tongue of speech,
of life that none of each have kept,
a life just out of reach.

Purposeful and blind
they knock.
Reaching out
the faceless mock.
In the darkness of a moonless night,
walking fearless of there misdirection,
hungry for their own insight,
inward turning,
burning
for their own complexion.

Wicked little shadows walking,
I see them everywhere,
and every night their voiceless talking
fills me with despair.
And I know if I look to see that face
that I’ll know what I’ve always known,
in the blackness of there eyeless place
I’ll find myself alone,
scared, afraid and lonely,
my candle’s light my only
light to show my faceless face.
So here I lie awake
each night, I’ve never slept
a trace.

The lonely shadows never sleep,
they walk the streets each night,
they only sing their dirge and weep
until the mornings light.

Then they put their masks all back
and hide their candle’s light,
shield the world from what they lack
and fear the coming night,
when their little lies are broken
and the moonless night returns;
their sorrow is their only token
to fuel the light that burns.

I’m afraid of them, at least I think,
scared of what they mean.
So every night in bed I shrink
and sleepless lie serene;
lying every night in bed
but not one ounce of sleep,
lying in my secret dread
to lie awake and weep.

Wicked little shadows walking,
I see them everywhere
and every night their voiceless talking
fills me with despair.
The darkness of the light they carry
and the truth they hide behind,
the vagueness of their face is scary,
what they see coz they are blind,
how they knew you in your swaddling clothes,
how they watch you even now,
how you know their hunger for you grows,
though not quite sure just how.

Oh, how they yearn for you, poor child,
like they yearned for me,
how the scent of you has made them wild
as crazed as they can be.
And even though you know they’re blind
as they lash about at night,
you know one day they’ll surely find
you in pit of fright,
and you’ll be theirs as I am,
the time is drawing near
when night will hold you in its grasp
and all will be quite clear.

Sleepless child in your bed
hide away from fright,
and not a one knows that he’s dead
as shadows come at night.
Wicked little shadows walking,
I see them everywhere,
and every night their voiceless talking
fills me with despair.

#3 – The Scariest Halloween by L.B. Ricks

Boil and Bubble, Toil and Trouble
Leaves to Gold from Green

Incantations, transformations
Happy Halloween!

Fangs of wax, black witches’ hats
Careworn adults become mischievous brats!

Indulgent surrender of sweets into bags
Smiles on the faces of ghosts, ghouls and hags!

Doorbells in darkness, a burnt autumn smell
Year after year, it’s cavity hell!

Hello neighbour, Trick or Treat
Give me something good to eat

Please no poison or razor blades
On this, our night of masquerades

As kids, we ran wild those Halloween nights
Filling our minds with cheap delights

The homes in which people had died
Always thrilled and mystified

Each Halloween, outside every abode,
Jack o lanterns grinned and glowed

And soon enough I was full grown
Awaiting young monsters of my own

Staring, zombie-like, one Halloween
Watching war on a flickering screen

I wondered how people who lived side by side
Could turn on each other in genocide

Then, one eerie night, I tried to change
Some plans with a friend who’d been acting strange

I phoned her to discuss it – when
Came a fright that I’ve re-lived again and again

This woman, seemingly decent and good
Lashed out- cutting me just as deep as she could

What great horror filled me, when someone I knew
Threw off her smiling mask and said “Boo.”

Shellout, Shellout! The witches are out!
Evil is close, near, and about:

Bacteria thriving on sweet saliva!
Tooth decay as young children play,

Smiles that cover a secret loathing
Perverts and rejects and wolves in sheep’s clothing,

A flash of contempt in a stranger’s face
An expression so dark it can’t be seen,

A friend who turns in the full moonlight
Howling your name on Halloween.

#4 – “Chamber of Foreboding” by Faolchú Ghealaí

The haunted halls moan
Forlornly in my ear.

Spirits waste not
The hunger of
Ghost hunters

Who seek souls lost
In a sea of wretchedness.

Local haunts consume the
Interminable and
The interminable consume

The yearnings that superficially
Fill my voids from within.

They make me pitiable in the shadows
Of loves long lost
That make way down the

Darkened hallways of my desolate
Prison.

#5 – One Who is Three by Payam Nabarz

Morrigan
Goddess of War,
bestower and reaper of life
Phantom Queen.

Black-feathered, spear in hand
naked breasts heavy with blood and milk,
standing across the river of life.

Your beloved die in your arms,
your foes die at your feet.
Dark mother, luscious Crone, Goddess of death

as a battle rages,
your are there, graceful Raven
tearing flesh from bone.

As the moon wanes
we become closer, and closer
at the dark moon;
we dance in your cave.
Great Queen, Morrigan.

Be it a haunting haiku, alarming limerick, wraithlike rondeau or bloodcurdling burlesque, we want you to show us—and the world—your creatively creepy skills.

HOW TO ENTER:

Starting today, (Monday, October 19, 2009) at 2PM CST until Monday, October 26, 2009, at 2PM CST Llewellyn fans can submit an original, spine-chilling poem for our spooktacular “Your Poem Gives Me the Creeps” Halloween Poetry Contest by posting it to this discussion on our Facebook Fan Page.

