Find Ghost Stories
STORY ID: 27
Cristina had an experience with a Ghost near Annapolis, Maryland, U.S.A. in 1995. Here is her story:
In Bethesda, MD there used to be a store called The Mystery Bookstore which, as the name implies, sold only books pertaining to mysteries and suspense. When I was 14, my best friend's parents took us out there for a book signing, as her father was an avid book collector. The store itself was on the ground floor of what, at the time, I thought was a hotel. After all, it had a concierge desk, elevators, and a lobby.
At one point during our visit I had to use the restroom, but the one downstairs on the lobby level was being renovated. We asked the worker at the desk where the next closest restroom was and she advised us to take the elevator upstairs a couple floors and use a public one there. The entire floor was unoccupied, so we wouldn't be disturbing anyone. It was so long ago I can't remember exactly what floor it was, but it was quite a way up because I remember the elevator ride not being particularly quick.
So my friend and I pushed the up button and waited. Before too long, the elevator on the very end arrived. It was the service elevator. A little larger than the normal ones, and with one of those ugly dirty pieces of padding falling off the back wall. It didn't matter to us, though. We got on.
We pushed the button for the floor with the restroom, and as soon as we hit that floor...actually, even before we officially stopped at the floor and the doors opened, something changed. It seems that as soon as the elevator so much as touched the bottom of that particular floor, I was overcome with vertigo and overwhelming fear. The doors opened and I stepped out, only to have my anxiety increase even more. The world seemed to be swimming before my eyes, and I grabbed the wall to keep myself upright. My friend turned and asked me if I was all right. I looked at her, and my eyes must have reflected the fear I was feeling because she grabbed my arm and asked, "What's wrong?"
As we continued down the hall, I began explaining to her everything I was feeling and sensing. The longer I stayed there, the more I could separate my feelings and describe them. We did use the bathroom, but the whole time I was holding onto the walls for help. As we washed our hands, I grasped the sink. I told her that I was feeling fear, but it was misplaced. It was not my own fear. I felt that there was a man I should be scared of, because he was going to hurt me. But at the same time, I knew it wasn't really me. I knew of no such man, after all. Yet the feeling was there and as much as I told myself it wasn't real, it most certainly was.
I recall describing him to her as "a dark man" and at the time I pictured him looming in the shadows. I assumed he was "dark" because I shouldn't see his features. That was the best word I could come up with, and had no other details I could give her about him.
I told her I was done with this place, and ready to leave. We called for the elevator and rode it back down. The second we were away from that floor, the anxiety and panic immediately lifted. I was back to normal. As fast as it had occured, it was over.
Well, never being one to let things go, my curiosity overcame the fear when we reached the lobby. My friend suggested we get her mom to go up with us again, because her mother had always claimed to be sensitive to such things. If anyone were to believe my experiences, she would.
We went and found her mother and quickly explained the situation, and her mom seemed intrigued and agreed to go up with us. We called for an elevator, but this time a normal elevator arrived. Thinking nothing of it, we got on and punched up the floor.
Nothing happened. Even once we arrived and the doors opened, everything was normal. I became frustrated, because I knew I hadn't imagined the sensations I'd had.
Her mother confirmed that there was nothing strange about the floor, as far as she could sense.
We went back down, and something occured to me. "Maybe we need to do it exactly the same as before?" My friend's mother asked me what I meant. "We took the service elevator up the first time. Maybe that has something to do with it."
Once we arrived in the lobby, we pushed the 'up' button until we finally got the service elevator again. We probably looked like crazy people, but I didn't care. At this point, it was a matter of pride as much as anything else.
We got on the service elevator. Sure enough, as soon as we so much as came in contact with the floor, the feeling overwhelmed me again. But this time, I said nothing. I looked at my friend's mother, trying to gauge her reaction. "Oh, there it is," she said just moments after I felt the sensation of fear and anxiety, myself.
My friend, who I believe was becoming frustrated because she could not sense anything, seemed aggravated that I hadn't just been making it up.
We got out of the elevator and it all happened again. Everything was the same as before, and it seemed I was feeling it much more strongly than my friend's mom. For the simple fact that I could barely stand, and she was just feeling uncomfortably anxious. But at least she was feeling something, and that was enough for me.
The second time around, I decided I'd had enough. We went back downstairs, finished up with the book signing, and left.
The experiences of that day haunted me for years. I rarely told the story, but when I did it always seemed to entertain people. Both believers and non-believers agreed that something strange must have happened to me that day.
Finally, about eleven years later, something came to light that I had never even imagined.
After telling the story to my husband one night, he became fascinated. As I told it, having not thought about it in many years, the feelings of that day washed over me and he could see the tears well up in my eyes. I got a cold chill and was bothered by it the rest of the night. He suggested that maybe if we went back to try and get some answers, I could move past it. I told him I had no desire to ever go back.
It was then that he suggested I ask his family about it. After all, his grandparents and aunts had lived in that area of Maryland for something like 30 years, so maybe they would have some insight.
I went online and tried to find out the exact name or address of the building, so I would know what I was talking about. Thanks to an old photograph of me standing in front of a very unusual fountain, the location of the building was revealed to me. It had been known for years as "The Chevy Chase Building", but the Chevy Chase company no longer did business there. As it turns out, what looked to me to be a hotel when I was a young teenager was nothing more than a fancy office building.
Having at least figured out that much, I brouht up the subject with my husband's aunts one night. I hadn't even gotten to my story yet, I had only said the name of the building, when one of his aunts said, "Isn't that the building where that man shot all those people?"
The room got quiet, and I giggled nervously. "You're messing with me, right?"
She shook her head. "No, I'm sure that's where a man shot some of his co-workers years ago. I used to work in that building."
At that point I must have looked like I was about to faint, because his other aunt asked me if I was feeling all right. I said I was just surprised. At that point, I launched into my story. They all listened attentively, and at the end no one said much of anything. They didn't know what to say, because according to them something very bad had happened in that building, and I just described an experience that did have a basis in reality. The event that had occured there was one I never would have been able to know about, and they knew that. I was only 8 when it happened, after all.
They didn't know the details of the murders, so I enlisted the help of a librarian friend of mine out in California. She researched old news articles from the general time period I was given by my husband's aunts, and finally hit the jackpot.
She forwarded me the articles, and as I read them my blood ran cold.
In 1989, the collections department of Chevy Chase bank did business out of the seventh floor of that building. One day, a disgruntled employee, an African man, walked in with a gun hidden in his gym bag. He then proceeded to blow away two of his female co-workers, and injure a male co-worker. In the end, the man turned the gun on himself.
I read several articles on the subject, and couldn't believe my eyes. Everything the articles stated matched up perfectly with my experiences. As a female, I felt scared of "a dark man" and felt he was going to hurt me. He managed to kill only women.
This detail was not stated in the articles, but there is no doubt in my mind that the service elevator played a role in the tragedy. I wouldn't be surprised if that is the very elevator he took upstairs that day. Or perhaps the elevator they took the bodies down in after the event, since it was big enough for a gurney.
I still can't remember for sure what floor it was where we used the restroom that day. But I don't think it's a stretch to think it must have been the seventh.
So that's my story of a decade old mystery (at least it was a mystery to me) that was solved, only to bring up more questions.
I don't believe there were actual ghosts on that floor. But I do believe all the fear, murderous rage, and death of that day has imprinted itself in the very walls and left a residual impact. That is what I felt that day, and it was strong enough to leave a lasting impression that gives me chills to this day, especially since I now know the truth.
