4. Think you’re funny?
It happened on a stormy morning in February about 12 years ago. I live in Arizona and that night we had some thunderstorms that caused our phones to malfunction. I had just woken up for school and mom decided that she would use her cell phone to call our home phone to see if the phone line was working yet. So she went into the garage and got her cell phone from her car and called.
The phone rang, I answered and oddly our answering machine started to record the call. This is what happened next:
Me: Hello?
Typical phone recording: “We’re sorry your call could not go through, would please hang up and try again.”
(I knew the answering machine was recording because I could hear myself on it, so being a 13 year old I thought it would be funny to act like I was mouthing off to the “we’re sorry…” recording.)
Me: NO!
Typical Phone Recording: “We’re sorry…”
Me: “Yeah I’m sure you’re sorry, it’s all your fault.”
I hung up and decided to listen to the recording and this is what I heard.
Keep in mind that I was talking to a typical audio recording for a failed call…
Typical Phone Recording: “We’re sorry you’re call could not be completed as dialed will you please hang up and try again”
Me: “No”
Typical phone recording: “We’re Sorry…”
Me: “Yeah I’m sure you’re sorry… ||Think you’re funny?|| … It’s all your fault.”
In between my sentence something legitimately asked me “think you’re funny?” It was in this horrible raspy, hissing sounding voice. It was absolutely terrifying and it still gives me the creeps knowing that something asked me such a mean, evil-sounding question.
So what did I do? I grabbed my Kevin McCallister=issue Talkboy and recorded it. I still have the recording locked away in the deepest, darkest corner of my room.
5. The smiling ghost of a little slave girl.
Parents were looking for a house on lake Linganore in Maryland, US in the late 1990s. They found a really nice old house which was built in the mid 1700s. The original owners had owned slaves, and there were even bolts in the walls still in some places where slaves could be kept chained, and slave quarters in the attic. While talking to the realtor my mother and father kept seeing a little black girl peeking her head around the corner and smiling at them. Assuming that the girl was the realtor’s daughter, my mother made a comment about how cute she was. The realtor looked puzzled and said that she had children, including a daughter, but that she’d never bring them on a house showing with her. The three of them walked around the corner where the girl was and, lo and behold, the little girl was gone. After looking around the house, the three just sort of shrugged their shoulders and left. While they were leaving the area, my parents stopped in a bookstore and my mom bought a book on homes in Lake Linganore on a whim. Flipping through the pages, she came across the home that she and my dad had just looked at, and upon reading bout it learned that the home is apparently haunted by the ghost of a little slave girl who died at the home. This probably sounds fake, but that’s what I’ve got.
