Category Archives: Narrative

The Ghost of a Suffragette

Age: 55

Date of Interview: 12/03/24

Date of Story: 07/2000

Informant Name: DP

Language: English

Collector’s name: LP

Nationality: USA

Occupation: IT enginneer

Primary Language: English

Residence at the time: Washington DC

Current Residence: Pennsylvania

It was dark night in July 2000 after the museum closed.   The museum was silent and dark.   We could only hear the wind outside the windows.  The stairs creaked as we walked up the stairs.  We went from room to room, checking the exhibits.  The moonlight shown through the windows as we walked.  I heard a noise on the far side of the building, in the room opposite of the room I was in.  It sounded like a clatter.  Someone had tripped.  I went towards the noise, and found nothing was there except an overturned chair.   I picked up the chair, and started to walk away and cross the hall, when in my peripheral vision I saw light.  I turned around and saw it.  A woman in what seemed to be late 19th century bed clothes, glowing and walking across the room towards me.  I stood and stared and was about to call out, and the woman ran past me and into the and wall and disappeared.

Ghost story in the woods- JH

Age: 18

Date of interview: 12/01/24

Informant Name: JH

Language: English

Collector’s name: LP

Nationality: USA

Occupation: College Student

Primary Language: English

Residence: Appalachia in Pennsylvania

The cold October rain trickled down my neck, causing me to shiver. But I don’t feel cold, not really. I’m angry. I’m angry and sitting down to talk about it makes it worse. I’m angry and I need this time alone. The cold 40-degree downpour was necessary to clear my mind. The edge of the woods seems the best place to get this alone time. I had to have been not in my right mind. I never would have been here if I was. I heard the screams and felt the terror those brought me. I felt the fear choke me up when the screams would move down the valley far, far too fast to be anything real. I saw the way those screams caused my father to halt in his tracks while we were out late. I heard his voice tremble with fear as he refused to recount his encounter with the Screaming Thing to me.
But that wasn’t on my mind right now, it was only the annoyance of the argument I had just had that pulled me down that hill to stand at the edge of the trees. The raindrops hit and ricochetted off of the water of the pond in front of me. They cracked down on my scalp. They slammed into the blades of grass and leaves surrounding me, making it hard to hear anything.
But still, I heard it. Faint, down the valley, barely a threat. I wasn’t scared, I was still angry. And I had no reason to be afraid, clearly. The screams remained at the end of the valley as I stood my silent ground against the world. A minute passed, then two, then three. Nothing was happening, and nothing would happen, I knew.
Until I took a step. A light shuffle. My legs were growing numb from the rain and standing locked in the same position. Nothing. The screaming stopped for a second, then sounded again—much, much closer. My skin began to crawl, those minute of ignoring the rain trailing down my spine catching up to me. I shiver violently. I feel my breathing go faster, and my heart is speeding up too. I take another step, and another, and another. It’s a walk for the first 4 steps, but the thing is halving the distance every step I take. I trip, stumbling up the hill I walked down to get here. It’s so close. I stand up and sprint. It’s on me now, and the darkness it brings presses on the edges of my vision, becoming more centered until I can’t see. I keep running, but It’s there. Infinitely loud, my heart is beating out of my chest. I keep running, hoping I don’t run into anything. It’s so loud, so loud…
Then nothing. The screaming stops, and the darkness lifts off my vision. I hit the ground for the second time. I’ve fallen just inside of the floodlight spilling from the garage. It’s stopped and I’m safe. Shaking and scared out of my mind, but safe.

Warning From a Ghost Father

Nationality: American
Age: 18
Occupation: College Student
Residence: Norristown, Pennsylvania
Performance Date: November 29, 2024
Primary Language: English

CONTEXT:

The informant holds this story as a memory from her childhood as she has now begun college. Her father passed away from cancer months after she was born and has been raised by a single mother. She has a close relationship with her mother and often learns about her father and his character. The story is a close connection to her family that her and her mother reminisce on. She is my lifelong best friend, and this story was told to me by her and recorded with the details she provided.

STORY:

“When I was really little my mom had a ghost encounter. I had a nanny for a while who would babysit me and take care of me when my mom was still working at her current job or if she was out late. Well, one night she was out pretty late and came home after I was asleep. She heard a bunch of footsteps or noises coming from upstairs where my bedroom is.”

“…I obviously don’t really remember this because I was still a baby, but my mom remembers it well and told me when I was older. But after hearing the noises, she walked upstairs to go to my room, and she thought she saw my dad, who died a year or so prior, in the area outside of my room upstairs. She said it was like an outline of him whose arm and finger were pointing into my bedroom, almost urging my mom to go in. She was caught off guard and entered my room.”

“…From there, she found a hat on top of the lap in the corner of the room. The light was on and the hat was scorching hot, like it probably would’ve started burning or catching fire within minutes. It most likely would have turned into a fire if she didn’t think she heard someone or something happening upstairs when she came in. The hat situation happened because my nanny made a dumb mistake and put the hat on the lamp while it was on and it got hotter and hotter. My mom fixed the situation at almost the perfect time after seeing the sight of my dad at the entry of my doorway.”

