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Story Number 1

Fog Ghost in the Alley

A few years ago I found a new job in Oakland, California and since my dream was always to live in San Francisco, I found a nice little studio apartment to live in right between the Polk Gulch area and Nob Hill. If you’re not familiar with the area, it’s somewhat of a quiet little place. It’s changed a lot since then, but at the time I lived above a used clothes store. There was a nice little restaurant about a block up and no other businesses to be seen. Across the street there was a parking lot that always smelled like urine and then on the other side of my apartment, there was an alley with more apartments on the other side of the alley.

This is where the trouble begins. Every night around 3 AM a man would start screaming. outside almost right under my window. The whole neighborhood would light up with people waking up and turning on their lights.

“Shut up!” I’d hear from the neighbor almost directly across from me.

“I’m going to call the cops if you don’t knock it off!” A woman would scream from her second-floor window.

“I have to work tomorrow, asshole!” Another guy somewhere on the 5th floor from my building would yell.

This went on every single night and no one would get any sleep. We all figured that it was just some homeless guy who was staying near the garbage cans in the alley because every-so-often someone would find a home there until the landlords came to kick them out of the alley. Every time the cops were called there wasn’t anyone even in the alley and then the really weird stuff started happening.

One night around 2 AM I got home late from work and had to park my car on the alley street. Usually, I just parked it across the street in the piss smelling parking lot because I arrived home faster than people who worked outside the city, but when I get home late I have to park it in the alley. I really don’t like doing so because there are no cameras plus my car window is busted and can be pushed down easily not to mention the homeless and drunks from the bar down the street seem to sometimes take refuge near the garbage cans because of the heat generated from the neighborhood laundromat. Most of the time the alley is quiet because the vagrants are kicked out rather quickly. There was no way this guy was homeless as he would have been gone a long time ago.

I parked the car somewhat close to underneath my 3rd story window and when I started to walk around the back entrance of our building, I realized I had locked my keys in the car. Swearing just under my breath, I turned around to try and get the keys out when I heard a deafening screech. At first, I thought it might be a lost owl of some sort, but then I saw him. He was standing at the end of the alleyway right under one of the dim street lights. All I could see was the black shadow of a man. I figured this creepy guy either had gloves on or his skin was too dark to see in the dim lighting.

Knowing better than to mess with people who might be on drugs, drinking or a bit insane, I ignored the guy and pushed down my car window until I could unlock the doors by slipping my hand in through the crack in the window. Quickly, I opened the door and slipped into the driver’s seat where I found my keys nice and secure in the ignition. Cursing at myself, I rolled up the window and waited for the shadowy figure to disappear. Instead, it started coming closer.

I had three choices at that point. I could get out and book it to my apartment. I could drive off except that my gas was really low and I didn’t have my gas card with me. I chose the last option. I sat and waited in the car with the doors locked until he passed me. Well, I thought he would pass the car. Instead, he stopped right at my window and just stood there for a good 5 minutes while I pretended to be asleep.

In the slit between my lashes, I swear I watched him walk ahead of the car. Breathing a sigh of relief, I opened my eyes and realized that I didn’t see him leave and he was still standing there. Stupidly, I looked at him and I didn’t see a homeless or drunk man at all. I didn’t see a crazy guy on drugs, either. I stared hard, trying to wrap my brain around what I saw and the longer I stared, the harder it was for me to look away.

His face wasn’t really a face, it was more like smoke or fog forming a face yet I could still see the black pits of his eyes and the open hole for his mouth. He screeched again and this time it was so close to my head and loud that I felt my ears would bleed. I covered my ears with the palms of my hands and forced myself to look away. From the corner of my eye, I could see the fog of his face press through my car window as his ear-piercing screech got louder. I could feel the cold and wetness of the fog press lightly against my cheek. Then, it stopped. I looked out of my car window and he was gone. An impression of his face in light droplets of water was still on my window.

I sat in my car for the rest of the night, afraid to even get out and walk to my apartment. When I awoke, the fog had already rolled away and the sun was out. The impression of his face on my window was gone. We never heard the screeching noise again. The neighbors just figured the person staying in the alley had left as the police didn’t have a record of any vagrant or drunk being forced to leave during the week. I just kept my mouth shut because I know there was no one who would believe me.

It’s been a few years since the incident and I had almost forgotten all about it. In time I figured I must have just fallen asleep after seeing some strange guy in the alley and it was all a dream. I was happy with that excuse. Extremely happy. Then the last two nights the screaming started again. I tried to ignore it. I even put earplugs in my ears just in case it continued, but it was almost like I could hear it in my head. The screaming continued every night and then this morning I awoke and found a wet hand print on my window overlooking the alleyway.

