On the Trains

My name is Andrew Erics. I lived, once, in a city called New York. My mother is Terrie Erics. She's in the phone book. If you know the city, and you read this, find her. Don't show her this, but tell her I love her and that I'm trying to come home. Please.

It all started when I decided, around the time that I turned twenty-five, that it was time for me to give up taking my backpack in to work. It would make me look more mature, I thought, if I weren't lugging around a book bag everywhere like a high school student. Of course, this meant that I had to give up reading in the subway in the mornings and afternoons, since I couldn't quite fit my paperbacks into a pocket. A briefcase would have been out of line, since I was working in a factory, and messenger bags always seemed a little, I don't know, fruity to me. They were too purse-like for my liking.

I had an MP3 player, which helped pass the time for a while, but when it broke - it would shut down at the end of every song if I didn't skip to the next track manually - I gave that up too. So, every morning, I'd sit in the metro for a half-hour that dragged on endlessly, with nothing at all to do but watch my fellow passengers. I was slightly shy, so I didn't like to be caught at it, so I'd surreptitiously watch people. Interestingly enough, I quickly discovered that i wasn't the only person in the world who was uncomfortable in public. People covered it up in various ways, but I learned to see through them. I divided them up into categories in my head.

There were the fidgeters, who couldn't get comfortable, constantly moving their hands, shifting their wieght, moving their legs closer to the bench, then further. They were the most noticeably nervous types. After them were the fake-sleepers, who'd take their seat and practically close their eyes in the same second. Most of them weren't really sleeping, though. The real sleepers shifted more, came awake suddenly at stops or after loud noises. The fakes just zoned from the second they sat until the moment the train pulled into their stop. Then there were the MP3 Player addicts, the occasional laptop people, and the people who traveled in groups and talked to loudly. The cell phone junkies were either very popular or just completely unable to shut up for more than two minutes at a time.

Just as people-watching was threatening to get unbearably boring, I found my first incongruity: a middle-aged looking man, brown-haired, average size and weight, and dressed casually. Oddly enough, he seemed almost too normal. He had no remarkable features, no mannerisms, as if he were designed to fade into a crowd. It was that which led me to notice him; I was intentionally trying to see how people acted on the subway, and he didn't act at all. He didn't even react, either. It was like seeing someone sitting in front of the television, watching a documentary about fish. They aren't excited, aren't engaged, but they aren't looking away, either. Present, but not accounted for.

He was on the subway in the afternoons. It was more than a month into the people-watching experiment before he caught my eye, because I didn't catch the same subway everyday, and didn't consciously sit in the same car when I did. I saw him for the first time on a Monday, I believe, and for the second time on the Thursday of the same week. He obviously did catch the same train and sat in the same car - in the same seat, even. 'OCD, much?' I thought at the time. Since he'd caught my attention so much the first time, I watched him more avidly the next. He was, frankly, downright unsettling. He didn't do anything at all. He sat there, expressionless, head straight, no matter what happened. A woman with a wailing child entered the car and sat right behind him, and still nothing. He didn't so much as turn his head or frown in annoyance...and that kid was fucking loud, too.

By the time the subway reached my stop, I found myself queasy, and when I exited the car my hands were shaking like I was having a nicotine fit. Something about that man was *wrong*. He was, I thought, some kind of freak. He was, maybe, a sociopath - one of those quiet guys who it turns out has a dozen women's heads in his freezer, the first victim his mother.

I found myself intentionally dawdling after work in the afternoons, stopping to browse in kiosks in the mall near the subway even when I didn't intend on buying anything. For a couple of weeks, I avoided catching that subway, and when I found myself at the stop when it was pulling in, I made sure to choose a train-car as far from the one I'd seen him in as possible. Then, one morning, I saw another person who set off the same warning bells in my head. It was a woman, just as plain-looking, just as out of place in the hustle and commotion around her. The moment I recognized her, I realized later, was when my obsession began.

My people-watching, which had began as a hobby to stave off boredom, became something of a religion to me. I couldn't enter a subway or ride a bus without finding myself examining everyone, filling out a mental checklist in my head. Plan clothes of solid colors and no brands? Check. No expressions or casual glances out the window or towards other passengers? Check. No bags, purses, or accessories? Check. Check, check, check, we've got another. I started calling them the Strangers.

I didn't see them everyday, even after I started taking the metro more than I needed to, even when I found myself riding buses out of my way in the evenings. But they were there, often enough. Seeing one would set my teeth on edge, make my palms sweaty and my throat feel dry. If you've ever given a speech, you might recognize the feeling. Even though they didn't pay me the slightest bit of attention, I felt like I was on display for them. I could see them, plain as day. How could they miss me?

They didn't, though; not in any way that I could tell. When, eventually, my curiosity overpowered my fear, I decided to follow one. I chose the one that I'd found first, the man in the afternoon subway who always kept the same seat. I got on and took a seat behind him. We rode to the end of the line, and he rose and walked out before I did. Keeping a distance between us, I tailed him, but he didn't go far. He took a seat on a nearby bench, as expressionless as always, and I turned a corner and waited, trying to look nonchalant. After a few minutes, the next metro arrived and I watched him enter it and take the same seat. I couldn't find the nerve the follow him again.

He hadn't gone anywhere! He just rode the metro to the end of the line, and then what? Rode it back? What possible reason would he - would anyone - have for that? It nagged at me, long after I rode a later train back home and tried to get some rest. I couldn't leave it alone, not until I could make some sense of it. I found myself for than confused; I was downright angry, now. Why was this uncanny bastard, this almost inhuman person, riding subway trains back and forth, going nowhere? The mind, I once read, recoils from certain things, because the very sight of them is an affront. Spiders set it off in a lot of people, particularly great big ones. They just look wrong to us - alien. That was the effect the Strangers were beginning to have on me. They offended my senses.

I followed him again the next day and again the day after that. Every day, for at least a week, the two of us made our silent trips together, though only I knew it. By the end of the week, I was following him for hours until the last train that stopped at near my apartment block that night. We rode from one end of the city to the other then back again. I wasn't people-watching any longer. I was person-watching - Stranger-watching. I didn't have eyes for anyone else, though peripherally I noticed more than a few confused glances sent my way. Other than that, we two might have been the only two people on the planet, for all I cared.