INFORMANT’S TAKEAWAY

“The sighting of my dad has to be connected to the problem with the babysitter. Considering it wasn’t very long since my dad passed away, I think he was definitely giving my mom a warning sign and kind of reconnecting with us in a sense during that moment. My mom hearing the noises right after entering the house also shows how she was meant to go up just in time. It’s genuinely such a crazy story and experience. My dead dad helped stop our house from catching on fire!”

PERSONAL THOUGHTS:

Ghosts tend to connect to superstitions or real-world events in unique ways like this. I think the sighting of the father’s ghost figure really brings together the concept of family and security. The ghost showing up to the mom not long after passing reveals the authenticity of the story, especially considering how he showed up during a time of danger with the burning hat. It also makes sense that he was there for his daughter since he died shortly after her birth. Overall, the mom’s experience underscores how ghosts appear to their families at certain important times.

Detroit’s East Market – Legend

Text:

My father told me about living in Detroit. His side of the family is almost all Italian (Sicilian, more specifically). There was a saying that “You always know someone in the Mafia”, even if you weren’t aware of it. Detroit is notorious for high crime rates, or at least it was when my father was younger. He himself knew that his uncle was friends with people in the Mafia, which made many family members very uncomfortable. My father assumed that this meant he didn’t have to pay for protection (to the Mafia) for his liquor store, which many other store owners had to do. 

My dad knew a story about a newcomer to Detroit – someone who moved there without knowing what the situation was like. He sells their house and buys a new one in Detroit, with hopes of making it in the motor industry. Unfortunately, his perfect view of the city is shattered upon arrival, where robberies are rampant and terrible shootouts happen every day. The newcomer is terrified and keeps moving to new neighborhoods, asking for police help each time. The police prove more than useless and it becomes clear that they have little to no control over the city. Eventually the man, who has been robbed and mugged multiple times, is ready to give up on his dream. Just then, he stumbles into a new neighborhood. People are selling fresh fruit, vegetables, and flowers out in the open. The newcomer is baffled – how are they able to do this and feel safe? He figures this area is more affluent and can fund their police better. But when he asks about the police, he gets laughed at. “The Mafia protects us,” respond the vendors. Apparently, this was the area in the city most tightly under the Mafia’s control. Crime was almost completely eliminated. My father referred to this place as the Eastern Market – one of the first farmer’s markets. He visited himself and testified to its truth – it was safer than most other places in Detroit at the time.

Context:

My dad heard this story from his parents, who warned him about going in certain neighborhoods because of high crime rates. My dad knew it to be true himself after visiting the area. The story reminds them that oftentimes there’s a whole lot going on that you don’t see – his uncle was a good example of this. A different relative was put in prison for obstruction of justice related to Detroit crime. He worked for the police. My father took dangerous places very seriously, especially after working at a Detoir emergency hospital where he saw gunshot patients and stabbed patients constantly.

Analyis:

There’s an inherent warning in this story, and a forced acceptance of the way things are. The story’s purpose is to help children (maybe more mature children) understand the city they live in, and come to terms with the fact that someone they know might be involved in crime. They must also come to terms with the fact that the police are not, in fact, safe people to talk to. They can easily be bribed and were not effective at all in eliminating crime. Finally, the story helps the children remember that the Eastern Market is one of the safer areas in Detroit.

Buddha’s Death – Myth

Text:

There are many, many stories about Buddha and many variations on each story. My mother told me one such story about his death – by poison. 

In Burmese culture, Buddhist monks do not have possessions or any source of income. They are meant to be separate from society and free of worldly attachments. However, this means that if they want to eat they must often beg for offerings from Buddhist civilians. They travel around the streets with a special offering bowl and eat whatever people put in it. They must eat everything to show their thanks and to avoid waste or greed. Buddha himself also abided by this rule, and on one particular day was offered a meal of rice, cakes, and mushrooms (or some other sort of vegetable). Buddha had some inhuman powers because of his enlightenment, and was able to immediately tell that the mushrooms were poisonous. Buddha ate the entire meal anyways because he had to as an enlightened being. He died, but it is not seen as a tragic event. Buddha knew he was ready to die and willingly accepted the poison.

Context:

My mother learned a great deal of Buddha stories from her grandmother. This was the primary way she was instructed to live her life, and the primary way in which she was taught Buddhism. My mother no longer practices Buddhism to the same extent that she did when she was younger, but she did teach my sister and I how to properly pray and how to be good people (based on Buddha’s teachings). My mother related this story to the monks that we used to see at Burmese temple – we would always donate food to them when we visited. 

Analysis:

I believe this story has more close ties to Burmese culture than some other Buddha stories. It incorporates an element of Burmese culture that might be uncommon in other cultures. I think it also helps Buddhists accept death when it finds them, whether it is of old age or of something more sudden. It also might help them forgive people who make mistakes or who have malicious intentions. It carries the message that if one is prepared to die, death is not a tragedy. Furthermore, it is more important to live an enlightened life than it is to live a long life.