My great grandfather built a small fishing resort just outside Long Pine, Nebraska. It was pretty much just a bunch of small cabins built conveniently close to several good fishing creeks. Within this resort was a space that was sectioned off with a gate; it was sort-of the “presidential suite” sort of area, where there was a better cabin with nicer stuff in it, and a large yard. This area was most definately haunted.

The year I figured this out, the grass hadn’t been cut for a while, and it was overgrown and teeming with grasshoppers. We went there often to hunt them for bait, which was almost funner than the fishing. I should also note at this time that I’ve always thought myself a little psychic, and have had a sort-of sixth sense about hauntings in the past; I just sort-of feel the electro-magnetic energy that always gets picked up by those ghost-hunters; makes my head kind-of hum.

Well, when I entered the area, my head started feeling weird something fierce. I shrugged it off; nothing bad seemed to be happening, afterall. Hunted grasshoppers, but my mind kept getting sidetracked, thinking of a relatively hot brunette woman in a white gown, trying to seduce me. I was around 18 or so at the time, so I just shrugged it off as hormones running wild, and went on about my business.

Needless to say, I did find the place intriguing, as the only time I started having those thoughts was when I was there, and added to that the sort-of mental “hum,” well, I spent a lot of time there. At one point, I felt the urge to sort-of explore. I went to the edge of the yard, where there were a bunch of trees, and looked through the trees. There was a very real sound of children laughing, and I could see a log cabin with clothes drying on a line outside. It looked pretty inviting, and I felt pulled toward it, yet my logic center was crying out not to, so I resisted. I did go look at it a few times, though.

The last day I was there, the woman-entity seemed to sense I was on my way out for the last time for a while. I was just laying there, enjoying the little fantasy playing out in my head, and decided it was time to get going. I began walking toward the gate that seperated the area from the rest of the property, and as I started to go through it, I felt as if I was walking through saran-wrap; there was a definate force trying to keep me there. I heard a voice, then, very female, plead “Please, don’t go!” from inside my head, and I pushed forward and managed to get free.

I returned a year later, and went to check on the gated area. The grass was trimmed; no more grasshoppers to hunt, and the buzz was gone from my head, as were the fantasies of the hot brunette. I went to check on the log cabin and clothesline, and found that it had not only been an illusion, but in reality it had been the road up to the place, which continued on toward what was probably a logging operation; lots of large trucks went through there. If I’d walked toward the cabin, I would have probably been squashed.