I lost my job the next week. My manager was kind and timid, but firm. I wasn't concentrating; I had no focus. I wasn't being anywhere near productive. It was actually quite a speech, I think, but I could barely hear it. All I could think about was my new work, my vigil. What would that man - no, that thing - on the subway get up to when I wasn't there to keep an eye on him? I left work for the last time at noon that day. Normally, I'd have started tailing my subject at five-thirty, but I was sure that he'd be waiting for me. I wish, now, that I'd paid more attention to that day. Was it sunny? It was summer, after all. I could have walked across downtown, maybe checked out a few pretty girls. I could have had an ice cappuccino and a smoke at an outdoor cafe and then gone home, putting my growing obsession out of my head. I could have found a new job and taken to reading on trains and buses again.

Instead, I waited. More than one train goes up and down the lines, so I sat in the station for at least an hour until I saw him through a window. I walked into the subway car and noticed for the first time my skin wasn't clammy, my hands weren't shaking, and my heart wasn't pounding hard. I sat, for the first time, right across from him, directly in his line of sight. I watched for a change in his face. Would he recognize me? If he did, I saw no sign of it, and I was looking hard. We must have made quite a pair, sitting across from one another that afternoon, staring at and into one another. It was hard not to let the building-in rage in me contort my face, but with effort I was able to keep as still and as expressionless as him. Inside, I practically screamed at him. React to me, you fucking asshole! See me, damn it. I know you for what you are!

I didn't, though, and my silent demands weren't answered - not the first trip around, or the second, or the third or tenth. We rode far into the night together, and at each terminus we got out together and waited. I sat right beside him on the bench, watching him from the corner of my eye, and still got nothing from him. But two could play that game as well as one.

The next terminus I came to, I decided to try and find something to eat or drink. I don't know why I waited, but it seemed to important to ride to the end of the line. I got there and could barely bring myself to leave. I'd never seen the Stranger leave the underground; I'd never seen him eat or drink either. My stomach would not take no for an answer, though. I steeled myself and tried to keep my face carefully neutral, and made my way out into the station proper...and then I got confused.

I was looking for escalators or stairs or something like that, but all I saw were holes in the ground, the walls, and the ceiling. They were gaping, irregularly-sized holes, like I was in the middle of a beehive. What was I supposed to do? Leap into one? It didn't make any sense to me, not until someone came through one. He floated up through the floor and then floated by me. He frowned for a second, or at least I think it was probably a frown, but apparently whatever kept them from recognizing me as an alien in the subway extended at least this far. It did not, unfortunately, allow me to levitate, which seemed to be the only way out of the subway station beehive thing. Swearing, I made my way back down to the tunnel.

I was angry, lost, starving, and I'd been abandoned to a fate that, if it wasn't worse than hell, was at least twice as stupid and three times as nonsensical. I was not in the best frame of mind, which I feel excuses the mistake. Normally, I take corners with a wide berth, because everyone knows that if you just dart around a corner sharply in a public place, chances are decent that you're going to walk right into someone...as I did. I slammed into someone, a woman, and fell to the ground. Without thinking, I reacted like any New Yorker would - badly. "Jesus, fuck, you stupid bitch! Watch where you're going!"

I realized my mistake even before she did. Her eyes grew quizzical and confused, and when she really noticed me, they bulged with horror. She jumped - well, floated quickly - back from me and let out something scream-like. It was a little more yowly than I was used to, but I got the point. Further down the tunnel, I saw alien, three-eyed heads turning towards us. I thought, suddenly, about all those sharp, filthy teeth, and just like that I was running.

The subway train wasn't there, but there was a walkway along the tunnel - for the repairmen, I assume. That's who'd use it where I'm from, anyways. I took it at full-speed and just kept running until each breath felt like getting stabbed. I stopped, panting, and looked back. The tunnel had curved, so I couldn't see the light any longer, but nobody appeared to be following me. Going back, though, was not an option.

I continued forward in the dark for a long time. Eventually I came to a small opening in the wall and stopped there for a rest. Hunger, despair, and a full-speed terrified run had all left me absolutely drained. I probably would have wept again, which seemed to be all I was capable of lately, but it just seemed like too much work. I say against the wall, legs splayed out, and imagined I was beating that bastard Stranger to death with a hammer. It was a relieving image.

A rat was shuffling around nearby in the dark. Every so often, I would kick out a foot to scare it away, but after a time I didn't even bother with that. Rabies or any other disease it might be carrying would be a blessing compared to endless traveling through the subways of strange worlds lost, destitute, and alone. When it crept near me again, I didn't shoo it off. Even when it reached and pressed against my leg, I couldn't bring myself to care. I didn't, not until a train passed by and the lights lit up the culvert I was in, as well as the thing I had thought was a rat.

It was ratlike, yes, but not as much as it was spider-like. If someone had bread the two of them together, the resulting abomination might have been almost as horrible as the thing nuzzling my leg. I shrieked, flung myself up from the floor, and booted it like a soccer player would: right into the opposite wall. Its back made a sickening crunch and I watched it twitch out its last before the final car passed and the darkness returned.

In the darkness, a terrible thought came to me: I wondered if it was edible. I didn't want to, and I gagged just imagining it, but I was hungry and there was no guarantee that I'd be able to find food in this place, or ever again. Rat-spider was my only option. I held off as long as I could, but in the end survival trumped squeamishness. I had my lighter, but nothing to light on fire. I picked meat off its carcass and cooked it a little by holding it over the flame, but it didn't help much. Nothing could have. Its meat was foul, more foul than anything you can imagine. I've been that desperate for food since, and eaten many other questionable things, but nothing has ever been as bad as the rat-spider was.

In retrospect, that is, when I became a Stranger before, I'd struggled to reach that expressionless state the other had maintained. What I'd taken for calm was numbness. A sharp rock thrown in a river will, over time, have its edges rounded off by the water beating on it, and what I'd gone through had done the same. Tearing up and eating a monster in the dark, below an alien world, the last of my edges smoothed. By the time I'd left the darkness and came back into the tunnel, I was as expressionless and empty as the one who'd led me here had ever been.

That was not the worst of it, though. The worst came later, the first time I got stuck. The Stranger had mentioned it, but in the state I'd been in I had hardly noticed. One night, at the end of the line, I was asked to leave the train. The world was one of the closer-to-normal ones. The people were almost human, as I recognized it. They were orange, sure, and hunch-backed, but other than that, they were practically normal. After the last world, where the people had been hideously overweight, six-breasted hermaphrodites with no noses, the orange guys were pretty much normal to me.

