4 Terrifying TRUE Horror Stories featuring Demonic and Dark Entities

4 Terrifying TRUE Horror Stories featuring Demonic and Dark Entities

October 28, 2019 100 By William Hollis


About a year ago, my sister and her boyfriend
move into a new house in the South of Wales. After the terrible things that happened in
that place, I looked into the history of the building. There was no known ominous past. It was clean – ordinary. Which makes the events that I am about to
describe all the more horrifying. For a while after they moved in all was quiet. Admittedly, the property did feel strange
in itself, but we all dismissed that… that was until the occurrences began to happen. It initially began when my sister claimed
her deceased boyfriend was near. Her previous boyfriend had died in early 2013. The loss had affected both of our families
heavily, especially my sister. When she said that she felt his presence,
she told us that his spirit was there to protect her… To protect her from the darkness that lurked
in that house. It was after that that things got bad. My sister told me that one day, upon entering
the house, that it was like someone, or something, was in the doorway preventing her from getting
past. Almost like she was not wanted in that place. She and her boyfriend began seeing scratch
marks and blood stains on the walls. Only for them to disappear, mysteriously by
themselves, after a few days. On one occasion, my sister even found a wrench
covered in blood. But that too turned up clean a few days later. They could not explain what was happening. By this point, both her and her boyfriend
were very afraid. One evening I was ushered down with my mother
and stepfather because the police had been called to the house. When we got there, we were told that my sister’s
friend had seen a body in the attic. It had been rolled in inside of a mattress. Yet, when the police arrived, there was no
body and no mattress. My sister was in hysterics, wildly throwing
around accusations of murder, screeching that it could have been her own dead body wrapped
up in that mattress. She was terrified for her life. After her outburst, the police questioned
my sister’s mental state. She underwent a mental examination the following
week, which found her to be perfectly healthy. Besides, she had not been the only one to
see and experience these things in that house. It was like whatever dwelled there was tormenting
her. They moved out not long afterwards. We found out from a friend of hers that since
then no one has stayed in that house for more than a few months. In the months that followed, I began to wonder
whether or not my sister truly felt her late-boyfriend’s spirit there… or whether that dark entity
had pretended to be him, so that she would open herself up and in doing so become more
vulnerable. Recently, a planchette from a Ouija board
was left on the doorstep of her new house. My sister never used a board, and didn’t
even know what the planchette was until my grandmother told her. She discarded of the thing immediately. Where it came from or how it got there is
unknown. I doubt you will get the chance to read this,
but if you do and decide to use this in a video, please do not use my name. I won’t bore you with all the small experiences
I have had since I was a small child, both angelic and demonic, but I will share something
that, to this day, still haunts me. It was the day that I learned curiousity does
indeed kill the cat. I have always had a slight interest in the
paranormal, ever since I had my first few inexplicable experiences, from dark entities
calling my name; to hearing deep, cold breaths; to even a gentle humming from a voice which
I can only describe as as beautiful as Mother Mary herself. But, I guess you could say that I started
getting more interested when I was about thirteen years old. I loved watching series about demons and ghosts
on TV, especially A Haunting when they use to show it on the Discovery Channel. I enjoyed the thrill of being scared from
it. Call me odd, but I liked it when my imagination
would scare me at night after watching these shows. Anyway, as I became more and more interested
in the paranormal, I began watching a lot of shows on demons. It was then that I encountered demonology
for the first time. My curiosity was piqued. After this, I started researching on my own,
especially about exorcisms and demonic possession. First, it was just small Wikipedia glances,
but as time went on it grew into hours of research. Within a year, I was researching this stuff
for around three hours on weekdays (what with school and all that), and on weekends, I would
