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These Chilling Real Ghost Stories Will Make You Believe (Part II)

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  • Tip Bones

Welcome back to yet another hour With Chris Mentillo's spooky ghost stories, and weird things that go bump in the night.

I hope you like these next set of stories. They can happen to anyone, including yourself. You can never be too careful concerning your surroundings. Are you sure you placed the milk there? I hope you enjoy: 

The Insidious Phantom:

My neighbor Diane and I had an energetic ghost for a considerable length of time, and we called it Timmy. 

I'd get back home and discover something put in a bizarre spot: milk in a cabinet, the tissue in the cooler, clothing cleanser in the bath. 

Diane once called to inquire as to whether Timmy had been around on the grounds because she was unable to discover a gallon of milk. We at long last discovered it outside on her back advances. Furthermore, sugar … darn sugar! Each morning, my sugar bowl was unfilled. At the point when I had enough, I'd point to Diane's home and shout, "Go see Diane! " Inside five minutes, I'd get a call from her, and she'd state, " You're the best," since he'd proceeded to pull dirty tricks at her place. 

This happened for the whole two years we lived there. Nobody trusted us—not even our spouses. My mom thought somebody was taking us when we were sleeping or out of the house. My sister thought something was going on, yet she didn't have a clue what. I despise everything that's happened to us. We simply can 't clarify any of it. 

The Ghostly Attic:  

It appears to be so stereotypical scary, to begin by saying " I don't put stock in apparitions, yet … " Notwithstanding, that is what I'm used too. 

A couple of years back, I moved into a one-room loft in Melbourne, Australia; it was my first time living all alone. The condo square had been worked on during the 1930s. I'd been there for a couple of months.

When I got back home from work one day and went into the washroom. I saw something odd: The wooden board covering a gap in the roof that prompted a little upper room space (the attic), lay broken in two pieces on the ground. I analyzed the messed-up pieces. The board was an inch thick, and it would have taken a person like Bruce Lee to break it. I thought the landowner had sent somebody to chip away at the upper room. I was solidified firm with dread. I thought Somebody was up there without a doubt. 

I messaged pictures to the proprietor, inquiring as to whether anybody had been there (with a hint of irritation, since she hadn't cautioned me). Her answer read, "please call me when you can." I called, and she clarified that her last two inhabitants had said something very similar occurred. She vowed to supplant the board, and she did. 

After a month, I woke up one night around four a.m. I had such a large number of goosebumps, it felt like somebody was scouring their hands on me. Everything was quiet, however, then I heard this sound originating from over my bed. It was a hauling sound, similar to somebody pulling a sack of potatoes. I was solidified— hardened with dread. I thought Somebody is up there without a doubt. Its absolutely impossible a creature could make that sound. 

Following five minutes, I figured out how to gather the mental fortitude to turn on the light and stroll to the restroom. I was equipped with a cricket bat. (Oh boy, they better lookout). Then, at the point when I looked, I saw that the new board covering the opening was broken in two! I felt wiped out. 

The hauling sound had halted. Be that as it may, I heard something different—murmuring. The sound was clear and originating from the storage room. It seemed as though kids' voices, and I could hear one sentence rehashed again and again: "It's your turn … It's your turn…" I turned on each light in the condo to cause things to feel ordinary. Little this did to help-out the occasion. 

It was at five a.m. what's more, it was extremely cloudy outside. I assembled in front of the television and I tried to loosen-up. At that point, a circuit blew. My pet budgie, Dexter, whom I kept in the kitchen, ordinarily never made a sound around evening time, yet he began screeching like he was being choked. I'd never heard him make those sorts of commotions—he was shouting. I got my vehicle keys, ran out, sat in my vehicle, and stayed up there until the sun came up. 

At the point when I saw individuals strolling their canines, this comforted me enough to return in. The front entryway was open, yet I figured I hadn't shut it when I'd run out. I went to the kitchen to keep an eye on Dexter, and he wasn't in his confine—I felt debilitated once more. Every one of my windows was shut, so I glimpsed wherever inside. At the point when I strolled to the restroom, I heard sprinkling. Dexter was half suffocated in the latrine! I took him out, washed him, and dried him. I was so confounded. 

At eight a.m., I called the proprietor and gave her a watered-down variant of the night. "Goodness, amazing, you heard the murmuring as well!" she said. 

Even after all this spooky stuff, I remained in that loft for an additional eighteen months. I heard the murmuring on a couple of occasions. And the board, covering the gap in the roof, moved. 

In spite of the fact that I live somewhere else, the landowner as of late called. She said that her new occupants had asked to talk with me about a portion of the stuff that's been going on there. Disregard it—it's their dilemma at this point.