I thought, at first, that the conductor was talking to someone else, but I was the only one in the car. And moreover, I'd understood him. The Oranges certainly hadn't been speaking English all day, but nonetheless, I could understand what he was saying. When I stood, I began to realize why. I couldn't stand up straight. I was hunch-backed, and as I saw my reflection against the window as I exited, orange. I pieced together the rest from there. Stuck meant that I was trapped in this world, for some reason, and stuck looking like them as well. That would be handy if I wanted to take the opportunity to leave the subway station - which is possible most times, but requires a lot of care and is quite overwhelming. Alien worlds are a little revolting, I've found. You try to compare them to your own, but the differences are so vast that it just makes you sick.

I left that subway, anyways, because it was clear I wasn't returning to the central hub (what I'd taken to calling the infinite line of subway trains) that night. Or any other night, I soon found out. Whatever had let me go unnoticed wasn't working any longer. I considered, briefly, staying. But this place wasn't home, and could never be. Even if they looked like me, their culture was bound to be different. That was a lesson I'd learned before. Even worlds where the people are absolutely indistinguishable from me are fraught with danger. I was once on a world where the people looked just like me - well, actually they looked Brazilian, but that was more than close enough - and learned the hard way that the gesture that to me means "hello" meant something gravely insulting; it was insulting enough that I'd been beaten half to death while a crowd looked on with approval.

Besides, even if that place had a culture I could fake, I didn't want to stay. I wanted one of two things: to find my way home or to find the Stranger who'd set me on this path and beat the shit out of him. Nothing else would do.

So, I wanted to move on. I wasn't sure, though, if I could do to some poor sucker what had been done to me. Could I really force someone else to wander the eternal underground like me? It turned out I didn't have to. After a few months, one of them did notice me, yes, and began to follow me for weeks. I very carefully made it seem like i hadn't seen him, just like the Stranger had to me. I was torn between the desire to warn him away and the desire to bring him to the end of the line so I could leave his dismal world already.

The last night, he followed me to the end of the line, just as I had once done. He hadn't managed to work up the nerve to sit right across from me, though. As soon as the train stopped at the terminus, he rushed off. I waited, hoping the conductor wouldn't see me and I could continue on, but to no avail. I left the car and the metro rushed off without me, and I cursed inside. As I walked around the corner towards the ticket booths, the young man who'd been following me attacked. He had a wicked, curved knife, and should have caught me by surprise, but I'd been traveling through hostile alien worlds for several years. My reflexes were sharp.

We struggled, viciously, before I managed to wrestle the knife from him. I don't know how it got in his neck. I don't think I wanted to kill him. I hadn't even been that angry, remembering my own building rage from so long before. Afterward, as he lay there, bled-out, I got pissed. I kicked him repeatedly, shouting, "You dick! You were supposed!" Kick kick. "To follow me!" Kick. I fled the scene of the crime, but not for long. I was there bright and early the next day, to catch the first subway of the morning. And that night, when I rode it to the end of the line, I was invisible to the conductor again. I guess you can either kill them or bring them with you if you want to return to the central hub.

I was invisible again, but I was also orange and hunchbacked still. I stayed that way until the next time I became stuck. The next time I killed. That one went much faster. I didn't wait for her to follow me. Once I was recognized as a Stranger, I recognized her as the next one, and I made my choice. I won't bring anyone else into this.

It makes me wonder, though, about the Stranger who inducted me. I wonder what he originally looked like, and whether he knew he could have killed me. I wonder, too, about the others I saw back home, and the rare few I come across since I left. Do they kill them or take them? And whichever one they choose, do they consider it a mercy? I can't bring myself to talk to them, to ask. We're damned either way, and the damned should suffer in solitude.

I've killed fifteen of them now, and I've gotten very good at it. I've made a decision. I'm done killing - innocents, at least. Before I returned to the central hub, I filled a backpack with as much paper as I could cram into it, and I wrote this story. Over and over again, to be left in as many subway trains as I can. A couple thousand messages in bottles, cast into a sea of steel rails. This is a request and a warning.

My request, above, was that you find my mother and tell her a lie. It's a white lie, don't worry. Tell my mother that I love her and that I am trying to come home. It may give her some hope, or a small measure of peace. I wish it were true, too. Here's the thing. I've been thinking of myself as like Odysseus, lost and adrift, looking to return to familiar shores, but I am not lost at sea. I am lost in endless tunnels - the labyrinth. The difference is important because labyrinths are designed, built.

Somebody or something made this impossible place, and they must be held accountable for what they've done to me. They cast me as Theseus, not Odysseus, but I won't play that part any longer, either. The strange rules of this place have turned me from the human I began into something else, then something else again. They have made me a monster, and so I will be the Minotaur of this labyrinth. If I can, I will tear it down around me and destroy those that built it.

My warning is that you should be very wary, in public places, of silent, expressionless men and women. Keep your distance. They may kill you, or they may do worse. If you see them, run far and fast. Even more importantly, I warn you, I beg you: don't ride the train to the end of the line.

Jadusable's ARG is Back!

Decided to post this on a new post, since the Majora post was getting way too long to handle.

The ARG that Jadusable started is back in full swing. There aren't any Moon Children this time around; instead, there's this guy called Ryukaki being forced to run the course. (Youtube | DeviantART (Inactive since '07) | Photobucket (Passworded since 10/8) | Mediafire)

Ryukaki has already posted a handful of videos onto his Youtube account, all of which are directly related to the ARG and are slightly disturbing in nature. Of note, there is sounds.wmv - which is mostly uneventful until two eye-like orbs are seen - and music.wmv - a detailing of the strange phone calls that many users got from posting their phone number on youshouldnthavedonethat.net while it was the Moon Children website.

It's really confusing from here on out, guys... I'd just stay out of it and keep track of things here if I were you.

Day of the Edd ALTERNATE ENDING

(IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THE FINAL PART OF DAY OF THE EDD, PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS!)

Edd was about to make the first cut on Kevin when he heard the door at the top of the stairs open.

He looked up to see Johnny standing in the doorway, dressed in his stupid hero costume while holding the piece of wood that was his best friend. "Johnny, I almost forgot about you," Edd mused. He hadn't, really. Johnny was the one he hadn't had a plan for. How could he? The boy's mental state was questionable, but he wasn't worried - not then, not now.

Johnny threw 'Plank' down the stairs at him. Edd casually ducked the piece of wood and laughed. "Johnny, com-" He gasped in brief pain and looked up Johnny. The boy was pointing his own weapon at him. He looked down and saw three darts lodged in his stomach and legs. He collapsed to the floor as Johnny slowly descended down the stairs.