spend up to six hours dedicated to my research. By the end of it, I knew more about the Rites
of Exorcism than was healthy for any teenager to know. However, my interest was far from sated. The more I read, the more I wanted to read. What had started as curiosity had slowly morphed
into an obsession. I was being seduced by the knowledge of something
which was way beyond my comprehension. It started going bad for me when I delved
deeper into demonology, specifically, the names of demons. It was the names of certain demons that enticed
me the most, mainly those within archdemon reigns. Names of pure evil which I dare not say even
here. During those times, I noticed strange things
starting to happen. I started getting less peaceful sleep, my
mind clogged with horrific thoughts and utterly violent images that weren’t my own. It is a difficult feeling to describe, feeling
so completely drained of energy, my mind numbed, yet preoccupied. After more time passed, the intensity of my
experiences increased. Things within my room would move of their
own accord. I would heard odd sounds that nobody else
did. But, most terrifying of all, I felt as though
a great darkness followed me. The feeling of being watched was constant,
even as I slept. And I was not imagining this: I knew that
something was watching me. However, this only added to my curiosity. So, I started researching how to contact demonic
entities. You know how they say that you should never
mention the name of a demon out loud because it will grant them entrance into your life? Well, I broke that rule. Too many times. I just wanted to see what they really looked
like, instead of them lurking in the shadows. I tried contacting them, saying their names
out loud, inviting them into my life. Even at the time, I knew that this was going
too far, that I was playing with fire. But, oddly, I still wanted more. For three years, this went on. By now the feeling of being watched had intensified
to the point that not a moment passed where I was truly alone. An ever-present darkness haunted each and
every action. In hindsight, I believe they were just waiting. Not in the style of “you are not yet ready”
but like that of an apex predator ready to make their kill: they can see you, but you
cannot see them, yet you feel them watching you and waiting. They wanted to catch me when I was off guard. The first time I actually saw one of these
entities was, surprisingly enough, inside of a chapel. It was in shadow form, but, as strange as
it may be to hear, I knew it was a demonic entity. For those of you who have never encountered
such a being, it is difficult for me to explain. The best way of describing it is that you
just know. Every single cell in your body just knows
and you know you cannot deny it. I was being hunted. Even after I stopped researching, they remained. I had opened the door and invited them into
my life, and that – I learnt – is a one way door. Because of this, I constantly felt dread. Yet, I also felt utter hate, as dark thoughts
uncontrollably oppressed my mind. It was like they were trying to separate me
from who I was. I wanted it to stop, I wanted to quit, but
it was as if these beings kept forcing me to suffer because I was responsible for what
I was going through – and I knew it was true. Never did I actually speak to one of these
things. And for that, I am endlessly grateful. Eventually, with time, their grip on me began
to slacken. I met a nice girl and I established a friendship
with an ordained exorcist in my diocese. Between the two of them, the darkness began
to lift: I was able to smile again and feel happy. Ten years have passed since that time, and
the curiosity has not returned nor has the oppressive presence that once plagued me. Yet, even to this day, odd things do occasionally
still happen. There are still times when I can feel eyes
watching me. It is rare and when it happens they feel distant,
but those demonic eyes remain all the same. Watching me, waiting for something to happen. Although I cut my binds to those demons, they
do not accept it as true to an agreement once made when I was naive. I do know one thing though for sure: never
again will I try to dabble with something that possesses powers beyond any comprehension
the human mind is capable of. If anything, now I use what I know as a warning. There really are some things that are not
meant for us mortals to understand, no matter how much information there is about it. Ultimately, the unknown is best left as the
name states: unknown. When I was about 10 years of age my brother
and I lived with our great-grandparents in a house in the country. My mother rarely visited us, so each time
