Real Ghost Stories Online
The Ghost of Stillwood | Into the Paranormal
(speaking in foreign language) - At Planet Fitness, we're declaring it, this is the year of getting it. And future stronger, you can get started now by saving $28 or more when you join today. You in? We have all the best in class equipment you could ever need to keep stepping it up. And you can work out your way on your time, at any convenient location near you. Most open 24 hours. So let's do this. Join Planet Fitness today and save $28 or more. Just $1 down, $15 a month, cancel any time. Deal on January 31st, see home club for details. (speaking in foreign language) - Real ghost stories from real people. This is Into the Paranormal with Tony Bruski, begins with a simple escape, an innocent get away to a quiet countryside, but some trips, no matter how well-intentioned, lead to places far darker than we could ever imagine. Our story tonight takes us to Stillwood, a quaint village nestled among rolling hills and whispering trees. This centerpiece and ancient castle looms as a silent witness to centuries of history, tragedy and some say, unrest. For one traveler, the journey there was supposed to offer solace. Instead, it opened a door to a world where the past refuses to stay buried. Strange whispers in the dark, unexplained movements just beyond the edge of sight and a single name etched into stone calling out for justice. The events that follow are as haunting as they are unexplainable, leaving us questioning the thin veil between the living and the dead. Let's get to the letter. They write, "Dear Tony, I've always been a skeptic. Ghost stories, strange occurrences, things that go bump in the night. They were the stuff of campfire tales, good for a thrill, but never more than fiction. At least, that's what I told myself. I never imagined I'd be writing to you with my own story, one that still sends a chill down my spine when I think about it. It all began a few years ago when I decided to take a much needed break. Work had been stressful, and life in the city was wearing me down. A friend recommended Stillwood, a picturesque little village with an old world charm tucked away in the countryside. They said it was the perfect place to recharge. No traffic, no noise, just peace and quiet. It sounded ideal. I booked a room at the Stillwood Inn, a bed and breakfast that had been around for generations. It was quaint, with ivy climbing up its stone walls and flower boxes in every window. The owner, Mrs. Harper, was an older woman with a warm but reserved demeanor. She welcomed me with a smile and a set of rules, no loud music, no food in the rooms, and oddly enough, no visits to the attic. From the moment I stepped inside, something felt off. It wasn't anything I could put my finger on. The air seemed heavier somehow as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. Still, I chalked it up to my imagination and settled into my room, which was cozy and simple, with a large window overlooking the castle grounds. The castle was Stillwood's crown jewel built in the 14th century and steeped in history, or as some locals whispered, haunted by it. I wasn't looking for ghosts, though. I was looking for a good night's sleep, and after the long drive, that's exactly what I got. The first few days passed uneventfully. I explored the village, took photos of the countryside, and even joined a guided tour of the castle. It was impressive, massive stone walls, narrow corridors, and a grand hall with a vaulted ceiling. But there was something unsettling about it, too. The guide's voice echoed strangely in the empty rooms, and every now and then, I thought I saw a movement in my peripheral vision. Just shadows, I told myself. One afternoon as I wandered the castle grounds, I stumbled upon a small cemetery tucked away behind a grove of trees. Most of the headstones were weathered and unreadable, but one stood out. It was cleaner than the others, as if someone had been taking care of it, and the name Eliza was carved into the stone. I felt a strange pull toward it, but before I could linger too long, the tour guide called us back. That night I couldn't sleep. The room felt colder than it should have, soosh, despite the warm summer evening. The midnight I heard it, faint footsteps in the hallway outside my room. I sat up, heart pounding, and listened. The steps were slow, deliberate, and they stopped just outside my door. "Hello?" I called out, my voice shaking slightly. There was no answer. I waited a few moments, then mustered the courage to get up and open the door. The hallway was empty. The next morning I mentioned it to Mrs. Harper over breakfast. She looked at me for a long moment before saying, "You're in room 12, aren't you?" When I nodded, she simply said, "Some guests hear things, old buildings creak." Her answer didn't satisfy me. "Why room 12? Why was the hallway empty when I looked?" I decided to shrug it off and focus on enjoying the rest of my trip, but the strange occurrence is only escalated. One evening, as I was reviewing the photos I had taken during the castle tour, I noticed something odd. In one of the shots of the Great Hall, there was a figure in the background. It was faint, almost transparent, but distinctly human. A woman in period clothing, her face turned toward the camera. I hadn't seen anyone in the room when I took the photo. When I tried to show it to someone the next day, the figure was gone. The photo was still there, but the background was blurred as if the camera had been shaken. I knew what I had seen, though, and it left me feeling uneasy. Things reached a breaking point during my last night at the inn. Around midnight I woke to the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor above me. It sounded like furniture being moved, but I remembered Mrs. Harper saying the attic wasn't in use. I lay frozen in bed, listening as the noise continued for what felt like hours. Finally, it stopped, and I drifted into an uneasy sleep. The next morning I couldn't leave fast enough. As I packed, I noticed something on the dresser that hadn't been there before. A single white feather. As I