He hadn't seen that coming.

Edd looked up at Johnny and felt, for the first time since he began, fear creep into his chest. He oddly took the time to appreciate how well his poison had worked.

Johnny knelt before him and smiled. "Heya, Double Dee," he said in his cheery voice....but something was different.

"Johnny, how did you-" Edd began.

"It wasn't me, Double Dee. It was Plank," He said gleefully. "You ruined his fun. Plank had plans for everybody, but he says it's okay now. He says we can just use you instead."

"What are you talking about, Johnny?" Edd asked; he was panicking slightly now. He hadn't planned on facing the consequences of his actions.

"You ruined his plan; you ruined the game he had planned. Plank isn't happy." He grabbed the piece of wood and held it in front of Edd's face.

"Plank's really smart, too, Double Dee. He's really, really smart." Johnny propped Plank up against the wall. "Like this, pal? Can you see him?" He paused and appeared to be listening to someone.

He nodded, his smile as sickening as ever.

"He says Jimmy and Kevin can play, too, but he wants you first."

Johnny picked up the knife Edd had just been holding and stood over him.

"Let's play."

(Read Part I | Part II | Part III)

Haunted Baby Doll

AUCTION ONE

I'm sure it’s happened to us all at least once or twice. You are walking around the flea market or antique mall looking for a treasure or two, and you come upon a beat up looking doll. You think to yourself, "oh that’s charming", or "the child who owned that doll must have really loved this thing"... but what I thought after seeing the doll that is offered today, should never, ever, be repeated...

This doll was purchased in a small dirt lot flea market in the quaint town of Webster, Florida. Webster is a very charming, industrious town about 60 miles south west of Gainesville. They have a weekly flea market offering, treasures, bargains, and aisles of kernel corn,...anyways I digress...

I had arrived at the flea market fairly late in the day, when most people were packing up to go home. That is when I saw an elderly man placing the doll in a box. It looked interesting, so I asked the man if I could see it... the conversation went something like this..

Man: you don’t want to see this doll

Me: sure I do, what do you want for it?

Man: well, that’s a good question, because it’s very old... (the man looked like he was going to begin to cry) ... it was my son's, I bought it for him when he was born, and he passed away a few years after...this doll has sat in my work shed for over 60 years. I wasn’t going to bring it out today, but I figured I just needed to get it out of there...anyways, I want 20 bucks for it.

I gave the guy 20 bucks, put it in a bag, and walked away. When I was half way down the aisle, the man came running over, visibly out of breath...

Man: I have to warn you about something, I can't just let you take him like this...the reason it has been in my shed, is that the doll brought an eerie presence into our house after our son died...we would hear crying and singing from his bedroom...when we went to check it out, there was nothing, just the doll.. other things started to happen, and the priest told me I should burn the doll, I tried and tried, but it would barely burn, that’s why his arms and head and legs are so worn.. anyways I just wanted to let you know...

I told him okay, and chuckled to myself as I walked away... that was until I got home, and my life has never been the same...

Two days later my cat died, my girlfriend left me for the pool guy, I began to have chronic migraines, and this is only 2 days after purchasing the doll! A week later I began to hear a children laughing and crying in my basement...Every time I would go to check it out, of course, nothing...

This doll has been in an armadillo coffin, in my basement for the last year and half, and I need to get rid of it... I really do believe its cursed, sometimes I touch it, and it seems like it has a pulse, maybe I'm just paranoid, maybe not... The cursed doll measures 21" tall. His/her/its head, arms, and legs are all composition. The eyes are closed when it’s lying down.

Please ask any and all questions before you bid on this doll. I have not had it out of the coffin for years, so if anything else happens this week I will be sure to let you know. This auction is sold as is! WITH NO RETURNS! PLEASE!

Winner pays exact shipping and optional insurance. Check out my other auctions for more vintage collectibles and other fine antiques. Ask all questions before you bid. Even if you think you are sure about condition, pictures, etc, please ask all SPECIFIC questions, BEFORE BIDDING. Thanks for looking and Good Luck!

I have been receiving numerous emails about the validity of this story. I have also been receiving emails about a demon or devil appearing in some of the photos. THE DEVIL WAS NOT THERE, when I took the photos of the doll.

Also, I have been hearing the faint sounds of a child crying at night. I can also smell soiled pampers in the living room, and I may have saw the doll levitate and inch the other morning. Again, Doll is sold as-is!!!

Needless to say, I had the most restless sleep in my life last night. I went to bed at 11 pm, and woke up every hour, on the hour, until 10 am this morning. There were multiple times in the night when I felt heavy breathing and whispering in my ear. At about 3:00 am, I was awoken by what felt to be a cold hand touching the side of my head. I instantly woke up, and heard footsteps running across the room. I looked to find the doll. It was lying face down on the couch. When I went to bed it was lying face up!

Please bless your house if you intended to purchase this doll. Even if you have looked at the auction more then once, you may have already allowed an evil spirit into your home. The doll is a lot more powerful than one might think. I have tried to erase the photos from the server, but an error message comes up every time I try.

Please do not look into the dolls eyes for more then 30 seconds. Please, I am sorry.

I know a lot of you have been keeping track of this auction. You may of thought, "oh, maybe some of this is real" or "this can't be true." Well tonight I have decided to set up my video camera and in the morning we should have footage of the doll. I am also hoping to capture some of the children's laughing (even though in the past few days all I have been hearing is screaming). Some parts of this story may not seem believable, but the doll and the curse seem very real to me.

AUCTION TWO

It’s been over 2 weeks and I am still receiving emails daily about this cursed doll.

My life, needless to say, has been fairly hectic. I made an emergency trip to Florida after becoming violently ill after the auction ended. High fever, stomach pains, painful coughs, etc... I was interviewed by the Long Island Press. (Some people are actually taking this story serious, amiss all the skeptics)

I have also been doing research on ghosts, hauntings, cursed antiques, and other paranormal activity. (Oddly enough there have been more supposedly "haunted" dolls on eBay...some convincing, and some completely absurd!)

When in Florida this past week, I was able to make it to the Webster flea market to see if I could find any more information about the doll or the original owner.

I wasn’t able to find the gentleman who sold me the doll, but I did find someone who had said he knew the man, and was a long time friend of the family. (He was also sure to tell me that the man, had passed away some years before..?)

The man, his name was Walter, told me that gentleman who's name was Harry, did in fact have a son that had passed away only after a year or two of being born. He also told me that the son was severely disfigured. Walter wouldn’t go much further then that, as he began to tremble and sweat profusely.