Story Number 2

Golden Gate Jumper Ghost

The Golden Gate Bridge is a place where way too many people jumped to their untimely death. According to sources online, more than 1700 people have jumped off of the bridge. I didn’t think much of this until one night I decided to walk across the bridge after school. I attend college at UCSF and I was having troubles with some of my studies. I was also breaking up with my boyfriend and I seriously needed some time to think.

I drove down to the Golden Gate Bridge parking lot and got lucky by finding a space right away. It was around four in the afternoon, but the fog was rolling in fast. I don’t know if you’ve ever been to San Francisco, but the fog can sometimes be either really pretty or really in the way. Tonight, I was happy it was rolling in but I knew it would get super cold and I didn’t want to be out late.

I walked to the entrance of the bridge and started to stroll peacefully, enjoying my thoughts of how I was going to ace my test coming up and graduate soon. I didn’t want to tell my boyfriend about my move to get my Masters degree at a different college because I knew he wouldn’t take it well. I just had to figure out how to tell him and going for a walk on the bridge would clear out those horrible thoughts.

The further I walked, the more weight I felt on my shoulders. I had never experienced this before in my life. It was like something was pulling me down, slowing me down. I wanted to stop and lie down right there and just sleep. I had never felt such sadness before and right when I was about to turn back, figuring it was the weather and height of the bridge playing tricks on my mind, I saw a figure sitting on the side of the bridge, his legs dangling over and his head haunched in pain. He seemed to be crying.

“Are you OK?” I asked.

“They don’t love me,” he sobbed and kept on staring into the bay.

“Who doesn’t love you?” I asked. I was afraid this guy was a jumper and that scared me more than anything.

“No one. I’m all alone and I’m tired of the pain.” he cried harder then looked at me.

An instant rush of sadness and cold hit me harder than anything I’ve ever felt before. I suddenly wanted to know what it was like to feel the air on my skin as I was falling while staring into the bay with this man. This was a feeling that made me uncomfortable and looked over at him. He seemed to be about 20 years old with long beach blond hair and a tan. He didn’t look right for this day and age like he was someone from the 60s.

“What’s your name?” I stepped closer and held out my hand, hoping maybe he might grab my hand. With the other hand, I reached into my pocket for my cell phone and fumbled with the keys to dial 911. Maybe they would hear the conversation because I knew if he thought I was calling he might jump right away.

“Johnny, my name is Johnny Piers.” he seemed a bit more relaxed until he heard the 911 operator from my handbag asking who was calling and if I was all right.

“Johnny, I’m Kylie. Can you just wait here with me? I need someone to talk to.” I would say anything to keep this kid from jumping. The 911 operator was still telling me to hold on the line and the local police would be there as soon as possible.

He looked down again. It was then I noticed he was barefoot and had on bell bottom jeans and a tie-dye shirt. His puka shell necklace reminded me of the one my mother gave me when I was a child. Either this guy was really out of date or this was some kind of a hoax. I wanted to believe the latter, but something told me he was real and about to jump.

“Please talk with me,” I pleaded with him. He looked over at me, tears welling in his eyes as he pushed himself over the side and into the bay. I heard the scream on his way down and the splash of the water. Feeling sick and dizzy, I braced myself against the rail so I didn’t fall.

“Hello?” I heard the 911 operator on my cell.

“Y..yes. I just watched a man jump off the bridge.” I was crying and I didn’t even realize it.

“Are you okay, ma’am?” she asked as the police cars pulled up then an ambulance.

At first, they must have thought I was the one who was jumping because they started acting very cautious but then realized I was the caller.

“I just watched a man jump off the bridge,” I said as I shuddered as the goosebumps grew on my arms.

The police looked down below and called in a jumper. They asked me to describe him and if I knew anything else. When I did describe the guy one of the cops, the older one, just shook his head.

“Is this a joke, lady?”

“No!” I cried harder. “I watched him. His name was Johnny and he jumped. I am not making this up!”

“Ma’am, Johnny Piers committed suicide by jumping off of the bridge more than 40 years ago. They found his body two days after he jumped on the rocks. There isn’t any way that Johnny Piers could have jumped today. Maybe you were mistaken?”

“He said Johnny Piers,” I retorted.

