She Called it the Wanderer || A Halloween Story

She Called it The Wanderer

By: Dane Pecha

Jeanie was walking me home when she asked if I had heard about The Wanderer. I knew what she was up to. Some week’s prior I had told her a story so frightening, that she refused to go to the bathroom alone for weeks. I’d been expecting her to get me back for months now, after all, isn’t that what best friends are for?

I played her game, and let her tell me who The Wanderer was. As we walked on that foggy October night, she told me the legend that she supposedly heard from classmate Tommy Hines. Frankly, I wasn’t too impressed. The gist of the tale concerns a man or a figure as she called it, wandering around our neighborhood, inviting himself in random houses and leaving without saying a word. That’s it. I was disappointed, I expected so much more from her. 

We stopped at the light pole. It represented the halfway point between our two houses and would be the last place I’d see her until tomorrow morning. To avoid one of us walking home alone, we’d stop here and make mad dashes for our houses. Once we got home, we’d rush upstairs and turn our bedroom light on to let the other know we made it home safely. 

My light ALWAYS went on first. I was fast. I’d even beat some of the boys at recess. My light went on again first that night. As we dashed off into the night I heard her yell something about The Wanderer. Good for her I thought, she was really trying to sell this. My mother worked nights at the hospital so I was home alone. I didn’t mind being alone at night, I was mature for my age and I loved the responsibility. 

Moments after I got home and made my lunch for the next day, I was in bed reading. I was deep in some Steinbeck when I heard some footsteps downstairs. I took pause and sat up in my bed.

“Mom? Are you home?” The footsteps stopped for a moment and I waited to hear her voice. Not a sound. It was a pretty old house, and I was getting tired, surely I was just hearing things. Taking the hint, I shut it down for the night.

I was just on the verge of sleep when the footsteps came back. At first it sounded like someone was stumbling around downstairs. I called for my mother again and still heard nothing. Again I yelled, I just wanted to hear a familiar voice, instead I continued to hear footsteps. They grew louder. And now, they were coming upstairs. Since I had the only room on the top story, the stairs led right into my bedroom. I threw the covers over my head. Each footstep was deliberate; whoever was coming up those stairs wanted me to hear every step. My heart was racing; it’s the first time in my life that I can remember feeling my heart beat. I thought for sure I was going to die, surely whoever or whatever was walking up those stairs was going to kill me, just as long as my heart didn’t give out first. There was nothing I could do as the sounds reached the top of the stairs. Wrapped tightly under the sheets, my blood started to boil, anger took over for fear and now I just wanted to see the creep that was doing this. I was going to go out with a fight; the last thing I wanted was for my mother to find my lifeless body hiding under the covers. I was going to go out swinging. The first footstep reached my bedroom and I threw my covers off my body. My eyes darted around the room, and there it was staring back at me, nothing, absolutely nothing.

Adrenaline was jetting through my veins. I jumped out of bed and looked down the stairs, no one there. Rushing over to the window I now hoped to see Jeanie sprinting home after successfully scaring the snot out of me. Out of habit my eyes went to her bedroom window. Her bedroom lights the only sign of life in the neighborhood, neither confirming nor denying my theory that she was my night stalker. I rested my forehead against the window, replaying the events in the last minute when something catches my eye down below. There was a man walking away from my house, in no particular hurry. From the back I could only see a long black trench coat and an impressive looking black fedora with a bright purple feather tucked in the band of the hat. 

My eyes were fixated on him as he strolled down the street. Of everything that happened that evening, I will never forget what happened next. It was as if he knew my eyes were transfixed on him because in one fluid motion he turned to face my window. He didn’t miss a step as he walked backwards looking up at me. At least I assume he was looking, I couldn’t be sure since the figure had no facial features. No mouth, eyes or nose, just a bright white head that shined brighter than the stars that night. He turned away and continued his confident stroll down the sidewalk. I couldn’t tell you where he went; he just wandered off into the nothing. 

Needless to say, I didn’t sleep much that night. I must have peaked out the window at least 100 times that night. My mom didn’t believe a word I said, chalking it up to my vivid imagination and all those books I read. I didn’t expect her to believe me anyways. If anyone was going to believe me it would be Jeanie.