The winner of the original auction has an unrecognizable email, and the phone number I got through eBay is not a working number. I am guessing the winner was either too scared, or maybe even cursed by the doll. Either way they received negative feedback, since this doll has been tormenting me for too long. (If anyone thinks I am "making this up" can email me for more details.)

Before the last auction ended, I had set up my video camera in the middle of the night. I put the camera on a bench and used the built in "night vision" feature as my only light. I wasn’t able to add the video footage that I took of the doll originally, since the auction had less then 12 hours left.

I want to thank everyone who has contacted me and offered me advice about the doll. I would really like to get this doll to someone who could research it, or contain it. It needs to be either locked away in a controlled environment, or destroyed.(Although so far, that seems to be impossible).

Again, the cursed doll measures 21" tall. His/her/its head, arms, and legs are all composition. The eyes are closed when it’s lying down.

Please ask any and all questions before you bid on this doll. As you can see I am a very serious eBay power-seller, I sell high-end antiques and collectibles. This doll has affected my business tremendously, it has made me severely depressed and I haven’t been physically able to list anything in the past two weeks because of my sickness, and how weak I have been. This auction is sold as is! WITH NO RETURNS! PLEASE!

Winner pays exact shipping and optional insurance. Check out my other auctions for more vintage collectibles and other fine antiques. Ask all questions before you bid. Even if you think you are sure about condition, pictures, etc, please ask all SPECIFIC questions, BEFORE BIDDING. Thanks and God bless!

The past few days have been pretty quiet actually. I know a lot of people have been checking in to see if any "strange" or "weird" things have been happening. Its not like the doll is running around and trying to kill me, you would just have to live with this thing, to really "get it". In case you are wondering, this IS the doll that was discussed on 'Coast to Coast AM', with George Noory. I was not able to hear the show, but this is the doll.

I thought about bringing the doll to the local church, but I am scared to touch the doll or bring it into the presence of the most holy. I have thought about getting an iron ore safe, to transport, the baby doll I have named "Haunted Harold" A lot of people have been asking about the armadillo coffin that I had Harold in. After he leaves, I will be offering the coffin on eBay, so please keep looking. I warned people last time, but again, please do not look directly into the dolls eyes, some have said, eyes are the window of the soul...well some souls are very very black indeed...

Sorry, about the big block of text above, I forgot HTML 101.

God Bless

I am not sure how true this is, but someone emailed this to me. I guess when the first auction was up, the FBI? performed an X-Ray of the doll. Truth be told, I guess they found that a human baby was inside the doll!

Also, after awaking this morning to strange sounds outside of the window, I received a very disturbing email from an ebay user.

It looks like not only did I have the unfortunate luck of purchasing a haunted doll. I guess it has turned me into an "evil doer." In so much, that after the doll leaves my possession, I guess I am going to still have some very bad luck. Here is the email in its entirety: (the text of the email is in red)

"You will receive due punishement from the gods. I'll be there to judge you at cremation day. You are an evil doer. I can see it in your writing. Last night I talked to the lord of the lords. When you go to bed (your couch) look around you, look to the ceiling and you'll see what somebody is about to put on you. Something will come from a light bulb and will wrap around you. I see green and red. That might be the color of the thing coming to wrap you. Turn off the light, avoid looking at the guitar, and do not close your eyes or things will get bery bery bad for you. Sleep with a cross near you or you will not see daylight anymore.

Soon will start the dance of the spirits and you are the main sacrifice host. I know all about you because I feel you. I'm not a pizza girl, I'm the spirit of my god, the lord of the lord. I can read your words before you saying them and I can see a dialogue between you and the lord of the lords about to happen soon. About to happen in your own bedroom right after you ship that doll greg. I recomend you to keep it and bury it 5 feet underground or your evil ad talk will turn against you.

I see the following:

Lord: You have been evil and naughty Greg! Greg: Please, please lord of the lords, please don't kill me... Please don't kill me lord (begging). I'm scared Lord. I'm scared, please. (sick crying)

Lord: Silence pecador!

Greg: Well, you better pull the trigger, because I don't give a f-! (now singing) I'm reeeeadyyy, ready for the big ride baaaaabyyyyy!!!

Lord: Silence pecador!

Flesh burning..."

Any suggestions or comments about the eBay users "vision" would be greatly appreciated.

People have been asking me why I canceled the bids and re-listed the auction:

THIS IS SIMPLE...this morning after getting that very weird email, I decided to post it, without realizing the F- word was in it. In fear of eBay canceling the auction, I had to re-list the auction so I could take the word out. The auction is exactly the same. It even ends the same day as the original auction. The first bidder, did not pay me, or even contact me. Obviously by canceling the bids, it gives people a chance to bid again. So...good luck, and keep the questions and suggestions coming.

OK...this is bizarre, (if everything else hasn't been weird enough)... Someone pointed this to me earlier this afternoon, but hadn't been able to post about it now. Here is basically what someone emailed me...

"Hi, I have been watching your auction . Am I seeing things ? In one of the pictures the baby's eye is white clouded and I see a face in it . DO you see it?"

I didn't see it, then..OMG!!! So..I zoomed into the photo, and here is what I saw... All I can say is wow, any ideas?

Well I think now that its pretty obvious that the FBI X-raying the baby article is a fake. Whoever made the gif, has added their own little hidden message.

Thanks for all of the advice and suggestions. Someone recently emailed me saying that there daughter has seen the doll wink and laugh at her. Anyone with kids see anything like this? I know that they are supposed to be more in touch with the spirit world.

Wow. Well this whirlwind of an auction is finally coming to a close (well hopefully, it looks like the curse of 'Haunted Harold" has surpassed, even the wildest of the bizarre occurrences or dreams (but that is another story completely) I have been getting some very interesting emails. Many from people who are psychics, and have claimed to have studied the supernatural, and occult phenomenon for a good part of their life. A few people have said they definitely feel a spirit attached to this doll. They say it’s a "male" spirit and it is very angry. They have instructed me to bury the doll, or try to destroy the doll.

I still would rather get this doll into the hands of someone who can control it, or study it. I have had it for too long, and just want it out of my possession. At the same time, I feel that this doll is special, and needs to go to the right person. That is why the criticism about the price doesn’t bother me. Who is to say the price of a tormented spirit? $100? $500? How much to finally put the soul to rest? If the right person is out there, they will pay almost any price, since their good deeds will come back to them many fold.

