Looking back on strange moments from our past, some still leave us puzzled. Online communities have become places where people share their eerie, unforgettable experiences—stories that sound like horror movies but are said to be real.

A year after my mom died, my daughter suddenly said, “Grandma says just throw her wedding dress away.” I didn’t understand, but minutes later my sister called, crying with excitement, asking if I still had Mom’s dress so she could wear it at her wedding. Mom had never liked her fiancé, so my daughter’s comment felt like a final sign of disapproval. I told my sister I couldn’t find the dress.

When I was 11, I often heard footsteps but never saw anyone. One night, I saw a small child with black eyes staring at me from the floor. It terrified me, and I developed nyctophobia.

At work, a quarter-ton table once moved six inches across the floor on its own. My boss, coworker, and I just stared at each other, speechless.

Once, a cast iron candlestick suddenly fell off a flat shelf next to me, denting the floor.

Strangers often call me by my brother’s name—even people who don’t know him. It’s happened over 20 times.

My family once swore they saw me silently walk into the computer room while I was still asleep upstairs.

At 15, my dogs suddenly began barking at empty corners late at night—something they’d never done before. I didn’t find anything, but I slept in my parents’ room with the door locked.

One morning, a hairbrush flew off a shelf and put a hole in the wall. I’m a skeptic, but I still can’t explain it.

I once met someone at a theme park who looked exactly like me and warned me I’d lose my money. Later, I noticed my cash had fallen from my pocket—right where I could find it.

As a child, I woke up unable to move and briefly found myself sitting in a room I didn’t recognize before snapping back to my bed.

I lived in a haunted house once featured on the Sci-Fi Channel. A woman in a Victorian gown would occasionally appear, but she felt more comforting than scary.

One night, I closed my eyes after saying goodnight to my parents, and the next moment it was morning. No time seemed to pass.

As a teen, I saw two friends drive by. We waved, but I then remembered one was out of state and the other had died.

At 10, I saw a trucker-looking man walk through our playroom. I tackled him—but there was no one there when I turned on the light. I still remember it vividly.