I’m not usually into ghost stories, but this one caught my attention

It was one of those random Facebook groups, the kind where you inexplicably receive an invite directly from Zuckerberg himself. <br><br>This one was called ‘Ghost Stories’ and it promised just that. I didn’t even remember signing up for it, but when I saw it in my list of groups, I was intrigued. It must have been recommended to me at some point, and no doubt I had absent-mindedly agreed to join. <br><br>I was there for one reason – to kill time. I had an exam in a few hours, it was 3am, and I was desperately tired. It was what my supervisor at the restaurant would have called a ‘dead shift’, and with a bit of luck, I’d be able to take a nap before leaving for college. <br><br>I flopped onto my bed, scrolling through my phone. The group wasn’t particularly active, with only a handful of posts. I scrolled through each one at random, reading other people’s accounts of what they believed to be paranormal events in their lives. <br><br>EFB Borley was a woman who claimed that her father, a former soldier, haunted the house he used to live in. Apparently he was a grumpy old guy who liked to move things about and slam doors. She posted a photo of a book that had been knocked over, and a whole bunch of dog food that had been swept off the side. A few commenters swore they could see shadowy figures in the background, but I personally couldn’t make anything out. <br><br>Matthew Taylor claimed that his house in the countryside used to have an old tree in the garden that was notorious for people hanging themselves on. Apparently one summer, when he was staying with his grandparents, he would constantly see shadowy figure around the tree, hanging there. The comments for that one suggested that it was a figment of his imagination, and so did I. <br><br>I skipped a few, until a post from a few hours ago caught my eye. <br><br>***Why do I keep waking up in the kitchen?*** <br><br>It was posted by a girl named Sofia, who claimed to have been constantly waking up in her kitchen, in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and with a pounding headache. She described how she felt a cold presence around her, as if she was being watched, and each time she tried to go back to sleep, she would be woken up by a loud bang. <br><br>I wondered if maybe she was sleepwalking, especially after seeing a few commenters say that they too had experienced it, but it was a comment from another user that caught my eye. <br><br>***I know exactly what you mean! A few weeks ago, I got a really strange feeling in my kitchen, and I suddenly felt like I was being transported back in time. I recognised the kitchen from pictures of my family when I was a kid. The decor and everything was completely different, and it was so weird. I think I might have a ghost in my house too. I’m going to post some pictures of my kitchen from before and after. I’d be grateful if you could tell me if you recognise your kitchen in any of these?*** <br><br>The comment received a bunch of confused replies and responses, but one in particular caught my eye. <br><br>***This comment seems to have been deleted by the moderators.***<br><br>I clicked the username of the commenter, and found myself taken to their profile page. There were barely any posts or comments from her, but one caught my eye. <br><br>***Plane crash in 1987 and subsequent rescue efforts*** <br><br>I recognised the name of the flight, and the fact that it took place in 1987. It was an infamous incident where a plane carrying 74 people had crashed into the sea, after leaving Miami bound for Caracas. Apparently one of the engines had exploded mid flight, killing a few people in the cabin, before the pilot lost control of the aircraft. No bodies were ever recovered. <br><br>The post itself was very short – it simply consisted of a very grainy, black and white photo of a plane, with a caption that read “If you or anybody you know was on this plane, then please send me a message.” <br><br>I tried sending her a message, but her account was inactive. Odd. <br><br>I went back to the post. A moderator had posted an update, explaining that the comment had been removed for breaching community guidelines. Apparently the comment was from an AI-powered spammer account, and had been deleted as a result. <br><br>I wondered what the comment could have possibly said that warranted deletion. Had it been a spam advert, or something even weirder? <br><br>I went back to the Facebook homepage, and noticed a post in my news feed. <br><br>***Highland Crash Update*** <br><br>It was a news article from a couple of months ago, and it described how search efforts for the crashed plane had been called off. Apparently, despite numerous reported sightings, the authorities had concluded that the wreckage had no doubt sunk to the bottom of the ocean. <br><br>There was a photo of a woman, standing at a press conference. She was crying, and I recognised her name. <br><br>***Yolanda Guevara, cousin of Emiliano Guevara, a passenger on the ill-fated plane, becomes emotional as she reads out a statement. ***<br><br>It occurred to me that, in the grand scheme of things, the disappearance of that plane was barely even history. Yet it was so often talked about as though it was ancient history. <br><br>I tried to imagine what it must have been like to be on the plane that day, to see the ocean rushing towards you. It must have been horrific. <br><br>As I thought about it, I started to feel a creeping sense of dread. I tried to shake it off, telling myself I was just feeling anxious about my exam, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible was going to happen. <br><br>I felt drowsy. Well, at least I could sleep now, I thought. <br><br>I closed my eyes and allowed myself to drift away. <br><br>I don’t know how long I slept, but I was woken by the sound of a bang. I sat bolt upright and looked around, taking in my surroundings. <br><br>I was in a kitchen, but it wasn’t mine. I was standing on some sort of marble floor – in my house, it was laminate. <br><br>I was groggy, and my head hurt, but I stumbled towards the island bench in the centre of the kitchen, banging my knee on a chair as I went. <br><br>I collapsed onto the floor, clutching my knee in pain. <br><br>I must have been sleepwalking, I thought. <br><br>I heard a loud bang, and it took me a few seconds to realise that it was the sound of my phone. <br><br>It was 6am, time to get up for uni. <br><br>I struggled to my feet, still rubbing my sore knee, and headed for the stairs. <br><br>I went to the bedroom to get my phone, and that’s when I noticed it. <br><br>On my bed, there was a photo. It was grainy and black and white, and it depicted a crashed plane. There was a caption underneath – “If you or anybody you know was on this plane, then please send me a message.” <br><br>I had no idea who could have left it there, or how it had even gotten into my house. <br><br>But as I sat on my bed, staring at the photo, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was more than just a random spam message. <br><br>So I did the only thing I could think of – I sent a message to the number on the photo. <br><br>The message I sent was the title of this post. <br><br>***I’m not usually into ghost stories, but this one caught my attention*** <br><br>I sent the message, and then I left for uni. <br><br>It was almost noon when I got home, and when I opened the door to the living room, I got the shock of my life. <br><br>The whole room had been trashed. Everything was upside down, there were books and papers everywhere, and the furniture was scattered all over the place. I recognised the room from the post on the ghost stories Facebook page. <br><br>I looked at my phone. I had a message from an unknown number. <br><br>***Thank you so much for your interest in this story. I think you’ll find it’s very relevant to you. Go to the kitchen, and you’ll see what I mean. ***<br><br>I was frozen in shock. How could they have trashed my house? And who was this mysterious person that was contacting me out of the blue? <br><br>I walked towards the kitchen. I felt a creeping sense of dread again, and I seriously considered calling the police, but something kept me back. <br><br>When I reached the kitchen, I froze in shock. <br><br>On the island bench in the centre of the room, there was a piece of paper. There was a message, scrawled in large handwriting. <br><br>***Plane crashes into the ocean.Everybody dies.***<br><br>When I saw those words, everything came flooding back. <br><br>I was Emiliano Guevara, a passenger on the Highland Plane that had crashed into the ocean in 1987. This was my house, and the kitchen was where my family would often hang out. <br><br>And then something even weirder hit me – the family in my house, they weren’t my family. <br><br>I was dead. <br><br>And no doubt, so were they. <br><br>I’m not usually into ghost stories, but this one caught my attention.