 She was waiting in her usual spot as I came running down the street. As I got closer I started to say something when I froze.

 “What’s wrong, Carol Ann?” she said, noticing what my eyes were stuck on. “Oh, do you like it? I found it this morning. Its looks cute, don’t it?” 

She turned to the side to give me a better look of the bright purple feather she stuck horizontally into her hair bun.

* This story was, once again, written by my brother, Dane. My grandma had an experience similar to this one when she was younger. Hair, makeup and pictures by Paige. Be sure to read the other story Dane wrote and the one yesterday written by Kiersten. 

A Visitor in the Night || A Halloween Story

A Visitor In the Night  

By: Kiersten Sahlberg

 I was suddenly roused awake by the whistle of the train sharp in my ears.

Stupid train, I grumbled, lifting myself out of bed begrudgingly. This was one of the things I had forgotten to factor into my decision to move back into my parents’ house. The late night screeching of metal on metal has been a constant source of annoyance throughout my childhood.

I pulled the curtains back from the windows. The storm had really picked up since I fell asleep around ten. The rain was beating sideways and the trees were doubled over in a struggle to fight the wind. The clock glared the time at me, 1:27 AM. I forced myself to my feet, fighting the veil of exhaustion. I had one intention; water.

Stumbling, I made my way out of the bedroom and into the hallway. It was dark. Quiet. The walls were lined with portraits from the past as many household hallways are. I remembered as a child I had always felt discomfort making the trek to the kitchen late at night. I didn’t like the way my deceased relatives watched me, their eyes empty, following my every move. 

I padded quickly past them. C’mon, I thought to myself, you’re 24 years old. Get a grip. Still, flipping the kitchen lights was a welcome relief from the darkness. I made a beeline to the sink and grabbed an empty glass from the counter, trying to avoid looking out of the window to the field in the backyard.

Suddenly, my eye was caught by something peculiar. The field was a blur of heavy fog. It was so thick that the flower pots on the patio, barely two feet from the window, were nearly indiscernible. The fog twisted and turned like smoke, unwavering and sinister. But hadn’t it just been pouring rain? It must have been a dream, I thought, pushing it out of my mind.

Without warning, the kitchen lights flicked off. I resisted the urge to let my silly childhood fear of the dark keep me from thinking rationally and took a deep breath. It’s no big deal, it was really storming out there, perhaps a tree fell on a power line. But when I glanced out again, there was no rain or wind. Just the fog, now inching closer to the windows, little wisps clawing at the window panes like fingers. I suddenly became aware of how eerily quiet it was. The hum of the refrigerator, the tick tock of the hallway clock, even my own shallow breaths seemed to be muted.

The pounding of my heart echoed inside my head, little beads of sweat forming in my palms. Quickly I dashed to the light switch and frantically switched it off and on again. Without protest, the light flipped on. A brief wave of relief washed over me followed quickly by the realization that the light had been turned off not by some electrical mishap, but by someone…or something.

I turned around, staring blindly into the hallway. The path to my bedroom seemed somehow longer and more ominous. I felt a prickle reach from the bottom of my back to the top of my neck. A soft scratching at the front door suddenly interrupted the quiet.

I stared at the door, paralyzed by the fear of what I might find either staring back at me through the peephole or waiting for me at the end of the long, dark hallway. In a snap decision, I bolted back through the hallway, avoiding the hollow stares from the portraits and jumping into bed before I could register the uneasy feeling in my stomach, the quickened beating of my heart.

That’s when I saw it. A figure, shadowed and grotesque, lurking at the foot of my bed.

It was a woman, her skin leathered and tight across her brittle arms, her white hair matted into knots against her face. She suddenly appeared to me as familiar.

“Gr-grandma?” I stammered, all at once relieved and confused. My grandma lived hours away, what was she doing here, and looking so worn?

She lifted her head and my heart stopped.

This face was not my grandma’s. The cheekbones were hollow and skeletal, her eyes sunken and glazed over, her lips cracked and bone white.

And then she smiled at me and the air went cold. The cracked lips turned into a wide grin that stretched across her face and her eyes pierced deep into me, registering no emotion.

“Come closer, Karel,” her voice dripped as she beckoned me slowly with her bony finger, “You’ve grown so big.”

