Chilling Tales From The Shadowlands

By Cindy Parmiter

This collection relates terrifying brushes with the unspeakable things that stalk our nightmares. Included are real-life stories of reincarnation, haunted dwellings, the consequences of attempting to make contact with the spirit world, spectral animals, a cursed Hollywood landmark, a portal that allegedly leads to the netherworld, and much, much more. Prepare to be thoroughly spooked by the bone-chilling tales you are about to encounter as you journey into the shadowlands.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cindy Parmiter
• Release date: Jun 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201769116

Book preview

Prologue

The fragile veil that separates the world we know from the one we only imagine can fall at a moment’s notice revealing horrors that our eyes are never meant to see.  The darkest of secrets are suddenly exposed to those who, unwittingly, cross the line that divides what we know to be true from that which we dare not ponder. 

This book explores stories mired in both hope and despair. These true accounts encompass, among other things, encounters with the unspeakable things that stalk our nightmares, reincarnation, haunted dwellings, the dangers of attempting to contact spirits and even the existence of a portal that is said to lead straight to Hell.

Many of the subjects of these stories learned the hard way that barriers between worlds are there for a reason: to protect the living from whatever lurks on the other side.  All the same, they can be crossed, if only by accident.  The consequences are not always dire but, neither are they pleasant.  I dare say that the people whose stories you are about to read would give anything to turn back the hands of time in order to avoid their encounters with the dark side, if only such a thing was possible.

The time has come to settle in for the night, in the dark and all alone, and delve into these tales that will surely chill you to the bone.

Chapter 1:

The Watcher

My aunt spent much of her life being visited by entities and beings that she could not explain. Likewise, her two children experienced encounters that were similar to their mother's. The following story is hers, but could have just as easily been theirs. The three of them lived lives shrouded in mystery and all died premature deaths. This is just one of her many brushes with the unexplained.

It was when my aunt was living in her cherished country home that she became aware that she was under constant surveillance. The source of that monitoring is what makes this tale unique.

She first noticed that something was amiss when she heard a noise in her chicken coop late one night. My uncle had passed away by this time and she had been living alone for a number of years. Still, she had become accustomed to things that go bump in the night and had little fear of solitude.

When she set out, flashlight in hand, toward the chicken coop she noticed a pair of eyes glowing in the darkness. She assumed that it was a fox since she had seen them on the property many times in the past. When she shone the light directly on the animal, it was revealed that the creature had no form. Even in the beam of the flashlight, the only things visible were its eyes which glowed an eerie red.

Fearless to the end, my aunt headed straight for the set of eyes in an attempt to scare whatever they belonged to away from her chickens. She related that the eyes stayed right where they were even as she grew near. She even waved her arms and shouted as she tried to chase away the unwanted guest.

It was only when she was close enough to reach out and touch whatever was there that the eyes suddenly disappeared, seemingly into thin air. She swore that she had been a breath away from it and there had been nothing there but the eyes. There was no head or body to be seen.

My aunt always told the story of the thing with red glowing eyes in a voice barely above a whisper. She acted as though she were afraid it might hear her if she spoke too loudly.

The night at the chicken coop wasn't the only time she encountered the disembodied eyes. She claimed that there were times when she would see them inside of her house, usually in the upstairs hallway. She said that the eyes would appear to her as she mounted the stairs. They never waivered and bore into her as she made her way into the bedroom.

My aunt said that the eyes never appeared during the daytime and never followed her. They remained fixed to one spot until she moved too close to them. Only then would they immediately vanish. Even though they were never accompanied by a body, she felt sure that the eyes belonged to something. Whatever it was, as far as she could tell, had no desire to be seen.

A devout woman, my aunt would always pray during her encounters with the red-eyed entity. In her mind, it was not an animal, but some sort of demon sent to antagonize her. She refused to back down when she saw it and it would always leave, at least temporarily.

My aunt passed away a few years ago. As far as anyone knows, she continued to see the glowing eyes, both inside and outside of her home, until the day she died. One curious thing was the fact that she died suddenly in a freak accident at her home. Strange events were always occurring around her so it seemed fitting that her death would also be mysterious.