she did we were pleased to see her. However, her trip was coming to an end, and
she had just let us know that she would be leaving without us again. I was very depressed. I was sitting on the edge of the queen-size
bed in the master bedroom of the house, when I heard a voice. “Hello? Is there anyone there?” Thinking that it was a visitor of my mother’s
in the living room, I answer, “Yes, I’m in this room.” The voice said, “Can you help me? Can you come in front of me?” I said sure, stood up, and began to walk to
the door that connected the bedroom with the living room. To get there I had to pass by my grandmother’s
dresser. It was old and had a large dressing mirror
on top of it. As I passed by, I caught sight of something
in the corner of my eye. There was a woman in the mirror, looking at
me. Admittedly, I had been sick lately (just having
recovered from the Measles) so I wasn’t sure if it was a delusion. I asked: “Am I imagining you?” I instantly felt uneasy. The apparition had a presence of evil about
her which made me sit down on the end of the bed so that I wouldn’t fall down. I summoned up my courage, soothed by my faith
in Jesus. Since I was a church going Christian, I knew
that He would protect me from the Devil and his works. I glanced up at her again. Her hair was fashioned in such a way that
did not belong to this time. If I had to guess, I would place her in the
18th century. Everything was surreal. The woman in the mirror asked me if I believed
in ghosts. Cautious in my response to this strange figure,
I told her that I had never met one, but had read about them. Then, slightly fearful and lingering over
my words, I asked her if that was what she was. She responded by saying that she was looking
for a way to move on, as she had died nearby and was lost. Again she asked me: “Can you help me?” I don’t remember the entire conversation. However, after all these years her final statement
has stayed with me. She said that she was going to kill me. She had no choice, she said, as people who
met ghosts weren’t allowed to live to tell the tale. Panicking, I remember jumbling together a
sad story about my life. That I was miserable and neglected by my mother. That I had no friends and that no one liked
me. Parts of it were true, parts of it were not. I hoped that my plight would make her feel
sympathy and that she might spare me. I told her that she was the only person who
had talked to me in a long time. That I would like to help her and be her friend. She did not respond right away. Eventually, she told me she was going to have
to leave now, but would return again to talk with me some more another time. It was then that my mother came into the bedroom. She shooed me out as she wanted to take a
nap. I was in the living room when I heard a horrifying
scream. My mother came running out of the room, visibly
shaken. My great-grandmother asked her what was wrong. My mother answered replied: “There was a woman
in the mirror.” We all went into the bedroom together and
looked at the mirror. There was no one there. But, I knew who my mother had seen. My mother refused to sleep in that bedroom
after that, and so took my bed. Since I had lied and told her I hadn’t seen
anything, she said that I could sleep in the main bedroom. A queen-size bed, I thought, not really a
punishment. Besides, I had already made a plan. I had originally spoke with my minister on
the phone about the woman in the mirror, but he told me such things were just nonsense,
and said it was probably because of the kind of books I was reading. I knew that I would have to deal with this
myself. I spoke with the ghostly woman two more times,
giving her sob stories and mock despair each time. When the weekend came, I finally found the
time to ride my bicycle down to the local church. I filled a bottle with holy water. I took the water home and went to the mirror
where I splashed it in the shape of a cross. After that, I never saw her again. Recently, I read a book titled ‘Deliver
us from Evil’, written by a New York police sergeant and an Exorcist. In the book they documented a case of a demonic
entity appearing as a woman in the mirror of a family that they were helping. It left me wondering if they had met the same
apparition I had… About a month ago, I moved into a moderately-sized
apartment with the love of my life, Thomas, and his pre-school aged step-daughter, Daisy. The move came as a huge relief to the both
of us: we were thrilled to finally be living together. Daisy was also ecstatic to now have her own
“big girl room” where she could play and enjoy her own space. Moving can certainly be a stressful experience,
having to uproot every single belonging and haul everything multiple times, only to then
