From: frantz@bvc.edu
Newsgroups: alt.folklore.ghost-stories
Subject: An Iowa ghost story
Date: 1 Oct 92 20:49:51 CDT
Organization: Buena Vista College, Storm Lake, IA

I'm new to this particular group, but because one of you called for some 
original (true) ghost stories, I thought I'd indulge myself a bit and 
recall my own personal ghost story here in my first post.

I grew up in a turn of the century house.  It had all of the amenities 
(secret little passageways, an ancient grapevine, even an iron hitching 
post.  This was, naturally, also a house with "a past" in that the man who 
built it was widely known as more than a little eccentric.  He was a loner 
and rumored to be richer than he ever appeared to be.  There were stories 
that he'd hit it big in gold out west, but he was the stereotypical miser 
in public.  As I said, though, the man was a loner and eventually he hung 
himself in what eventually became my bedroom.

Because I had shared a bedroom with my sister all of my life (a totally 
"uncool" thing for a twelve-year-old to still have to be doing), I didn't 
care what stories circulated about that room, as long as I could call it my 
own.  We had used it as a storage room for years (it was very small and the 
only window in it was a storm window which had been long since nailed 
shut), but after some serious pre-teen whining and begging my parents 
allowed me my much craved for space.

Well, the entire house had always had a certain sense about it.  There's no 
other way to really explain it.  It moaned softly even when there was no 
wind outside.  Things would disappear mysteriously and end up in the 
*oddest* places.  I remember once I lost my very favorite stuffed rabbit.  
My entire family tossed that house over for an entire week.  I chalked it 
up to the fact that someone must have stolen it out of my bookbag or 
something.  Much later we found the rabbit in the basement in the only room 
in the house with an earth floor--the one that we didn't use and no one 
ever went into.  Odd, odd...Anyway, that's not the story I want to tell.

Parts of the house had obviously been remodelled to bring them up to modern 
standards of electricity and stuff. In my room someone had installed an 
overhead light fixture which was manually operated (had a long string which 
hung from it that you would pull to turn on the light).  From that ugly old 
string I had hung a macrame belt and tiny Indian bell, so that whenever I 
turned on the light the bell would softly tinkle.  One night I awoke to a 
fairly impressive thunderstorm.  I really dig thunderstorms, always have, 
so I lay awake for a long time watching the lightning display.  All at once 
my bell started ringing.  Now, this wasn't the kind of ring that it might 
make were there a wind blowing through the room (which, of course, was 
impossible given the fact that my door was closed and the window was nailed 
shut).  No, the bell rang as if someone were physically shaking it.  I lay 
there quietly, panicked really beyond any other response.  Finally, as 
though a hand clamped over the bell, it stopped just as suddenly as it 
began.  After what felt like several hours I finally relaxed enough to fall 
back asleep.  

The next morning I awoke, fully convinced that what had happened the night 
before must have been some sort of illusion from the violent storm or a 
half-sleep dream.  I reached up to turn on the light and realized 
immediately  that the string which hung from the light fixture (and was 
still attached to my macrame belt) had been untied and re-tied in the shape 
of a noose.

No lie.  It happened.  Anyway, that's as close as I come to a real-life 
ghost story.  Comments are surely welcome.

Andrea