(YEP, ANOTHER UPDATE TO MAKE MY AUCTION EVEN MORE UNBELIEVABLE) Tell that to the people that swear they see the doll's eyes moving!

Dolly

Hello. I just wanted to list this item because it's causing my life to be a living hell.

Let me first start off by letting everyone know that I don't believe one bit in the supernatural, voodoo, witchcraft, or religion for that matter; and although I cannot explain what has been happening in my home, I would just assume get rid of this thing, nevertheless.

I don't know much about this doll. My wife & I went to a garage sale a few months ago, when our 3 year old daughter pulled it out of a chest of strange looking items. The doll looked harmless enough, but when I examined the back of it, I noticed strange symbols all over it. I asked the lady who was running the garage sale what the symbols meant, if anything. I had a hard time understanding her as she let me know that she was from Iran. The best I could tell is that the doll was handmade in Iran also, and that the symbols were merely some sort of Iranian legend. My wife felt a bit weary about letting our daughter have a doll with such strange markings on it, and what others would think if they saw them as well. I told her that it was just a doll, and offered to purchase it. She replied that she didn't know how the doll had gotten into the chest, and that it wasn't for sale, but when I told my daughter that she couldn't have it, she began to cry hysterically. We headed back to the car to find the lady running up behind us. She handed my daughter the doll.

I was thrilled, as was my daughter, but when I tried to ask her how much I owed her, she replied, "No charge, you just go quick." I thanked her, and we got into our car & were about to leave when I man came blazing out of her garage and stood in behind the car, preventing me from leaving. I had to get out and ask him to move. He said he would, just as soon as he got back what was not rightfully sold. I asked him if he meant the doll. He told me yes, and that he wanted it back. He exclaimed that it wasn't a kid’s toy, and that I had no idea what I had. I apologized and tried to get the doll back from my daughter, but she wouldn't hear of it; pulling & gripping the doll. Soon after, the lady running the garage sale came to the car and told us to just take the doll, but the other gentleman refused, saying she had no right to sell it to us, and then just started arguing with her in another language, probably in Arabic.

I couldn't believe how infuriated the gentleman was getting. He was outright yelling at her, and told her to go inside, and that he would, "take care of this." She refused, and told us to leave, quickly, and told the man that he did not deserve the doll, whatever the hell that meant. Finally, he barked at me, yelling, "GIVE ME THE DOLL, NOW!" I told him that I had no problem giving him back the doll, and to calm down, and that I just needed to get it from my daughter. The man soon seemed a bit out of breath, and his wife, or whoever she was, told him he needed to take his medication. He told me NOT to leave, as he blared into the house. Needless to say, I didn't want to stick around, so I one last time tried to retrieve the doll from my daughter, but she was having a fit. The lady told me, "Please, just go. Take the doll; take good care of it. Now, please go, before he returns." I took the doll, and sped away, wondering what the heck had just happened, and why he wanted the doll so badly.

Now, all of this happened a few months ago, and this is how I remember it all to the best of my knowledge. But what was about to come of the next 3 months or so would make me think entirely different about why that man wanted the doll back so badly. My daughter slept with the doll every night, and even named it, "Dolly", when after only a week, a few strange things began to happen. First, our daughter began waking up in the middle of the night, screaming because of bad dreams. As parents, we took this as normal because of the fact that all kids have nightmares in the middle of the night. The problem was, that she went from having maybe one every week, to one every night, to several each night. We began to let her sleep with us at night, but then realized that we all started having weird dreams; scary dreams. Now like I said, I don't believe in all this mumbo-jumbo stuff, and I believe to this day, that these dreams were psychologically induced because of all that had been happening, but when my daughter started explaining her nightmares to my wife, they were extremely similar to her own nightmares; dreams of giant, hideous worms coming up from the ground, and pulling their victims (my wife & daughter) into the earth.

My wife explained her nightmares to me, and soon after, I began to have them as well. I see this as like seeing a movie, and dreaming of it soon after. Nevertheless, the nightmares got so vivid, that both my wife & daughter would wake up screaming. At this point, we still didn't consider the doll as having anything to do with our dilemma. It was the month to come that had us all thinking differently. My daughter started waking us up and telling us that "Dolly" wanted to be 'free'. I told her that I didn't understand, and she told me that Dolly had told her that she wanted to be free. I dismissed it as just a pretend thing that children do, and told her to try & get some sleep. One morning, we woke up, and the doll couldn't be found. We searched everywhere, to finally find the doll in my long coat, jacket pocket that I never wear, hanging in my closet. I asked my daughter why she put it there, and she swore up & down that she didn't. I asked my wife if she put it there, and she declined doing it as well. Honestly, I don't know how it got there, but I gave it back to my daughter, and she was happy again. My daughter got to the point where she wouldn't go anywhere without Dolly. She always had her under her arm, or in her hand, and talked to her constantly for hours. It was like she was having a full-blown conversation with a real person. One night at the dinner table, I took Dolly away from her and told her that she could have her back after she ate all her dinner because she wasn't eating, just talking to that stupid doll. She cried so violently, she ended up throwing up all over the table. At this point, I'd had enough! I told my wife that it was time to just throw the doll away, and that our daughter had grown dependent on Dolly. She argued the fact that it would be like throwing my big screen television away, and that she really loved dolly.

I disagreed, and took the doll & threw it in the trash one night while my daughter was sleeping. My wife caught me, and ended up retrieving the thing from the garbage. We argued all night. Finally, just recently, my daughter woke up in the middle of the night and told my wife & I, that Dolly wanted my daughter to take her for a walk in the middle of the night, and to open the front door and leave the house. IT WAS 3AM, PEOPLE!!! What the hell! This went on for another week, at least. Then, as if the nightmares weren't enough, my daughter woke us up, claiming that Dolly had walked across the bed by herself, from one end to the next. She supposedly told my daughter that she was "Magic", and that one day, my daughter would see who Dolly really was! At this time, my wife was having dreams of huge worms, and slimy creatures.

This was all too much. I am still convinced that all of this is still caused by either lack of sleep, or some sort of delusional state of mind. Nevertheless, in my opinion, a 3-year old shouldn't be talking this way, make-believe, or not. Now, I don't know what to do with this thing! My wife says that she won't let me throw it away, and that it could prove to be a family heirloom. I told her that if she's not going to let me throw it away, then I’d just sell it on ebay. She was furious! Anyhow, my wife & daughter went to spend some time with her mother, so I hid the damn thing in my safe, and claimed that I couldn't find it before they left. My daughter was hysterical! I'm using this as my chance to finally, and ultimately get rid of the thing.

