These Paranormal Wind Stories Are Incredibly Weird - Odd Nugget

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Your'e using wind to generate wind if you use a wind turbine to power a house fan..

However...

Only the weirdest wind stories made it into the lineup featured in this article. Brave them if you dare!


I hear the wind whistle as arrows fly right by my head as I sprint away from the violent mob craving my death.


I thought I was saving the town by killing the child-eating vampire, but today I realized my village actually worshipped it.

Posted on Reddit by Thatspretttyfunny.


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Is my wife haunting me?


What became of my wife?

Hey everyone,

I emailed this story into a podcast that I greatly enjoy and respect and got really great feedback. Because of that, a few people suggested that I post this story other places (like Reddit), so that other people could hear it and weigh in with their own thoughts and opinions.

My name is Charles. In college, I met an incredible woman and fell in love. After many awkward encounters and clumsy dates, we finally formed a solid relationship and ended up getting married soon after college. We moved in together, got our first serious jobs, and life was going really well for us. We had both been from fairly small families, and we had long talked about having a large family together, and soon after getting married started trying to grow our family. We had trouble at first, but we were young and we told ourselves that we had tons of time. Several years later we were still trying, and that was by far the most difficult part of our marriage, but as a whole we were still strong together and definitely still loved each other deeply.

My wife had gone to school to be a nurse and early into our 7th year of marriage, she finished going back to school to be a nurse practitioner. She found a new job in a town we were both really excited about moving to across the state, so we packed up and moved our things. My job allowed me to move essentially anywhere, so we were definitely going to take this opportunity for her and for our small family.

One night, not long after we moved into our new home, boxes still half emptied in many rooms, I started wondering why my wife hadn't returned home yet. Sometimes she got calls right before she was about to leave the hospital, so I certainly wasn't a stranger to late nights and dinner alone. But this night was taking especially long. Not only that, and this might just be me looking back into the event after the fact, but the longer I waited the more I felt like something wasn't right. I had been texting and calling my wife on and off for a while as well, and unlike her, she wasn't responding at all.

After a while, right before I was about to call the hospital to check and see if she was still at work, my phone rang with an unknown number. Thinking that maybe she had stayed at work late and her phone had died, I answered the number. It was a man on the other end with a professional sounding voice that immediately made me nervous. He told me that he was calling from the local sheriff's office, that there had been an accident, and that I needed to get to the main hospital downtown. I barely heard the words. I understood him, but it was honestly like the sheriff was speaking to me underwater. Nonetheless, in a panic as you might imagine, I rushed to the hospital. After speaking with staff there, to my horror, I was no longer there to talk to my wife. I was no longer even there to hold her hand as she struggled with a ventilator or clung to life courageously. Though she had been the strongest woman I had ever known, the crash and the injuries she had sustained were too much even for her. She had died on the way to the hospital. Later I learned that as she drove through the rain that night, a deer had run in front of the car. She had swerved to miss the deer, clipped it, and her car had ended up in a fair sized gully off the side of the road. She had smashed into a tree at the bottom of the deep ditch.

After the funeral, I never really felt alone for a few weeks. Family and even a few friends from where we had used to live checked on me constantly for a while, making sure I was making it ok... making sure I was getting out of bed and eating. But after a while, the visits got less and less as everyone returned to their regular lives. Yet, for some reason, I always felt two ways at once, especially in the home we had started to unpack in together... the home that was still only partially unpacked in. I felt deeply, terribly alone, lost at sea without the one who had always been by my side since college. But at the same time, strangely, I continued to never feel alone. Yet, this was different than the feeling of friends and family in the house. Their visits felt like space was being taken up, like mass and matter was in the house. This, now that I was alone, felt like a presence, but like the presence of wind, or shadow, or whispers. I know I haven't explained it well, but in the several years since, I have never been able to explain it well. I have tried many times, but I have never been able to put into words the feeling in that house, the alone and not alone at the same time.

Yet even for me, life went on... but the presence continued. And the longer it continued the more uneasy it tended to make me. You might think that the longer this feeling, this sensation, went on, the more used to it I got. But that was not the case. The more it happened, the more unnatural the feelings got. There were times I began to feel almost paranoid about the saturated emptiness of the house. It was like the wrong vibration would grip me, like some deep, sickly, sickening feeling of a terrible drum beat not resonating properly in my bones. And although I continued to work, often more and more to distract myself, my work was often done at home and thus escaping the feeling became harder and harder. And you might think that I should have just left the house and worked in the local coffee shop or something. And thinking objectively, I would agree. But I was depressed, and deeply attached to the half decorated home, and leaving the house, even to run errands, felt almost like a betrayal to me.

