Horror Stories

Mr. Mohawk

A friend had sold the house, and let me stay in it for a couple of weeks prior to the actual sale.

The house was basically empty, except for a bed, and I awoke to seeing a man hanging from the rafters. I was startled, I know I gasped, because he saw me wake up. He then looked at me and said “I’m terribly sorry, it’s just something I feel the need to do.”

He was dressed like a painter, and then, inexplicably, uncoiled the rope (as if taking it down) and descended down a ladder that was underneath him. He “dissolved” as he hit the floor, as did the rope and ladder.

Later that day I spoke to woman whose house it was, my friend’s wife, asking her if there had ever been a “ghost” on the premises. She asked me why and I told her the story.

She was startled. “The man who painted this house hanged himself. But he didn’t do it here, he did it as his own home.”

“Just something I feel the need to do.” He said it in his Aussie accent as well.

One of the first ghosts I saw was in Santa Monica, in a building I later lived in for years. I was visiting a friend in the building, and he had me sleep on his couch.

We drank wine the night before, but I was startled to wake to find a pretty blond girl sitting at the end of the couch, crying. She was dressed like a hippie, had long hair, it hung in her face, and she was obviously upset about something. I said “Hi.” She looked up and disappeared.

Later I said to my friend, “Dude, who’s the ghost in your apt?” He asked me to describe her.

He said “That was the girlfriend of the guy who used to live here. She committed suicide here.” A detail I did not know, could not have known. Years later, I met their daughter - and she looked exactly like the girl I had seen on the couch.

My favorite was while I was teaching in Maine at the Workshops near Camden.

I woke to find a Mohawk Indian standing over my bed, screaming at me in some language I did not understand. He was really upset, ferocious, had a tomahawk in one hand and an axe in the other. He was dripping blood - or it could have been red battle paint - but he was in full battle dress.

That week that I taught at the workshops, I slept with every light on, every radio or tv on. I’ve learned that if a ghost is “interrupting your sleep” - and you don’t have the time to address why that is, or who they are - it’s just easier to interrupt the field; somehow having sound waves interrupts however how they’re able to access your subconscious.

I didn’t get a lot of sleep that week, but made a point of saying every night “Look, Mr. Mohawk, I’m just here for a week, I would appreciate it if you’d let me sleep and go shout at someone else while I’m here.”