I remember when I was in Mexico with some of my cousins we started a bonfire outside an abandoned warehouse. Reaching nightfall we got the fire going and we settle down around. We talked and laugh and what not. It wasn’t till one of my cousins noticed an odd human like figure standing in a distance. This person or thing was wearing a blackened dirty white gown with their hair over the face looking down. We all stood up and got behind the oldest cousin (two of my cousins and me) I remember asking in Spanish who they were and what they wanted. The fact that it wasn’t responding got us uneasy. Shortly afterwards it started to glide towards us. My blood shot cold seeing that. We were in disbelief and frozen. Once we snapped back we started running and screaming back to the ranch. No one know what that was really nor did return there when night fell.
I did IT work for a gun range that rented out guns for you to use on the range. As you might expect, there were quite a few squirrely “Don’t Tread On Me” types in there at any given time, so I always paid close attention to what was going on in the shop and range. There were windows into the range, so you could see who was shooting. One day I noticed a lady in there loading up, who I hadn’t seen come in. I rebuked myself for my lack of vigilance and went about my business.
It happened again a couple weeks later, and I resolved to keep an eye on the range, but she got out of there without me noticing somehow. This pattern repeated several times over the following weeks, until finally I heard about the lady that had come in a few years back, rented a gun, walked into the range, and shot herself in the head.
I noped right out of that gig.
This happened to my uncle before he married my aunt and became part of our family. He lived with his previous wife and two kids in a house for most of their lives, and his wife suddenly became terminally ill and died a few months later. Throughout her entire life, she was a very kind person, but she hated the green curtains in their living room more than anything. She would apologize about them when guests came over, talked about how much she hated them whenever they went to home improvement stores, and tried to keep them out of view as much as possible. I’m not sure why she or my uncle never got around to changing them; could have been financial problems, distractions, couldn’t find ones they liked, etc. But they never did. The green curtains remained.
The night she died, my uncle and his kids spent the night with her in the hospital and returned home the next morning. They said after being in the house in silence for about an hour, those green curtains came crashing to the ground. My uncle and cousins didn’t know whether to be absolutely terrified or laugh. They immediately threw them in the garbage and later picked out new ones they thought she would like. I have no doubt that she took it upon herself to finally get rid of those curtains.