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Nazareth, Pa., United States

Friday, October 30, 2020

The Albino Banshee

I'm going to tell you a scary story. It happens to be true, which makes it even scarier. 

In the early 60's, when I was in the 8th grade at St. Theresa's Elementary School. The nuns there were very scary, but I'll save my stories about them for another day. This is the story of the Albino banshee, who visited me one dark night.  

During recesses at school, a group of us formed the Ghost Hunters' Club. We would periodically go to old abandoned houses that were supposed to be haunted. We never actually went inside any of them, but would always make plans to go into them later . . . at night. 

It was around this time that we began hearing stories about the Albino Banshee. She was a terrifying witch who lived somewhere in Allentown. She had long white hair, pink eyes, sharpened teeth and very long fingernails. Her piercing shrieks could be heard at night in Allentown. Her keen, all by itself, could cause a heart attack. Word on the playground was that she had already killed several people. All she had to do was touch you with her long, thin fingernails. Not everyone believed this story, but I did.  One of the nuns admitted to me that it was true. 

At this time, I was still living with my parents, brother, sisters, a German Shepherd named Duke and several cats. Our house was a 300 year-old, stone farmhouse in Hellertown. Its three foot thick walls kept the house cool in summer and warm in winter . . . except on the third floor attic. That's where my brother and I slept at night.  

One night, after we had all turned in, I awoke to hear the third floor attic door creak open. Footsteps slowly came up the steps, accompanied by the sounds of rattling chains. I immediately assumed it was the Albino Banshee! I tried to scream, but couldn't open my mouth. Or eyes. Once whatever I heard had reached the top of the steps, I could hear it walk towards my brother. I wanted to defend him, but was paralyzed by fear. My brother was a goner. This thing did not stop with him. In a matter of moments, its steps came for me. It was suddenly very cold. I was unable to budge. Then I felt it. A banshee's fingernail traced itself right across one of my cheeks. But for some reason, I didn't die. 

Then the steps walked off and into the other room on the third floor. While still sweating with fear, I could hear that door open again. This time even more footsteps came up the steps. Although still too terrified to open my eyes, I could tell that lights were on. Just as suddenly, the lights went off and the footsteps went back down the steps. 

The next morning, when I woke up, I was happy to see my brother was still alive. I am still ashamed at my own cowardice in failing to defend him. I told him what had happened. He told me I was nutz. Then we went downstairs for breakfast. 

After sitting there for awhile, I told my mom, dad and sisters what had happened. I expected them to tell me I was nutz, too. Instead, they looked at each other, and my mom told me they had heard someone going up the steps to the third floor themselves. They decided to investigate, which explains the second set of footsteps I heard that night. Whatever had come up the steps had just vanished. 

To this day, I have no idea what really happened. But sometimes, in the dead of night, I could hear footsteps in the adjoining room that was supposed to be empty. 

I've witnessed ghosts at the law library at the courthouse during the days when you could stay after hours. I'd hear a newspaper rustling and would go to the next room and there'd be nothing. I could hear books being pulled out of shelves, but when I would check, nothing would be there. The custodians who worked at night had the same experiences, especially in Courtroom 1. 

I never felt afraid by these ghosts. But the Albino Banshee still scares the shite out of me. 

Feel free to tell your own scary stories in the comments

 Happy Halloween.

7 comments:

Anonymous said...

good one

Bob Frapples said...

Huge Jerry Garcia fan back in the day. I saw The Dead - live - 32 times. I think I see ghosts all the time. But I drink and smoke a lot of pot. I'm an agnostic realist, I guess. My kids used to think there were ghosts in our house, when they were younger. We built the house and I reminded them that since we were the first to live there, WE would ultimately become the house's ghosts. They loved the thought and finally went to sleep with the lights off (but still door cracked a bit to enable a quick escape to mom and dad's room, if necessary). Happy All Hallows Eve. Only virtual hugging of Druids this year, please.

Bob

James Neara said...

Ah ha! Now we understand the origins of your lifelong gynophobia!

Anonymous said...

I was in my teens when my grandfather passed away, in his bed. After the funeral I moved in his guest room to keep my grandmother company. A few nights later, I awoke because the bed covers were being pulled off me. I felt my grandfather's presence as the covers were dragged down to my feet but I was to frightened to raise my head off the pillow, which I regret.

Anonymous said...

Everyone who worked at the Courthouse knows there are ghosts in the attic above courtroom #1. Some people have even seen them. Check this out with Frank Flissar. He can verify it.

Anonymous said...

I lived in a town in Maine. West Eagon.
The story goes a wicked witch who lived there slept with a pig and spoke to RATs until she realized the RATs wouldn't let her lead them. She then joined a coven of simple-minded trolls who obeyed the orders of an evil potion salesman with a black heart, who brought a plague upon the population. The townspeople rose up and ran him out of town. Her ugliness grew with each passing year of hate and jealousy of her rich, beautiful sisters. Eventually she was imprisoned by her own lies she told the royal guards. Impoverished and powerless, she withered and finally slithered beneath the droppings of a bull.
If you hear the sound of scratching on your door at midnight, don't open it. It would be her long bony middle finger looking for another asshole.

It's said that on a quiet night the Wicked Witch of West Eagon can be heard lamenting the loss of her love, with her wailing and screaming, trying to get his attention in some strange tongue. "Donnel dump. twunny-twunny. Ware da fug aryu?"

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