But that was not all that happened. As weeks turned into months after her death, there was more than a faint feeling of shadow around the house. Things, small things here and there, began to happen, or at least I finally began to notice them, perhaps at last slowly coming out of the fog I had been in. For instance, I would put dish towels on the bar on the outside of the oven, go upstairs, and come back down and one would be on the kitchen counter. Or I would leave the light on in a particular room and return later and the light would be off. Sometimes, especially when I was downstairs, I felt like I could hear some of the partially opened boxes being moved upstairs. It was almost like they were being opened and the contents were being placed upon the floor and moved around the room. But whenever I went to check, the boxes were almost always exactly as I had left them. Occasionally an item would be sitting by the box on the floor, but I would put it back into the box, confused, and unready still to unpack those items that reminded me so much of our old life together.

Things in the house, and within me, stayed very similar for months, and eventually years. As I approached two years since the accident, much of me had never moved on, but the time did heal some things. Perhaps because of the first signs of healing, or perhaps because of the bitter loneliness, I finally agreed to meet a woman that a friend of mine had introduced me to. Though I had developed very few friendships in my new home, there were some who checked on me, inviting me occasionally to do things to keep me preoccupied. One of those friends had for several months hinted that I should go on a date with a woman he knew, but I couldn't bring myself to accept. Finally though, I felt I was ready, or at least ready enough, and agreed to meet with her. We met at a local coffee shop - that was about all I could handle still - but the meeting was nice. Having another person to connect with on at least some personal level brought a little bit of warmth back into me.

Yet, that night was a difficult night. I returned home early in the evening, watched some show to relax, then went to bed. Since my wife's death, I had never slept well. I had tried over the counter sleeping aids, different types of teas, listening to music, and several other things, and yet, sleep often did not come to me until late into the night. Thankfully my job did not require me to get up early. And even when I did fall asleep, it was often fretful and sleepless. Though I had been a deep sleeper since I was a kid, I now tossed and turned in the night, often waking up cold or sweating, or jolting awake from some gripping fantasy or terrible nightmare. This night was no different. Though I had trouble falling asleep, finally, at last, I drifted into a shallow sleep.

I have never known for sure if this occurred while I was awake, or if it was simply a dream that I have translated into reality. It felt terribly, horribly real, and the evidence, as I will explain, remained. Yet, for all its gripping realness, it also felt like a living nightmare. Sometime in the night, I awoke, or so I believe, out of the near quiet, save the scarce sounds of the neighborhood, to a piercing scream from somewhere on the first floor of the house. The wail tore through the house like terrible lightnight, setting the hairs on my body instantly rigid. And though the presence of the house had long left me uneasy, this immediately left me terrified. But I had to check. So, not wanting to enter the darkness of any room as I approached the next light switch, I took a flashlight out of my nightstand beside the bed, and crept from my room, hurrying to each light switch along the way.

I flashed my light down the stairs, straining my ears, and still I heard nothing. There was an empty, horrible silence after the screech. I finally reached the first floor, went through the foyer by the front door and shined my light through the kitchen into the small dining room beyond. There, as my light fell into the room, shrouded in darkness, bent and crooked and horrible behind the dining room table, was a figure. Just for a moment the flashlight illuminated it. Just for a moment it seemed frozen in the glow of the light and just as quickly as I had seen it, there was nothing behind the table, and my flashlight was illuminating the wall beyond. And yet, in that moment, it had been there, cruel and terrible somehow in that one moment, contorted beyond reason. I cannot say what it was... I cannot even say for sure that it was.

With the little strength I still had, I crept to the table, heart pounding, shining my light ridiculously furiously around each corner and into each nook of the darkness. I reached the table where it had been, and there, in the center of the table, was a picture. I shined my light on it, and immediately I could tell that it was dusty, taken, I would imagine, from one of the boxes I had yet to fully upack. Unable and unwilling to examine it further there, I hurried back up the stairs, locked the door to the bedroom and wiped off the picture frame. There, to my disbelief was a picture of me and my wife, taken not long into our marriage, smiling. Yet down the center of the frame, the glass had been cracked, not smoothly, but roughly, almost as if the heel of a shoe had pressed down on it and sent fissures along the glass. Nothless, beyond the fissures, I could see us smiling.

From that day on, the presence was more noticeable in the house. Nothing was as bad as that night, but more and more noises came from within the house, more and more things moved where they shouldn't be. Soon after the date, the woman reached out to me to see when we might meet again. I put it off for a while. Though I had enjoyed our time together, that night had made me nervous. Yet, eventually, I agreed to meet again. We met and got dinner together and I went home, happy at the meeting, but apprehensive.

