If you like ghost stories, read this. I've got a good one for all of you:
I grew up two blocks from the shore of Lake Erie. Sometime about the mid-19th century, a shipping vessel went down several hundred yards offshore from the beach down the road from where my family lived. There has always been a "legend" around where I grew up that those dead sailors haunted that beach. I've never believed in ghosts, but I had a strange encounter nonetheless.
There are several dozen beach houses right on the lake at the bottom of a 200 foot cliff, and several of the owners live there year-round. Years ago, I had a paper route that required me to ride my bike down the access road and deliver 3 papers (weekdays in the evening; Saturdays and Sundays in the early morning) to cottages at the bottom during the winter. That January, we had some of the worst winter weather on record.
One Saturday morning, around 5:00 AM, I was riding my bike down that hill, when I heard loud footsteps, as if someone was running right behind me (when I say I heard them, I don't mean I could possibly have imagined them; I actually heard someone running right behind me). It startled me so badly that I ran my front tire right into the sewer grate at the bottom of the hill and flipped over the handlebars. I frantically looked around, but there was no one to be seen.
On Sunday morning, I heard the same thing. It startled the hell out of me, but not quite as badly. The next Saturday, the same thing happened. I was almost expecting it, so I darted my head around, looking for the person that had been fscking with my head. No one was there. I continued on and delivered my newspapers, but not without stopping for a minute to look out at the water. There was a decent winter storm beginning, but through the snow I swore I saw an outline on the horizon that looked like a ship. I dismissed it, since boats of that size are never seen so close to shore.
The next morning, I again heard the footsteps of someone running right behind my bicycle. It passed, and I looked out on the water and saw an outline of a ship that quickly dissappeared. I blinked and looked again and saw four very odd orange lights. They just kind of floated on the water, at equal distances from each other, about 400 yards from shore. It looked very out of place, and made me feel extremely uncomfortable. I rode my bike back up the hill without delivering the last two papers on my route.
The next Saturday rolled around, and I was seriously afraid to venture down the access road to deliver those last three newspapers. My courage eventually got the best of me, and I started down the hill. I was so terrified towards the bottom that I'm amazed I didn't wreck my bike. Nothing happened. I delivered my papers, and rode back up the hill, telling myself that I was an idiot to imagine all of that.
On Sunday I again made the trip down to deliver those three papers. Right at the bottom of the hill, I heard the footsteps again. This time it was much louder, and there were at least three sets of footsteps (maybe more; it was too frightened to take an accurate count). I turned to look, but no one was there. It scared me so badly that I crashed my bicycle into a vacant cottage. I practically ran to each of the cottages to finish my route so I could get the hell out of there. After the last one, I stopped to look out at the water; I was paralyzed with fear at what I saw.
I looked out through the nearly blinding lake-effect snowstorm to see a calm lake. Several hundred yards away from me was the unmistakeable shape of a mid-nineteenth century shipping vessel. The weather out on the lake was perfectly clear, and there was no mistaking what I saw. In the water, I saw at least two dozen bodies floating, some horribly maimed from the accident. Close to shore I saw several men walking out of the water; each terribly injured from whatever accident that caused that ship to go down. Some were burned, others had open wounds. I was so frightened that I lost control of myself for a moment, and collapsed to the sand. I blacked out for less than ten seconds, but when I looked out again, the horrible scene was gone.
I ran to my bike, pedalled up the hill as fast as I could, and made it home in record time. I called my district manager later that day and told him that it was not worth it for me to make the trip down that cliff every day for just three newspapers, and he agreed. The Erie Daily Times installed a few delivery boxes at the top of the hill, and I never ventured down there again.
I think it was May of that same year that I finally heard about the legend I've been referring to. I knew nothing of the ghost stories of that beach until I watched a local program on PBS about Lake Erie shipwrecks. The last section of the program dealt with the wreck that happened right off the beach I delivered papers to. It described what the scene would have been like for those sailors, and what the narrator spoke of was exactly what I witnessed. He finished by mentioning the "ghost sightings" that residents had been reporting for years. I had forgotten all about the experience; I buried it deep in my subconcious, I guess. That program brought it all back, and I was so terrified that I couldn't move. I broke out into a sweat like I have never experienced, and I was completely unable to move for almost 30 minutes. My family questioned me, concerned that something was wrong. I played it off as if I was coming down with the flu. I realized, though, that I actually witnessed what I thought I did. Everything I had seen was "real". It was almost four years before I ventured back down to that beach again.
Since then, I have not seen anything out of the ordinary. I have, however, spoken with many people who have. So many others have spoken about unexplained events on that beach that it is almost impossible to ignore anymore...
Do you believe me?
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