Not on Facebook? No problem! We can post your poem for you. All you have to do is submit your poem via email to moon@llewellyn.com.

HOW TO VOTE:

Llewellyn’s staff will select the top 5 submissions and post them to our Portal to the Unknown blog on Tuesday, October 27, 2009 at 8AM CST.

Llewellyn friends and fiends will select the winning poem by casting their vote within the comments area of the blog post. That’s right, it’s all up to you! Let’s use our paranormal powers responsibly!

Voting for the contest will begin Tuesday, October 27, 2009 at 8AM CST and end on October 29, 2009, at 4PM CST.

THE PRIZE:

The author of the poem receiving the most votes (aka blog comments) will win five of our creepiest Fall 2009 titles—Your Neighborhood Gives Me the Creeps, Spirits Out of Time, Poltergeist, The Ghost Hunter’s Survival Guide, and True Ghosts.

The winner will be announced on our Portal to the Unknown blog at 12PM CST on Friday, October 30th.

CONTEST GUIDELINES:

1. All poems must be your original work.

2. We want everyone to have a fair chance, so no previously published poems, or poems that have already won contests.

3. We’d love to read for hours, but please help spare our eyeballs the agony. Seriously, poems should be roughly 10 lines long. If it’s really good, we won’t mind if you push it to 15 lines.

4. Goblins, ghouls, monsters, vamps, witches, wizards, and earthbound spirits come in all ages and sensibilities. Although we encourage contestants to be creative with their craft; please show respect and keep the prose PG. In other words, let’s keep it clean!

5. If you are under 18, you do need your parent’s permission to participate in the contest. We have psychics on staff, so we’ll know if you’re lying about your age. Besides, if your poem wins, you won’t be able to get your ghoulish goodies (aka paranormal prize package)!

6. Mean people suck (and not in a fun, vampish kind of way), so no gratuitously gross poems or prose that defames, threatens, or encourages harm or violence to anyone (alive or dead).

7. We know you really want to win and appreciate your enthusiasm, but anyone who comments multiple times or spams us in an effort to sway the contest vote will be automatically disqualified.

8. By posting your poem for the contest on Facebook you give Llewellyn permission to republish your work on our website. Contest entries will not be published in an anthology or other publication. Authors will retain all rights to their works.

Good luck and have fun writing your poems!

Out of eight attendees, I was the only one who had some psychic/ESP experiences. Some were fans of the ghost tv shows, but some had experiences with what most would call a haunted house. Noises, doors slamming, the feeling you’re not alone. Some were curious, some were looking for answers, some were dragged along by a friend. It was a very interesting lecture, and where it wasn’t a workshop where we tried to hone our psychic powers, I still found it fascinating.

Ghost hunting and paranormal investigators seem to be everywhere. If you are interested in this, I encourage you to search out workshops, lectures, and tours in your area. You never know what is lurking through your local community education/parks and rec associations!

I love Halloween for a variety of reasons (my earliest was free candy), but one is the ghost stories. The days are shorter, the wind howls outside your window, there’s a chill in the air, and it’s the perfect atmosphere to hear about paranormal happenings. My love for spooky things originally stemmed from It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown and Garfield’s Halloween Adventure, but I graduated to Christopher Pike novels and collections of ghost stories I’d pick up at my school’s book fair. Granted, most of the ghost stories I heard and told back then were urban legends, I did have some verified local legends to pass along to my friends.

Great-grandpa Fred was a storyteller. In his thick German accent, he’d sit down and tell a story to anyone who would listen. He died a year before I was born, but we have some tape recordings of him telling many local stories. He was a strong believer in ghosts and told the following story with great seriousness.

In the early 1900s, a neighbor had killed his wife. She was going down the steps to fetch some food and he came up behind her and stabbed her. Word got out, he was arrested, and was sent to the local jail. Being this was near a small village, everyone knew him and what he had done. My great aunt was walking the few miles to town and looked up to see the neighbor who had murdered his wife walking towards her on the walking path. She was rather shocked to see him, being that he was supposed to have been in jail. Not wanting to provoke him, she stepped off the path without a word and let him pass. He walked past her, without a word or a glance in her direction, and she got back on the walking path and hurried to town, eager to tell people that the neighbor was out of jail. My great aunt received quite a shock when she arrived in town to the buzz of gossip that the neighbor had committed suicide in jail the night before. My great aunt had no idea that she had stepped aside to let a ghost pass by.

My best friends lived on the farm of where the murder happened (the house had been torn down and another built in another location). They lived the next farm over from me, and we spent many days walking through the woods between our farms. Every October, when Halloween was in our sights, someone would bring up the story about the ghostly neighbor and we’d pretend to be ghostbusters and try and find him. We’d scare ourselves to the point we’d go running to the safety of the house, screaming the entire way. We never did find him.

I love a good ghost story, especially when they are in your backyard. What’s your favorite local ghost story?