I gasped awake. A pale dawn light peeked through the curtains. So it was all a nightmare.

I pushed my sheets aside and climbed out of bed, feeling oddly shaken from the experience. The portraits were much less intimidating in the morning light and I strolled past them with ease as I made my way to the kitchen. Mom was standing with her back to me in front of the sink, staring absent mindedly into the back field.

“Everything okay?” I asked. She slowly turned around and I knew something was wrong.

“I just got a call,” she said hollowly, “Your grandmother died last night.”

I felt myself go rigid.

“Wh-what?” I asked. “Do you know what time?”

Mom looked at me a little confused, slowly replying,

 “Around one-thirty.”

*This story was written by Kiersten Sahlberg. It is based off of true experience her mom had when she was younger. Hair, Makeup and pictures of me by Paige. Other model is Taylor. Be sure to check out yesterdays Halloween story, written by Dane, based off of a ghost experience my grandma had. 

That Final Drive || A Halloween Story

That Final Drive

By: Dane Pecha

I haven’t had a driver’s license since high school. My children, and eventually my grandkids always asked why, and I would tell them I didn’t need it. Or that I just let it expire... That was only half of the truth. My last night as a driver started off innocently enough. My friend Taylor and I had just picked up our dates for the homecoming dance. None of the guys had cars, so I was stuck driving everyone. I was bummed at the time, but it was for the best since I wasn’t ready to trust these guys to get us through the heavy, late October fog. I tried my best to socialize with the group, but navigating that fog was all I could concentrate on.

Another small fib I’ve told my grandkids is that I’ve never swore; I like to tell them it pollutes the air. And for the most part, I stay true to that. However, when that thing jumped out in front of the car, I let the expletives fly. My friends halted their yearbook club gossip.

“Did you see that?” I asked them. “I swear I just saw a hat and jacket FLOAT across the road."

Laughter filled the car.

“Come on Carol,” Taylor said.

“Probably just a giant owl, my dad saw one a couple weeks ago,” one of the boys chimed in.

 Yeah it was foggy, but that was no owl. Tough to blame them though, if I didn’t see it I would have laughed too. It was eerie.

We were at the dance for a few hours, nothing memorable happened. We did the whole dance picture thing, and the guys couldn’t dance a lick, which was expected. If I wasn’t their ride home, we would have ditched them after the pictures. Nevertheless, the four of us crammed back in the car. Unfortunately, the fog had stuck around too.

As I sat behind the wheel, concentrating on the twists and turns of the road, the boys started getting under my skin. I was in no position to talk, and quite frankly, I couldn’t wait to drop them off. Did we want to get something to eat? Watch a movie? Cruise down main street? No, no and no. I was tired, cranky and these boys were starting to make my Norwegian blood boil. And for the record, you don’t want to get on the wrong side of a Norwegian temper.

Just when I was about to explode I slammed on the brakes. The boys got nervous and started apologizing.

“Shut up,” I said, as I pointed forward. I didn’t stop to yell at those boys. I stopped because the disembodied figure had appeared again.

“Do you believe me now?”

The hat and long overcoat danced in front of us. Darting back and forth in the road, like a chicken with it head cut off. It moved in a very confused manner, it looked lost. The car fell silent. We were all fixated on whatever it was we were witnessing.

One of the boys broke the silence.

“So I think we’ll just go home now,” he said sheepishly. I ignored him. The figure started moving in our direction and that’s when Taylor lost it.

“Carol, drive, DRIVE!” she was hysterical.

That was probably the moment when I lost my cool too. You might think it’s silly to be running from something you’d find on a Macy’s clearance rack, but I’d like to see you keep calm when a paranormal phenomenon is happening six feet in front of your MAC covered face.

Tires squealed as I floored the accelerator. I was hoping to make it into town before it could catch back up, but Taylor’s shriek killed that thought. It was in full vision in the rear view mirror now, and gaining rapidly. The lost and confused movement patterns from earlier were now focused, fast and still hot on our tail. As hard as I tried, it was near impossible to keep myeyes on the road; they were fixated on what was going on in the rear view mirror.