settle yourself in an unfamiliar space. So naturally, when things turned up in places
other than where I had left them, I was quick to dismiss it as “the chaos of the move”. I also attributed crankiness, short tempers,
and the general feeling of uneasiness to being in a new environment. Even after what happened during our first
night there. I had been asleep for several hours, when
– around half four in the morning – I was jolted awake by the sound of a woman gasping. It startled me so much that I instantly sat
upright, flinging the covers from myself as I wildly scanned the room. I surveyed my surroundings: bed, dresser,
and lots of boxes. Eventually, my eyes adjusted to the darkness
and I was able to see Thomas lying next to me in bed. The moment I focused on his sleeping form,
he rolled over, lifted his head, and looked at me. Only, his eyes were firmly closed. Regardless, the intensity of his eyeless stare
burned into me, as his face formed an expression of humor and snideness. The expression terrified me. Against every shaken fiber of my being, I
laid back down in attempt to lull him out of whatever dream he was in. At that point, his head snapped to the side,
our noses almost touching. He wiggled his eyebrows, as if he was going
to try to make a joke. Chillingly, still seemingly asleep, he let
out a little laugh and uttered: “How scared are you, right now?” After that, like a
spell had been broken, he fell back into rest. I couldn’t blink, or breathe, or even cry. It was all so startling, and on top of that
I was completely exhausted. At some point between 5 and 6, I finally fell
asleep. The next day, thinking about what had happened
the night before, all seemed so surreal. It couldn’t have possibly happened. I decided to attribute the whole ordeal to
a waking dream. We had so much to do, and I didn’t have time
to dwell on it. We quickly got the apartment settled over
the weekend. As Daisy would be returning from a sleepover
on Sunday evening, I wanted everything to be perfect for her when she arrived. So, I did the grocery shopping, decorated
her room into something very aesthetically pleasing for a 4 year old, and busied myself
with fine-tuning her new home. Her first night there was a rousing success:
she fell in love with the place just as her father and I had. That, I’m comfortable to say, was the biggest
sigh of relief of all. We had officially done it. The “chaos of the move” was through, and we
could resume our normality: work, school, meals, and the like. The next week was largely uneventful, with
the occasional instance of “how did this box end up in here?” and “who left that light
on?”. Menial things that nobody ever pays much attention
to. I didn’t anyway. But I certainly do now. The next weekend we hosted a party so that
my family could see our new home. The apartment was a big hit with everybody,
with the exception of my grandmother. She had walked around the house with a skeptical
eye, occasionally glancing over her shoulder, and checking in cupboards and behind doors. Although she is a very interesting lady, my
grandmother is also very eccentric, so I didn’t pay much attention to her suspicious glances. However, when we all finally sat down for
dinner, throughout the entire meal my attention was pulled away, time and time again, by my
grandmother. She sat at the end of the table, silently,
gazing with great intention at our sliding patio door. After watching her do this for several minutes,
I finally asked her what was so interesting in our garden. She acted like I had startled her out of some
kind of trance. Looking at me she said, “I keep seeing your
white cat in the reflection, you didn’t tell me you bought a new cat.” We hadn’t. I leered over the table, into the living room. Nothing. No cat. She quickly dismissed the comments as a product
of a ‘senior moment’, and our happy evening resumed. But the white cat stuck in my memory. Later that evening, after I had cleaned up
the post-party mess, I began building a fire in our living room fireplace. The three of us were due to relax. When, out of the corner of my eye, it was
there. The white cat. It was big and as fast as a shot, darting
under my table and away to the patio door. I nearly fell over trying to stand, and give
chase to the stowaway animal, but when I ran over to where he had gone, there was no sign
of any animal. Afterwards, when we had settled in for our
movie, I told Thomas that I, too, had seen the white cat. And that it had disappeared. Being skeptical of anything paranormal, he
shrugged it off with a rational explanation, suggesting that I should not dwell on a supposed