We'll never know exactly what happened since she was alone at the time, but my aunt died as the result of a minor fall. She had been in good health when she slipped in her driveway. She hadn't even realized that she was seriously injured at the time. Tragically, she bled to death internally shortly after falling.

Whether the eyes she witnessed time and time again belonged to a being from this world or another, we can never know. She believed that it was a creature that had been sent from the netherworld to terrorize her. Whatever it was, it watched her for years until there was no longer a need. Perhaps in death, she is finally free.

Chapter 2:

The Protectors

My maternal grandmother lived in a house that was, quite literally, in the middle of nowhere. In order to get to the house, you had to leave a secondary road and then drive for a couple of miles down a narrow, jutted dirt road that weaved through acres of untamed woodlands. To compare it to Sleepy Hollow would not be an exaggeration.

Even though my grandmother was getting up there in years, she lived in the house by herself most of the time. One of my cousins would stay with her once and awhile and relatives visited from time to time, but she was normally on her own. Except, that is, for her dogs.

My grandmother would never allow a dog into her house, but she did have what she called porch dogs. She had several dogs over the years, but never more than one at a time. She would sit out on her porch swing, dog at her feet, and enjoy the nature that surrounded her.

Because the house was so secluded, it was not a place that one would just find by accident. If you had never been there, you would not know that the house even existed. For this reason, my grandmother didn't worry too much about her safety. She figured that no one would just happen upon the place and, if they did, the dogs would let her know.

I have written about my grandmother's house in the past. It was a spooky place in which many people, including myself, experienced unexplained phenomena. My grandmother would tell stories of being awakened in the middle of the night by the sound of someone walking on her porch. She could clearly hear the boards creaking as the heavy footsteps paced back and forth just outside of her front door.

She would also hear whichever porch dog she had at the time barking fiercely at whoever was on the porch. The trouble was that when she peeked out of the living room window to see who was there; the porch would be vacant except for the frantic dog.

The mysterious visitor wouldn't always limit itself to simply pacing on the porch. On some nights, a loud knocking on the door would jolt my grandmother from sleep. Again, she would peer through the curtains to see who was there only to find the porch empty. All the while, her dog would be running around the perimeter of the house and barking madly at whatever was attempting to gain access into the house.

Although my grandmother never saw the source of the night time disturbances, her dogs did and they paid the ultimate price. One after the other, her dogs would disappear. They didn't run away. There would have been nowhere for them to go. They weren't stolen. No one even knew that they were there.

All that my grandmother knew was that one day she would have a dog and the next day it would be gone. My uncle would bring her another dog and, eventually, it too would vanish. All that would remain would be a pile of bones and teeth, if anything.

After losing several dogs, including her favorite—a mutt she named Pooch—my grandmother decided that she didn't want any more dogs. Something terrible was happening to them and she no longer wished to play a part in their demise. She would now, well and truly, be all alone.

It was several weeks after she had lost her last dog when my grandmother was awakened by the familiar pacing on her front porch. The sound of footfalls could be heard loud and clear in the stillness of the night.

As my grandmother tried to see who the intruder was, she was startled by the sudden panicked barking of a dog. She listened as the shrill yelping turned into a low growling noise. She had a clear view of the porch, but couldn't see anyone there. There was no one pacing, nor was there a dog.

This scenario played itself out on various occasions for years. My grandmother never had another dog, but a dog could always be heard when the phantom footsteps and door knocking would occur.

My grandmother talked about the night caller and the dogs that came to ward it off more times than I can count. She was convinced that her dead porch dogs had, somehow, returned to protect her. She believed this because one of the dogs had a bark that was unique to her favorite companion, Pooch.

Pooch had never been able to bark normally. He had some sort of defect in his vocal cords that caused his bark to be stifled. It could still be heard, but there was a raspy quality that set his bark apart from other dogs. More than once, she had distinctly heard Pooch trying to drive away whatever was on the porch.

This went on for many years after Pooch, and the other dogs, had disappeared. It seemed that, even in death, they felt obligated to protect the only home they had ever known.