After looking for over an hour, my daughter looked me strait in the eyes and said, "Daddy, I know you have it, and Dolly knows too! She's going to make sure the big worm comes at night!" Will someone please tell me how in the heck a 3-year old talks like this? Anyway, here's your chance people. I'm selling this thing because it's beginning to ruin my marriage, and my life. I don't know if this will stop the nightmares or not, but I do know that it's best for my daughter to finally get rid of the thing! I've taken pictures of the front of the doll, which looks nice & sweet, and the back of the doll, which has markings of which I have no idea of their origin, or what in the heck they mean.

If someone can tell me what these markings mean, or has any clue whatsoever, please email me and let me know! I am a bit curious if they mean anything at all, or if it's just a bunch of bunk. I don't know what was used to write these marking on the doll. It looks like some sort of ink or iodine, or something. Who knows? Anyway, I've included close-up pics of the areas with the markings for your viewing pleasure. I'll even include the shipping. I'll start the bidding at $5.00. Again, if anyone knows what these symbols mean, I would be much appreciated for the info! Thanks for bidding, and finally taking this mess out of my life.

From: spritle15@hotmail.com

Was checking out your site which is great and wanted to pass along some information about the e-bay haunted doll story....

The symbols on the back of the doll's head are from the Necronomicon. (A book, probably fictitious, with the intent to invoke demons.) The top symbol is the seal of Marduk - "the lord of lords, master of magicians. His name should not be called except when no other will do, and it is the most terrible responsibility to do so. The word of his calling is Dugga....-" The bottom four symbols are are the second line of the text of Urillia - "...the book of the worm. It contains the formulae by which the wreakers of havoc perform their rites. These are the prayers of the ensnarers, the liers-in-wait, the blind fiends of Chaos, the most ancient evil."

Just wanted to pass this along, thought the readers or the gentleman who posted the original message might like to know what he was looking at. All the quoted material was taken from Necronomicon, can probably find in in any book store if interested, I found mine in a Borders.

Keep up the interesting site!

Oh, and if possible, mail me back and let me know......

(If you didn't know, the Necronomicon is a fictional book mentioned in books by H.P. Lovecraft)

Stricken Life

PLEASE READ THE ENTIRE LISTING BEFORE PLACING BID. If murder-suicide in graphic detail offends you, then please go to one of our other listings. THIS STORY IS ALMOST TOO FANTASTIC TO BELIEVE. IT IS TRUE! Please allow sufficient time for pictures to load. Extremely repulsive and strange oil on canvas, entitled "Stricken Life" with a macabre poem on the reverse, done by a man who killed his wife and then committed suicide.

This is the strangest thing we have ever offered for sale on eBay. Last month we purchased a home here in Central Florida. Before we signed the papers, we had to sign a disclaimer which stated "The undersigned acknowledge that they were informed prior to signing an agreement on the house located at ________, Florida, that a murder-suicide occurred in the subject home." (A copy of this will be provided to the high bidder.) The house is rather large, and in a good neighbourhood. Because of the negativity associated with the home, it sat empty for over a year, and the price dropped lower and lower. To make a long story short, we signed the document, the house is ours, and it's haunted.

The owner of the house was the son of a former Cuban National. His father had immigrated to the US in the 1930's, and became a citizen. The son, Harold, was born here in 1949. He married, and purchased the home in 1976. For all intents and purposes, their life was a good one. But it eventually turned tragic. In 1996, the wife was diagnosed with Multiple-Sclerosis. As each year passed, she grew sicker, until by 2001, she was bed ridden.

By that time, Harold was at home all the time so that he could take care of Olivia. ('Dolly' to her friends.) In February of 2001, Harold was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer. It was more than he could bear. On March 23rd, 2001, at approximately 1:00 am, Harold decided that he had had enough. Knowing that he had less than six months to live, and that Dolly would survive him by several years, and worried about who would take care of her, (they never had children, and all of their relatives had already passed on) he acted. He took a single-shot, twelve gauge shotgun that he had, and loaded it.

He went into the bedroom, where Dolly lay sleeping. Her back was to the door. He put the gun against the back of her head, and pulled the trigger. He then went into the den, sat down in his favorite chair in front of CNN on the TV, and reloaded the shotgun. He then put the barrel in his mouth, and blew his own brains out. Later that afternoon, a neighbor, noticing that Harold had not turned off the outside lights nor picked up the morning newspaper, he went into the house. He discovered the bodies and contacted the authorities. The house went into trust.

Most of the contents were dispersed to various charities, but some items in the house still remained. That is where the painting comes in. After we took possesion of the house, we started moving in. A few items were left scattered throughout the house. In a closet, near the den, were several boxes filled with old records and sweaters. Behind the boxes, was the painting. Apparently a self portrait of Harold, it depicts a sallow, pale and wan man. On the right side of the painting is a large splash of red paint, which is supposed to represent blood. Here is one of the freaky parts: A second face of Harold is IN the blood, screaming.

The red "crayon" mark is ours, we did that with the computer software to point out the face. THERE HAS BEEN NO OTHER ADJUSTMENTS-THE FACE IS REALLY THERE!!! It show up very well when scanned. We went through TWO rolls of film before we could capture good enough photos to use in the listing. On the reverse of the painting is a poem, written by a tortured Harold.

It reads: "SCRAPING THE SIDES, RUNNING THEN SLOWING TO A CRAWL-REAJUSTING(sic) THE PACE NUMEROUS TIMES REAPING AND SOWING THIS ROTTEN CROP. TRAFFIC SIGNS LEADING ME TO THE MESSIA (sic) OF RED LIGHTS. STRUCK BY A NOTION TO BURY THE LIVING AND SAVE THE DEAD..."

Our initial thought was to get rid of the painting, but our teenage son thought it was "cool." So on the wall it went, along with an interesting story for our friends. Then the strange sounds in the night started. Always in the night, when it was the darkest. My wife and I were in the master bedroom. It was after midnight, and it was our third night in the new house. I had just dozed off when BOOOM!!! the explosive sound of a shotgun blast jerked me awake. SERIOUSLY. My heart about to explode out of my chest, I sat up in bed. My wife still slept.

After securing the house, I came back to bed, thinking it was a dream. Several hours later I was awakened again by the most ungodly howling I had ever heard. Our dog. I got up, and went to the back hall, just off the den where the painting was hung. Our dog, Toby, was just sitting there and howling at the painting. All of the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, I tell you. That night, the painting went back into the closet.