That night, sleep came surprisingly easy to me. It was not a deep sleep, but I was tired, and this was a rare night when the tiredness carried me to sleep quickly. At some point in the night, I woke up. I didn't bolt awake, but woke up simply like I often did in the night. While I laid there, waiting to go back to sleep, a car must have driven down the road. Because of the position of the house near a slight hill, when cars drove down a particular road, the light from their headlights would shine dimly through one of the windows of the room. As I listened to the soft sound of the car and watched as the soft light fell into the room, there where the wall meets the ceiling was that horrible figure, that crooked shadow, bent and contorted, clinging somehow to the wall and the ceiling. For a moment, my mind thought that this must be some trick of light and shadow on the ceiling, and yet before the light faded the figure crawled, unnaturally and inhumanely onto the ceiling and across it toward the bed. And then there was darkness and that terrible scream, so much louder than I had heard it before, from directly above me in the near total darkness. Utterly terrified, I grabbed furiously for my flashlight, turned it on, and shone the light at the ceiling and around each corner of the room. Nothing was there. No figure, no shadow, no presence. I did not sleep that night. I turned the lights on and tried to distract myself with my phone for most of the night, yet I could still feel something was there. Though I could see nothing, though there were no more screams, I could feel something.

In the following months things continued to progress. I had no more encounters like that, but the small occurrences got more routine and worse. Instead of only distant noises and small things being moved, I would occasionally see shadows, usually for just a moment, or hear faint words, always unintelligible, almost as if whispered to me. Yet, I still wasn't sure if any of it was real or if I was causing it, imagining it... if my grief and loneliness were causing it. And in those months, I came up with many reasons not to see that woman again. I liked her, but I had a terrible feeling after seeing her. The shadow, or my imagination and guilt, could not handle those meetings, innocent as they were.

After many more months still, I finally decided that there was no reason for me to be in that city anymore. I had moved there to start a new chapter in our family, but the story had ended there. There would never be another chapter there, there never could be. So, finally, after painstakingly considering, I sold my home, bought a small house in the town I had grown up in, and moved our things. Actually, I have not been in the new house long. Despite that, in just a few weeks, I have unpacked more in this house than I ever did in all the years I was in the last house. This house does not hold the same weight... the same memories. So far, all has been well here. I have even started to sleep a little better, though not exactly well. The real test, perhaps, will be going on another date. I haven't brought myself to that yet. Perhaps someday I will. I think I would like to. I think my wife would have liked me to move on... I think.

Still, I don't know what was in that house, or within me. I know much of it sounds like perhaps it was my wife, her spirit if there is such a thing. Yet, my wife was such a loving, caring person in life. It's hard for me to believe that some part of her could devolve to such a state. Yet, it is no longer hard for me to believe in such things. I had long not believed. My wife, actually, loved to learn about paranormal things, loved to read books about such things, watch shows, listen to podcasts, even occasionally this one. She's how I heard about you two in the first place and why I still listen to you now. Now, after everything, I believe in the possibility of things happening beyond normal reality, normal existence, but I do not know what this particular reality was. Perhaps it was my wife or some part or version or shadow of my wife, contorted by the tragedy of her death. Perhaps it was an imprint of the tragedy itself, made manifest in the halls and rooms of the house. Perhaps it was some figment or shadow of my own mind, projected before me, the cruel and terrible embodiment of guilt and loss and betrayal. Perhaps it was something else, masquerading as the dark shadow of my wife, preying on me in my isolation and loneliness in the empty corners of our house. Perhaps still it is something else entirely. I do not know and I do not think I ever will.

Thank you all for making it all the way through my story. It means a lot to me that you would read through the entire story - I know its kind of long. Please let me know if you have any thoughts or theories about any of this. It continues to baffle me to this day.

Posted on Reddit by CharlesTellsAll1989.


As the flames began to flicker and die under the harsh wind, I prepared myself to chop up some more fuel for the fire.


With no trees for miles around and the temperatures plummeting below zero, I prayed that my climbing partner would understand and forgive me for delaying our meeting in the next life like this.

Posted on Reddit by From_Strange_Seeds.


The kids crowded around the computer screen, the live feed was dark except for six click options: earth, wind, water, fire, ice and thunder.


Fire! one kid shouted, and as he clicked the option, the screen came to life, revealing one man bound to a chair and a second lighting a blow torch.

Posted on Reddit by djp_ink.


"You sure this is the right road?" the cabbie asked nervously, turning on his brights to see the winding road ahead.


"This is as far as I can go," she replied, looking at a cross memorial on the side of the road and fading away into thin air.

Posted on Reddit by Zodiac72826.


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