Chapter 3:

The Vigil

Some people view animals simply as useful tools to have around the house. Perhaps they are used to frighten away would-be intruders or as rodent control. For others, however, their pets are extensions of their immediate family. They love them with all of their hearts and are loved just as much in return. It is these pet owners who feel the loss of their beloved companion animals the most and vice versa.

My father's best friend when I was a child was a man named Chuck Workman. We lived in a small town at the time and Chuck and his family were our next door neighbors. He and my father hunted and fished together for many years. They were often joined on their adventures by Chuck's dog, Tucker.

I remember that Tucker looked like a beagle, only larger. He was a friendly dog who was one of the few animals that my mother would allow into our house. She had a strict no pets policy at the time, much to my chagrin. Tucker, however, was always welcome.

It was on a blazing summer day that the serenity of our little neighborhood was shattered by the sound of sirens racing down the street. Something was happening next door, but we didn't know what.

My mother ran to Chuck's house to find his wife in hysterics. She said that Chuck had collapsed while working in the backyard. I wasn't allowed to go with my mother into the house so I remember sitting on our front step and watching all of the activity as it unfolded around me. The one thing that stands out in my mind is the mournful howling that was coming from somewhere in Chuck's house. It was clear that Tucker knew something that no one else did.

I'm not sure how much time past, it could have been minutes or hours. Finally, my mom came back over to our house and told me to go inside. She followed me in, but didn't say a word. I learned what happened in the only way I could at the time, I eavesdropped.

My mother was on the phone with someone and she was obviously very upset. She told whoever was on the other end that our neighbor had died. He was being taken to the only hospital in town, but it wasn't going to do any good. He was already gone.

Later that night, my mother and father talked about the awful event that had occurred that day. My father, who was normally as hard as nails, wiped his eyes as he sat on the couch. There would be no more fishing trips or nights of playing rummy until all hours. His best friend, Chuck, was gone forever.

My father wasn't the only one who lost a friend that day. Tucker, too, was feeling the void that had been created. The howling that had begun earlier in the day continued well into the night. We heard it loud and clear, as could anyone for blocks. No one complained or mentioned the dog's cries. It wasn't the time.

My parents attended Chuck's funeral, but my siblings and I stayed with my aunt. We were too young for such things or, at least, that's what my mom said. After the burial, my mom told my aunt that Chuck's wife had brought Tucker to the cemetery. She said that the dog had leaned against the casket with his eyes closed throughout most of the ceremony. She also said that it was the saddest thing she had ever seen.

A few days later, Chuck's wife came to our house and sat at the kitchen table with my mom. She said that Tucker spent almost every minute of the day lying on the spot in the backyard where Chuck had died. She would try to entice him to come into the house with her, but he would only snuggle closer into the dirt.

Worse still, she said that the dog had not eaten a bite of food since her husband had passed. She had even made hamburgers for him, something he had always loved and would wolf down if given the chance. Now, he would sniff the meat and turn his head away.

Tucker had slept at the foot of his owner's bed for years. In the days since the tragedy, he had spent his nights in the backyard, glued to the last place he had seen Chuck. The only time he would stir would be when he would hear an ambulance, or any other kind of siren. This would make him sit up and throw his head back as he mimicked the sound.

The next time our neighbor came over to our house it was to tell my parents that Tucker had died. She had gone out to try to give him his breakfast that day and discovered that he had passed away during the night. She found him just as she had found her husband and in exactly the same place. My sister, brother and I were devastated. We had liked Chuck, but we loved Tucker. We cried like we had lost a pet of our own.

Several days later, my mother went next door to visit with Chuck's widow. When she returned home, she told a story that I would never forget. She said that the neighbor related that she had been visited by Tucker on the day after his death.

She had been sleeping on the couch when she had suddenly felt Tucker's head bump her arm. She knew the feeling right away because it was something he had always done when he wanted to be petted. He would tuck his head under her arm or hand and then nudge her until she patted him. She laid her hand on his head and felt the tufts of fur