Days later while doing an investigation about the event, I was called into the police department. They played the recording from 911 which included a male voice telling me he was Johnny Piers and me begging him not to jump. The police showed me 10 pictures of men all around the same age, some dated and some new. I pointed to the one who looked like the guy who had jumped.

The room went silent and then one of the older cops looked at me and shook his head saying, “That is Johnny Piers.”

Story Number 3

Pacific Heights Ghost

About 20 years ago I lived in a house modified to be an apartment building in the Pacific Heights area of San Francisco. I won’t tell you the specific address for the privacy of the current people living there. I will say the area is very pretty and upscale. Most people don’t talk about what happened in their houses during the turn of the century. There are a lot of ghost stories that many people don’t know about because of the people who move in and out of the city. They take the stories with them and new generations don’t talk about them.

I know because my family lived in the area for a long, long time. We didn’t specifically live in Pacific Heights, but we lived in a nearby place where we heard the stories. Many homes around the Pacific Heights neighborhood weren’t even there and were built after the 1906 Earthquake. The house I lived in 20 years ago was built before 1906.

The beautiful Victorian aged home was divided into 6 studio apartments sometime in the 70s or 80s. Honestly, I don’t know when it happened. Before that, a family lived there and probably sold it to go retire somewhere or maybe they were part of the crowd who sold for real cheap to get away from the big scare of San Francisco falling into the ocean. I have no clue. All I know is that I got a great deal on a studio apartment with a kitchen, bathroom, and living room/bedroom and no parking. I worked in the City though so parking really wasn’t an issue and I was so close to where I grew up that I was really excited.

That excitement lasted until the first day of summer. San Francisco isn’t the hottest place in the world. 80 is high. 90 is extreme. Most days are covered in fog until it burns off just to get foggy again. Parts of Pacific Heights sit above the fog, but not me. Usually, the fog does burn off but on that day, the whole lower area of the Pac Heights was surrounded by fog. I took one look out of the window and figured I’d just stay in bed the whole day because I did not want to ride my bike on a long hike around the city in the freezing temps. I know, it doesn’t freeze here. Freezing to me is 50 and foggy, but you know what I mean.

I covered myself back up into my futon and went to sleep for another hour or two–I can’t remember how long. I awoke to what I thought was the old steam furnace kicking in, but I realized that I didn’t turn it on the night before. I laid there waiting for something to happen and then suddenly the whole room got dark. I looked out the window and it was still light, foggy, but daylight. It also grew extremely cold. It was so cold that I was shivering under my electric blanket and extra comforter.

A puff of cold air hit my face and then seemed to stay there. I tried to move, but I was frozen, paralyzed. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even speak. I was silently freaking out. I looked around the room to see if I had fallen asleep and robbers had broken in, but there was no one there. It was still dark in the room though. No light was coming in through the windows at all even though the sun was starting to break through the fog. I was terrified.

I had no choice but to stay there for over an hour. I couldn’t knock on the wall or scream. I was being held captive by something but I had no clue what it was. My first thought was that I had some kind of brain damage or flu bug and the brain wasn’t telling my arms to move but that didn’t make sense because I could still feel everything around me including the cold air. I just couldn’t will any of my limbs to move let alone allow me to scream for help! I could feel the pressure against my body but nothing was visible.

Then it spoke. It actually rather hissed, “LEAVE!”

With my heart pounding, I was suddenly able to move and drop out of bed to the hardwood floor. I banged my knee up pretty bad doing so, but I didn’t care. I hopped over to the closet and grabbed whatever clothes were right on top of my dirty clothes pile and threw them on not even caring if they were inside out or filthy. I grabbed my keys and wallet then sat the rest of the afternoon out at Golden Gate Park with some Chinese take out and a six-pack trying to contemplate what the hell that was.

When I arrived home that night, I was completely shocked to find my clothes thrown everywhere and every dish I owned was broken yet nothing could prepare me for what happened next. Right before my eyes in red paint, or whatever because it looked more like blood, the words LEAVE were spelled out in huge letters. I tried my landline phone but there was no dial tone so I called the police on my cell phone. By the time they arrived, the bloody letters had disappeared. The mess was still there and I filed a police report, but they said there was no proof of the writing on the wall. I gave a 30-day day notice to the landlord and moved out anyway. He can keep his money.

I never did find out what it was. As far as I know, I didn’t find any proof of someone dying in the house or apartments through my research and I have never heard a similar story. I just hope that whatever is in that apartment is no longer angry and letting people live in peace.

*stories written by Spooky Boo. (c) Spooky Boo

Music

“This House” Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)
Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0 License
http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/