There was a figure standing in the corner of my room. It was pure white, and its face was blank. It did not move, but I felt as if it were looking at me—judging me.

I tried to scream, but my voice caught in my throat and all that came out was a muffled whimper. I felt paralyzed with fear. I couldn't move or speak.

Then, suddenly, the figure started walking toward me—slowly and deliberately, taking each step as if it had all the time in the world to do so.

I sat there frozen until it reached me and then… then everything went black!

The ghost was in my room.

I knew it was there. I could feel it.

I tried to sleep, but the presence of the ghost made me too nervous to fall asleep. So I sat up, waiting for morning to come so that I could go to school and forget about this night.

But then I heard something move and looked up—to see the ghost standing over me! It had been there all along, watching me as I slept!

I screamed and ran out of my room as fast as I could, not bothering to grab anything but my shoes.

I was in my room, getting ready for bed. It was late, and I had just finished showering and brushed my teeth. I sat down on the edge of my bed, looked around the room, and noticed something strange: there was a woman standing by the door.

She was wearing a long dress that went down to her ankles. Her hair was long and brown, and she had a beautiful face—but it was also very pale and ghostly looking. She seemed to be staring at me with her big eyes; when she opened her mouth to speak, I could see that her teeth were sharp like those of an animal.

I froze where I sat, terrified. "Why are you here?" I asked her shakily—but as soon as I spoke she laughed loudly at me in response. The sound sent chills down my spine!

Then she said: "You should know why I'm here." And then she started walking towards me slowly like a zombie would move if they were coming after someone who'd just killed one of their friends or relatives (this is because zombies in movies always move slowly).

I jumped up onto the bed because it

It was a dark and stormy night when I heard the first creak.

I was in bed, reading a book on the history of haunted houses. I'd always been fascinated by them, but my interest had been rekindled recently by a series of strange occurrences: lights turning on and off without explanation, doors slamming shut without any wind to cause it…

Creak. My heart skipped a beat. The house was old; it made noises all the time. It wasn't anything new or unusual—it couldn't be. But this creak… it sounded different than anything else I'd ever heard before.

The house had been built in 1850 by a man named William Hilderbrandt, who lost his wife and children to illness within weeks of moving into the home he'd built for them with his own hands. He lived there alone until he died at age 88; he never remarried or had any other children, so there was no one else left to occupy this house after he passed away.

But who knew what secrets it held? How many ghosts still roamed its halls? How many souls were trapped here, unable to find peace?

And then there was another creak—this one louder than

I was walking down the hall of my apartment building when I saw something out of the corner of my eye. It was small, and it was moving. I turned to see a little boy, maybe four years old, with a blue shirt and blonde hair. He smiled at me and waved.

I waved back, then quickly walked away. What was that kid doing here? This wasn't his apartment building—it was mine!

As I rounded the corner, I heard him giggling behind me. "Hi!" he said. "Do you have any candy?"

I kept walking, trying not to look back over my shoulder at him. "No," I said loudly enough for him to hear me over the sound of my own footsteps on the floorboards. "No candy today."

"Oh," he said sadly before his voice faded away completely as if he had disappeared into thin air (which wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't reappeared behind me again). "Okay," he said softly as if trying not to get in trouble for talking too loudly again."