Introduction
Since humans began pondering life, death, the universe, and all mysteries, they have continuously encountered unexplained phenomena. Every culture has stories of powerful gods or terrifying demons, beliefs in a spirit world full of ghosts, and folklore about mischievous elves, monsters, or beings clearly not of this world.
Although some dismiss these encounters as myths or nonsense, people still experience events that are inexplicable, sometimes frightening. Distinguishing objective reality from subjective experience remains difficult, and labeling these experiences as illusions or delusions ignores the endless strangeness of human existence.
The stories shared here come from all over the world. Some are terrifying, some humorous, some mysterious, and some purely bizarre. They range from living in haunted houses to witnessing frog rains, experiencing time slips, or seeing one’s doppelgänger. We do not attempt to explain these strange events, leaving it to the reader to draw conclusions. Perhaps they are mere stories—but somewhere, someone may have truly experienced them. 
Ghostly Encounters
The shadows of the world are filled with various ghosts—from malevolent ghouls harming infants to deceased loved ones returning to greet the living. Whether it is a ghostly monk preaching from the beyond, wandering Nazi spirits in demolished buildings, a wailing nun in a small chapel, or restless souls haunting dark old houses, it seems everyone has a ghost story to tell.
Haunted Houses
The Ghost of Smith Square
Josephine Taylor, Hastings, East Sussex, UK, 1996
In 1949, at 17, I worked at the “United Europe Movement” headquarters, founded by Winston Churchill, a precursor to the modern European Union. My job was junior clerk duties: delivering messages, mailing letters, making tea, and similar tasks.
The office was at 1 Smith Square, an elegant Queen Anne style house near the Palace of Westminster. One morning, while making coffee, I noticed a stranger in the back room.
The figure wore a black robe and cloak, topped with a hat shaped like an inverted soup bowl. I whispered to my colleague, “Should I make coffee for that gentleman too?” She replied she saw no one. When I looked again, the room was empty, even though I could usually see people coming and going.
The next day, a colleague upstairs, Rosemary Street, appeared pale and trembling. She recounted seeing a foreign-looking priest on the grand marble staircase, who vanished before she could greet him. We named the ghost “Charlie Harry,” and his pranks continued: lights flickered, doors jammed, objects flew, cold gusts swept through, and strange noises echoed. Our boss, Brian Goddard, was unsurprised, knowing the ghost had been around for years.
Eventually, a sudden violent force pushed me into a corner. I hit the wall, slid to the floor, and bled from my nose despite not hitting my face. I fainted, surrounded by terrified colleagues. A week later, I resigned. Though memories of Charlie Harry faded, I still wonder why he seemed to dislike me particularly.
The Woman in Black
John Birch, Sandeford, Dudley, UK, 1997
Returning home one afternoon, I found the house empty. At the top of the staircase stood an elderly woman dressed entirely in black, her material resembling Bumbazine wool. She smiled and vanished before I could react. Later, the landlady, Mrs. Blankson, revealed it was her mother’s spirit, who had passed away 40 years earlier.
Brother Doli, the Monk
Rosemary Gore, Mold, Flintshire, UK, 1999
Our home seemed inhabited by a friendly monk ghost, whom we called Brother Adolphus or “Doli.” I saw him thrice; my adult daughter saw him once, and my 13-year-old son, Jean-Paul, said he often saw him. Even unseen, his presence was felt. He walked between stair platforms, opened bedroom doors, and sometimes left inscriptions in Welsh like “tangnefedd” meaning “peace.”
A medium suggested Doli was killed in 1613 by a mounted soldier nearby. Doli had wished to perform good deeds, believing our family would accept him. The inscriptions, symbols, and his gentle presence made him feel like part of the household, and we welcomed him as such.
Hello, Sailor
Ian Diggin, Wolverhampton, UK, 2000
In the 1920s, sailor Harry Parks Temple drowned while trying to save two boys. Decades later, in the 1960s, a figure in a sailor uniform appeared on the staircase of my family home. Handprints and footprints continued to appear on walls and ceilings, disappearing only after being covered with wallpaper and tiles. It seems Harry was still attempting the rescue he could not complete eighty years earlier.