loaded my bags into the car that morning, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief to be leaving Stillwood. But even as I drove away, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. I chalked it up to my nerves and promised myself I'd put the whole experience behind me. The story didn't end there. When I got home and unpacked, I discovered something strange. Tucked into the bottom of my suitcase was an old, worn key. It was small, with a twisted design on the handle, and it definitely wasn't mine. I had no idea how it had gotten there. Curiosity got the better of me, and I emailed Mrs. Harper to ask if I might have accidentally taken something from the inn. Her response was chilling. That key belonged to Eliza. I don't know how it ended up with you, but I suggest you return it to the castle. The last person who took it, well, they didn't fare so well. I couldn't ignore her words cryptic as they were. Against my better judgment, I decided to go back to Stillwood the following weekend. I told myself it was just to return the key and put everything to rest, but deep down, I knew there was more to it. When I arrived, the village felt different, darker, quieter. Mrs. Harper greeted me with a somber expression and handed me a small notebook. "If you're going back to the castle, take this," she said. "It's Eliza's journal. It might help you understand." The journal was charred at the edges its pages brittle with age. Inside Eliza's handwriting was faint, but legible, recounting her life as a servant at the castle. Her final entries were desperate and fragmented hinting at betrayal, jealousy, and a fire that consumed everything. She wrote about a locket she wore, a gift from someone she cared for deeply, and how it had been taken from her just before the fire. That evening I walked the familiar path to the castle. This time I brought the key and the journal with me. The grounds were eerily quiet and the castle loomed in the fading light like a shadow from another world. Inside the air was cold and heavy. The hall seemed darker than I remembered and my footsteps echoed unnervingly. Guided by the journal I found my way to a hidden passage near the servant's quarters. It led to a small forgotten room that smelled of soot and decay. In the center of the room was a small chest blackened by fire but still intact. The key fit perfectly into the lock. Inside I found the locket Eliza had described a delicate gold pendant with an inscription on the back, "Forever yours!" The moment I touched at the temperature in the room plummeted. I turned to see her. Eliza's apparitions stood before me. Her eyes filled with sorrow and longing. She raised a hand, pointing toward the locket, then toward the graveyard I had visited before. I ran from the castle clutching the locket and didn't stop until I reached the cemetery. There I placed the locket at the base of her gravestone whispering, "This belongs to you!" For a moment the air seemed to still, then a soft breeze swept through the trees carrying with it a faint sense of peace. I thought that would be the end of it, but as I turned to leave I noticed something new on the gravestone. The once clean surface was now etched with words that hadn't been there before. Thank you. I haven't been back to Stillwood since and I don't plan to, but sometimes late at night I think about Eliza and the secrets that Castle still holds. I wonder if she's truly at rest or if the past has more stories yet to tell. Sincerely, Joe. Stories like this remind us of the thin line between the past and the present. Stillwood Castle, with its centuries of history, holds more than just memories. For one traveler it became a place where history reached out, demanding to be heard. Eliza's story is one of betrayal and tragedy, but also of resilience. The presence described in that room the whispers in the night and the journal's cryptic entries all point to a spirit unable or unwilling to move on. Could the locket's return finally bring her peace or was it merely the first step in uncovering a much darker truth about Stillwood? Of course, we can't ignore the psychological side of this tale. Isolation, stress, and the power of suggestion could all explain some of the experiences described. A creaky old inn, a history steeped in tragedy, and an overactive imagination might combine to create the perfect storm of unease. But then there's the photograph, the key, and the newly etched words on the gravestone, details that defy simple explanation. These are the moments that make us pause and wonder if there's more to this world than we can see or understand. Eliza's story leaves us with an unsettling question. If history can leave such powerful imprints, how many of these echoes surround us every day unseen and unheard? And perhaps more chillingly, what happens when they decide to make themselves known? Until next time, keep your eyes open, and your mind curious. After all, the truth is often far stranger than we're willing to believe. Want more real ghost stories from real people? Then press subscribe now. We're dropping new ghost stories every single day. This is "Into the Paranormal" with Tony Bruski. Let me ask you something. Do your feet hurt after day on the slopes? Well, they shouldn't. We can help. Stop by Evo Denver, where our experts can help with custom boot fittings and help guide you through our unbeatable selection of top-rated skis, snowboards, and accessories. You'll find the best gear selection, backed by our 365-day return policy. And as a podcast listener, get 20% off store-wide when you visit us at 860 Broadway. Our friendly team with years of experience will help you find the perfect gear, whether you need a tune-up, premium rental, or just new boots. Plus, Evo is more than just a store, or a community hub. It's a gathering place for events, art shows, and backcountry clinics. Come visit us or shop online at evo.com. That's evo.com. And remember, mention this podcast in store for your 20% discount. Let me ask you something. Do your feet hurt after day on the slopes? Well, they shouldn't. We can help. 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