The chase ended with a crash. It lasted no more than 30 seconds, but it felt like longer. With my eyes dancing back and forth and the three other sets all looking out back, that left really no one looking forward. Had someone been looking forward we could have seen the young girl slowly walking in the road. Instead, I saw her at the last possible second, giving me just enough time to jerk the wheel to the left to avoid her, and lose control of the car. We rolled the car multiple times, thankfully, we all had a seat belts on so we weren’t injured. The car on the other hand, totaled. We landed on the upside down, the four of us hanging from our seats by our seat belts. I wanted to believe someone was looking out for us that night, but we were still being chased by a disembodied object.

Through the shattered windshield, I could see the girl still walking down the road. She didn’t even bother to look back at us to see the destruction that she caused. Dressed for a dance, she looked stunning, but I didn’t recall seeing her at ours that night. Her dress was white, and her shoes shared the color of warm liquid that was now flowing down my head. I continued to watch her saunter down the dark road, when I remember why we were there in the first place. The disembodied figure had appeared at the top of the hill, and strangely, the girl perked up at its sight. She stopped, and stood there waiting, with an arm extended, waiting for it to take her hand. This did not make me feel any better about the situation. She was glowing when the figure arrived. The girl latched onto the figures lifeless arm, and they both turned in our direction. I could now see the other half of her body, and it was brutally disfigured and burned. The girl, finally recognizing the destruction this pair had caused started
walking towards us. The closer they got I made out a content smile on her face. Her physical
body started to vanish, leaving only a dress, and those blood red shoes. Coat, hat, dress and
shoes then began to ascend as one.

Eventually someone found us there. As driver, I got into a lot of trouble. I received multiple infractions, driving too fast for conditions and what not. I didn’t bother to fight it. No one would believe us. And I knew I would never drive again.

Months went by and we never discussed the incident. The four of us were going through dance pictures after school for the yearbook when we came across a vintage looking photo. It was taken at a dance 25 years prior. A sharp dressed young man with an exquisite top hat, held a young girl in a white dress and the prettiest blood red shoes you’ve ever seen.

*This story was written by my brother, Dane. You can follow him on twitter, @Dane67, for a good laugh and tell him I sent you. It is loosely based off of a ghost experience my grandma, Carol, had when she was younger. Pictures, hair and makeup by my cousin Paige and other model is my cousin Taylor. 

Stevens Hall || A Ghost Story

This past week I was back at WSU visiting the boyfriend and hanging out on campus. So in honor of the new month that we are in, I thought I would visit the haunted hall on campus and let you in on its story. This is Stevens Hall, I actually lived in this hall my sophomore year of college and my mom also lived in this one while she went to school here. This is the second oldest building on campus, completed in the summer of 1895 and has been in continuous use since then, besides in 1958 when it was closed for rehabilitation. This hall is the oldest operating residence hall west of the Mississippi River.

In 1971, Joyce LePage would go in and out of this building while it was closed for the summer through a window. This is where she would hang out by herself, write letters and play the piano. July 22, 1971 was the last day she was seen alive. She disappeared. While the custodians were going through all the residence halls cleaning them for the summer, Stevens was the last one on their list. When they entered the building they noticed a five-foot-by-six-foot area of carpet missing from the main living room. They wrote it up as vandalism and forgot about it. They opened a room on the basement level of the hall and found blood splattered on the back corner of the room.

Police connected the blood with that of the missing person, Joyce LePage. A couple of months later a body was found, 10 miles out of town in a deep ravine, wrapped in a piece of 5 by 6 foot carpet. The same carpet missing from Stevens Hall. It was the missing girl. She had been stabbed multiple times in the ribs.

The ladies that live in this dorm, especially those that live in the basement report doors opening and closing on their own, strange noises and screams. I wasnt in the basement that often when I lived there, but when I was, you better believe I was in and out in a hurry. No messing around from me. I never had any ghostly encounters and neither did my mom. If you walked in this building, you would quickly see that this is the perfect setting for a ghost to hang out. The furniture looks like it is from the 1900s and some of it probably is. It is a little creepy walking around. FULL of character and if only these walls could talk. The stories they would tell...

Outfit Details

Dress, Tights & Socks || Target

Sweater || A little boutique in Newport Beach (Dont remember the name :/)

Shoes || Steve Madden

Photos by Brent