phantom cat. Relaxing, I agreed. We both chuckled at the concept and said that
a cat ghost wouldn’t be such a terrible inconvenience in our home anyway, when – suddenly – Thomas
leapt up off the couch. He scolded me, saying that there was no cat,
and there was no reason for me to be going to such lengths to scare him. I was confused to say the least. “I know that you believe in this stuff, but
I don’t. You don’t need to brush stuff against my leg
and try to get a rise out of me.” But, I had never touched him. Besides, I was sitting at least 3 feet away,
with Daisy between us. Realising that I couldn’t have touched him,
confusion washed over Thomas’ face. He quietly apologized and sat back down. The expression of shock and wondering stayed
on his face for a little while. When the movie was over, and everyone was
in bed, I had trouble finding sleep. I faded in and out of dreams of the white
cat, and dreams of a woman that looked very much like myself. The dreams were bizarre to say the least. The woman who looked like me would laugh and
howl, then scrape dirt up out of the ground and stuff it into her face. Each time that she did, I would choke and
spit and gasp for air. But not her. She would just howl and laugh and scoop up
another handful of dirt. Needless to say, I did not sleep well. The next morning, Thomas was on shift to get
Daisy out of bed. As he did, I dozed, sleepily listening to
them moving around the house. I had faded back into light sleep when I was
awoken by hurried footsteps coming up the hall. Thomas grabbed my shoulder, and shook it gently,
asking: “How did you do that? How did you?” I was confused and tired. Sitting up, I asked him to explain what had
happened. This is what he told me: He had been helping Daisy pull her pajamas
down so she could use the bathroom when she had pointed out the door and said: “There
goes Lovie! Good morning, Lovie!” Lovie was a pet name that she’s always had
for me. When Thomas looked out the door and saw nothing,
he had replied: “Where is Lovie? She isn’t there.” Yet, Daisy had pointed her finger out the
door and insisted, “YES DADDY, SHE’S RIGHT THERE!” It was then that Thomas saw ‘me’ walking
through the living room into the kitchen. Messy hair, sweatpants, sleepy shuffle…. Whatever this thing was, it was a carbon copy
of me. Thomas went on to explain that he and Daisy
had gone into the living room to follow ‘me’. “Lovie is hiding in the kitchen,” Thomas
had said, “she’s gonna pop out and scare us!” Thinking it was a game, Daisy had took off
back to her room. Thomas had snuck around to the kitchen threshhold,
as this was the only place where someone could conceal themselves from sight. Yet, when he looked inside, ‘I’ had not
been there. Only, it hadn’t been ‘me’ in the first
place. As I had been dozing in bed the entire time. It took about 10 minutes of me swearing up
and down that I had been in bed the whole time before Thomas realized that I was telling
the truth. I hadn’t teleported out of there, I was never
there to begin with. Whatever he and Daisy saw wasn’t me. I instantly thought of the dreams that had
plagued me that night. Of the woman who looked just like me, the
howling woman. Just thinking about this made my stomach sink. After this, I thought that there was something
wrong with our apartment. Yet, within just a few days I knew I was proven
wrong. Whatever was happening wasn’t confined to
the apartment anymore. As I sat at my desk late one afternoon, wrapping
up the day’s activities, I heard the front door to the office open and my managers hurry
inside. This wasn’t at all odd for me: midwestern
November weather is, if nothing else, windy and unpleasant. Yet, when they stepped into the area in front
of my cubicle, I knew something was wrong. When I saw the expression on their faces,
I was taken back to Thomas’ face the previous weekend: confusion and fear. They both started to speak to me all at once,
loud and agitated. I was starting to worry. What had happened? Did they see a car accident on their smoke
break? Was somebody hurt? Finally, one of my managers, Kelly, was able
to articulate her thoughts: “Where did you come in? What are you doing?” She was not asking, she was demanding – shock
painted across her face. When my answers did not satisfy her (I hadn’t
been outside for hours) her demeanor changed from confusion to anger. “Do not lie to me! You’re not funny. How the Hell did you get in here so quickly?” At that moment, the cold, sinking feeling
from the weekend before returned to my stomach. I hadn’t been outside. After a coworker verified this, my managers
finally stopped shouting at me. The realisation hit that there was no joke