Up till this point, we had not noticed the face in the blood. Not wanting to seem foolish, nor wanting to be an idiot 'victim' from a horror movie, I did the safe thing. I kept quiet. Two days later, my wife woke me up screaming. She swore she had seen a woman at the end of the bed, in nightclothes, seated in a WHEELCHAIR. I got up to search the house. As I got close to the den, I heard the TV going. Thinking it was one of our kids, I went into the den.

The TV was on, tuned into CNN. (we watch MSNBC) The closet door was open. I shut the door and RAN back to the bedroom. Since then, many small but freaky things have happened. In the formal dining room, which I have turned into our eBay office, there is a large chandelier.

Two weeks ago, every bulb blew in it while I was listing items on the computer. Later, when I was showing my wife what happened, ALL THE BULBS WERE LIT! An electrician friend of my came by-there is not a wiring problem. Last week, my sister-in-law came by with a self proclaimed 'psychic witch' friend of hers, to see if she could dispel the spirits. BAD move. She walked throughout the house, proclaimed it "possessed" and quicky fled the area.

Seriously, she says the house has very strong psychic energy, and it is centered in the back hallway, off the den. The closer she got to the closet where the painting was stored, the more freaked out she became. When we finally showed her the canvas, she had a fit, and wanted to leave. She swore that there was a malevolence surrounding the painting. She warned us to destroy the painting, and to find another house.

That night she drove 4 1/2 hours south to Miami, and now will not return my sister-in-laws calls. Since then, during the day, we occasionally hear a woman call out "honey" from the master bedroom, or furtive whispers from a vacant room. Sometimes at night, I am still awakened by the sound of a shotgun blast, and the TV turns on at various times of the day and night, tuned into CNN. To make a long story short - THE PAINTING HAS TO GO!

The work is impressive, expressive, and all out dreary. Painted primarily in grays, with a 'splash' of red. The work is titled "Stricken Life" and signed by the artist's last name. This is actually sideways on Harolds' shirt. The painting seems to be a mirror representation of a tortured soul; the blood represents the violence he is contemplating, and the screaming face behind the red is Harold unable to face what his subconcious is telling him he must do.

Harold enjoyed woodworking, and he made the stretcher himself. It is mortised together, and has slots ready for wooden 'keys' if more stretching is desired in the future. The material used is some sort of canvas, and is attached to the stretcher. The painting measures 20" by 24" by 1 1/2" thick.

CONDITION: The condition is pristine. There are NO flaws; NO holes, NO rips or tears. My guess is that this was painted shortly after Harold was diagnosed with cancer. As far as we know, this is the only painting Harold ever did. And what a painting it is. Reasonable reserve, considering the piece should be wrapped in a blessed cloth and burned on hallowed ground. Seriously, it is an amazing work, with the two faces, the blood, and the poem.

Winner to pay actual shipping and insurance, handling is free. We will provide a COMPLETE provenance with the work, including signed and NOTORIZED depositions by my wife and I, a local publications account of the night of the murder-suicide, a copy of the release we had to sign before we could purchase the house, ALL pertinant names and information, as well as anything else we can come up with that pertains to this subject. We just want the work gone. And if anyone knows of someone who can dispel the spirits (and who is not afraid to do so) and lives in the Ocala/Gainesville Florida area, please EMAIL US!!!

DISCLAIMER: We really do believe that this work may be haunted, and that it is possible that any weirdness associated with this work could be passed on to the winner. DON'T CALL US!

Due to the OVERWHELMING amount of emails we are receiving, I will try to answer some of these questions here. NO, we do not have Harolds' shotgun. The police do. No, we are not related in any way to Harold or his wife. No, we would rather not reveal the address, nor Harolds last name at this time-we don't want our house to become a tourist stop on the way to Disney World.

The winner of the painting gets ALL of the pertinant information, including names, dates, addresses, pants sizes, and whatever else we can come up with. Unless you have the painting, there is no real reason to have the addresses etc. I will try to post a copy of the newspaper account. Thanks for all of your emails!

Now this is REALLY strange. Thanks to Kelly in Phili and Josh in Atlanta for pointing it out. Look closely in the 'blood' of the photo, there are FIVE examples of Harolds heads, including the screaming one. We have included arrows to point the way. This just keeps getting weirder!

A Little Story of my Own

Hey guys, me again... Today, I've got a personal story or two of my own.

When I was a kid and living at the old house, I had basically no interest in the supernatural, so I didn't know how a ghostly encounter worked. I was just a normal kid. One night, though, I awoke in the early hours of the morning. I don't remember why, but I did. I sat up, and in the corner was this man. I couldn't see his features well, as he was just the color of those spots you see when you get your picture taken. All I could tell was that he had some sort of fancy hat on and some form of coat. I was so scared that I laid back down, covered my head, and eventually fell asleep. A week later, I got the courage to tell my family about it. My grandmother, after hearing my explanation, claims she saw the exact same man at around the same time and date in her room. To this day, we still don't know what exactly we saw. After that encounter, I've been obsessed with the supernatural.

This next one didn't technically happen to me, but to my mom. It happened this year. Okay, a little explanation first. My mom's room is by the laundry room and can be seen from the living room. You can even see inside her room if the door's open. Well, my mom was doing laundry and went to sit down and watch her soap opera when she suddenly had the urge to look back at her room. Five seconds later, she called me from where I was sitting at the computer. She told me that she saw my grandmother in her room. Clearly. And my grandmother is dead. D: We still don't doubt that she saw my grandmother.

This last one is different.... Periodically throughout my life, I've had dreams that came true. The first was actually a reoccurring nightmare about a set of Anime characters from the Anime "Last Exile". The nightmares started at least 13 years ago, and have since gone away... But it's weird because 13 years ago Last Exile didn't exist. After this, I've had random dreams that came true: Looking around at school in 3rd grade, walking around in my room, eating a sammich... Then, at least six years before the Wii came out, I dreamed I was playing MySims for the Wii. Oddly, it came true too. Lately, all of this has been going away....
UPDATE: This happened again just today, October 9, 2010, at around 2:00PM Central time. I was playing the third Pokemon Ranger game, Guardian Signs, and suddenly got the feeling of Deja vu, which made me remember the dream I had of the exact part I was at... Which was where I was in some old mansion and Murph was running away from haunted plates... So the phenomenon's not totally gone, I guess.

So, yeah, that's about it. Just wanted you guys to know that stuff. Hehe.