or lie being played out. My other manager, Mary, explained that she
and Kelly had seen ‘me’ absent mindedly pacing through the parking lot outside. ‘I’ was faced away from them, with ‘my’
hands folded up in a praying position under my chin. This is a particular quirk of mine, I’ll often
weave my fingers together and rest my chin on my hands. It’s something I’ve always done it. Yet, once again, whatever they saw outside
wasn’t ‘me’. Kelly and Mary continued to provide precise
details of this thing outside. Not only did it mimic my hand movements, but
it also walked like me, copying my absent-minded habit of stretching my legs by rolling from
my heel to my toe to come up on top my tiptoes. It was even dressed in the same hiking boots,
leggings and college basketball sweater that I was wearing. Every detail matched perfectly, except for
one. Throughout this whole conversation, Kelly
kept returning to the same thing, the reason why she thought ‘I’ had been trying to
scare them. As this thing paced the parking lot, mimicking
me in every way, it made noises like a cat. As the reality set in that whatever had been
seen outside wasn’t actually me, nobody knew how to react. There was no panic. Instead, two very calmly voiced questions
hung in the air: First, if it wasn’t me, then what was it? And, secondly, is it still out there? I poked my head out the door and scanned the
parking lot before slowly walked outside into the bitter wind. As I approached my car, I prayed that this
thing was long gone. I couldn’t begin to imagine running into
it, mirroring my image, dressed up as me. When I was safely inside of the car, my phone
rang. It was Thomas. He had arrived at the apartment about 10 minutes
beforehand and, as he explained it to me, every ceiling light that he tried to turn
on had popped a light bulb. Three in total. When he had returned to the kitchen for new
bulbs, he had suddenly heard sprinting feet approach him. Not hurried steps or even a hustle, but the
loud steps of somebody charging you with a purpose. His military training took over, and at the
prospect of having a violent intruder in the house, he grabbed a ceramic knife from the
counter. Yet, when he had ducked and turned to face
the assailant, there was nobody there. There was nobody in the kitchen. There was nobody in the apartment. In fact, there was not even anybody in the
complex hall or out the main door. After I told him about the happenings at work,
the only response that he could muster was: “Let’s get out of the house tonight. Let’s go see our parents, or your grandma. Let’s get out of the house.” That was an idea I got behind. When I arrived home he met me at the garden
gate with a collection of belongings. I never set foot inside. We thought that being at someone else’s
home would give us a small reprieve. However, that thought was short lived. At Thomas’ mother’s house, a closet door
opened, and then shut, seemingly of its own volition. Also, a foul smell seeped into the house,
almost as soon as we set foot through the door. I’ve seen enough horror movies to draw conclusions
from these events: we decided that we ought not stay for too long. Thomas’ mother shared in our confusion and
fear. Ultimately unable to help, she hugged us goodbye. As we drove away, I looked on as every window
of her house lit up, as every source of light in the building was switched on. Grandmother’s house wasn’t much better. As we walked in her door, yet another light
bulb exploded, not two feet from Thomas’ head. We both rushed inside, thinking we could leave
the presence out on the porch if we closed the door quickly enough. Having seen the white cat at the housewarming
party, my grandmother was concerned. She placed her hands on my shoulder and told
me that I needed to cleanse the house. She gave us a couple of white candles and
instructed us to both leave our Bibles open where the bulk of the activity was happening. Yet, as much as I clung to those white candles,
they did nothing to relieve the situation. Neither did the advice from an old friend
of mine, who has experience with spirit communications. Strange things still happen in my house. And, I am still haunted by my doppelganger. This thing seems to take delight in following
us everywhere, and scaring not only us, but everyone we come into contact with. I do not know what it is, I can only describe
it as some kind or dark presence. It’s intentions are far from pleasant. It terrifies me, and I feel unwelcome in my
own home. Like I am being forced out. Whatever is in my apartment doesn’t plan on
leaving anytime soon. Thank you for watching. If you enjoyed this, please like and subscribe
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