Poltergeist



2024-09-21 Snargl 05:18

Who is a Poltergeist?

A serene bedroom with a bed, a ceiling fan in the corner, and soft light filtering through a window, casting gentle shadows across the room.
A little girl, her head covered by a veil, stands in a room with a large window that lets in soft, ethereal light, adding to the room's mysterious aura.
A poltergeist is a type of ghost that causes physical disturbances, such as loud noises and objects being moved or destroyed.

You cannot see me, but you can hear me
I am the rumbling ghost, the noisy spirit
I haunt your house, I make a mess
I throw your things, I cause you stress

You wonder why I do these things
You think I'm evil, you fear my stings
But I'm not here to harm or scare
I'm just a soul with pain to bear

I was once alive, like you are now
I had a life, a love, a vow
But something happened, something bad
I lost it all, I went mad

I could not rest, I could not cope
I had no peace, I had no hope
So I became a poltergeist
A restless spirit, a noisy sprite

I need your help, I need your care
I need your love, I need your prayer
Please don't hate me, please don't shun me
Please don't ignore me, please don't run from me

I'm just a poltergeist, a lonely ghost
But I can change, I can be most
If you can listen, if you can feel
If you can heal me, if you can deal
With me.

Example of the color palette for the image of Poltergeist

Picture with primary colors of Bistre, Dark electric blue, Bone, Shadow and Pastel blue
Top 5 color shades of the illustration. Arranged in descending order of frequency of occurrence (first - more often, last - more rare).
See these colors in NCS, PANTONE, RAL palettes...
Author:

What does a Poltergeist look like?

A creepy poltergeist looms in a blue-toned room, standing near a desk with a window casting light on its ghostly figure, creating an atmosphere of dread.
A ghostly figure stands motionless in a room with a large rug on the floor, a solitary chair sitting in the corner under a faint beam of light.
A poltergeist is a type of ghost or spirit that is responsible for physical disturbances, such as loud noises and objects being moved or destroyed.

They are usually invisible to the naked eye, but they can be identified by the sounds and effects they produce.

Some people believe that poltergeists are manifestations of the psychokinetic abilities of children or adolescents, brought about by emotional stress or trauma.

Others think that they are malevolent entities that haunt a specific person or location.

I am the unseen force that lurks in the dark
I am the whisper in your ear that makes you shiver
I am the shadow that moves when you're not looking
I am the poltergeist, and I love to play

I don't need a body to make my presence known
I can use anything around me as my toy
I can slam the doors and rattle the windows
I can throw the books and break the dishes

I can make you scream and run in fear
I don't care about your feelings or your pain
I only care about my own amusement
I feed on your anger and your frustration

I enjoy your confusion and your desperation
I am the poltergeist, and I love to torment
You can try to get rid of me, but you will fail
I am stronger than any ritual or prayer

I am smarter than any priest or exorcist
I am faster than any salt or sage
I am the poltergeist
...and I love to stay

Example of the color palette for the image of Poltergeist

Picture with primary colors of MSU Green, Cadet, Air Force Blue, Light cyan and Shadow
Top 5 color shades of the illustration. Arranged in descending order of frequency of occurrence (first - more often, last - more rare).
See these colors in NCS, PANTONE, RAL palettes...
Author:
Stories and Legends

The Old Poltergeist and the Vibrant Revenge

In a forgotten village cradled by dense forests and towering mountains, there was an ancient manor that stood on a hill like a brooding sentinel. The manor had been abandoned for decades, its windows shattered, and its doors creaking like sighs from the past. Yet, it was far from empty. The village folk whispered of an old poltergeist who haunted its halls - a restless spirit driven by forces too old to be remembered. His name was Joris, a forgotten shadow who lived on through tales of terror.

Joris was not like other spirits. Where common ghosts wandered in sorrow or anger, Joris thrived in chaos. His form was intangible but ancient, an essence of mischief that took pleasure in undoing the world of the living. His presence was marked by strange phenomena - furniture would upend, walls would groan, mirrors would crack, and strange gusts of wind would twist through the manor, lifting dust in swirling clouds of malevolent intent. The villagers knew better than to trespass on his domain.
A creepy poltergeist, its face contorted in an unsettling expression, reads a book in a shadowy room with a window casting light and a bookcase full of forgotten volumes.

But Joris had a secret, one buried in the memories he sought to bury deep in the rotting wood and stone of the manor. He had once been human, centuries ago. A vengeful lover in life, he had wronged the one person he had ever cared for - his beloved Mira. She was as radiant as a summer sunrise, but their love had been tainted by betrayal. In his jealousy, Joris had falsely accused her of infidelity, driving her to madness. She perished in despair, her soul fragmented, cast into the wind like petals torn from a flower. Joris was left with nothing but his regrets and his hollow heart.

As punishment for his cruelty, Joris had been bound to the manor where Mira had taken her last breath. For years, decades, even centuries, he lingered, unable to leave, incapable of moving on. His only escape was to wreak havoc, to sow disorder. His chaotic nature was a mirror of the inner turmoil that gnawed at his ghostly being, a tempest that never settled.

One autumn, when the leaves turned the color of flame, a newcomer arrived in the village. She was a young woman, a traveler with bright eyes and a fiery spirit that contrasted sharply with the gloomy mood of the town. Her name was Zaira, and she was unlike anyone the villagers had ever seen. Dressed in colorful garments and adorned with curious trinkets, she spoke with an air of defiance, as though she could bend fate itself to her will.

Zaira heard the stories of Joris and his haunted manor, but instead of fear, a peculiar interest sparked in her eyes. Despite the warnings, she ventured to the hilltop, curiosity pulling her toward the decaying mansion. As she approached the manor, the air thickened, and the wind began to howl - Joris sensed her presence. He prepared his usual welcome, planning to toss furniture at her or perhaps slam doors in her face to send her scurrying back to the village like the others.

But Zaira did not flee.

She entered the manor with a bold step, her eyes scanning the dilapidated surroundings. Joris, curious now, watched her from the shadows. He flung a chair across the room, its legs crashing loudly against the floor. Zaira didn't flinch. She reached out a hand, almost as if she were inviting the chaos to come closer.

"Come out," she said softly, "I've come to meet you."

Joris had never heard words like these. Most people screamed, cursed, or prayed when confronted with his mischief. But not Zaira. She spoke as if she knew him. As if she understood something beyond the surface.

He could not resist manifesting. His form appeared in a swirl of dust, flickering like a shadow barely tethered to this world. Zaira's eyes locked onto the faint outline of his presence, but instead of fear, there was something else in her gaze - recognition.

"I've waited a long time to find you," she whispered, stepping closer to the ghost.

Joris recoiled. How could she know him? What did she mean?

"Do you remember me, Joris?" Zaira asked, her voice rich with old echoes.
A poltergeist with an unsettling presence stands in a gloomy bedroom, its figure outlined by the flickering glow of a nearby television screen.

For the first time in centuries, Joris felt a shiver that wasn't caused by the cold wind or the crumbling manor. He had never revealed his name to the villagers. How could she know?

"You do remember," Zaira continued, as her bright eyes seemed to pierce through the layers of time itself. "I am Mira."

The name struck him like a lightning bolt. Impossible. Mira was gone. She had perished. But as Zaira spoke, her words carried the weight of truth.

"I am Mira," she said again, "reborn, reformed, but not forgotten. You bound me to this world with your betrayal. I shattered because of you. But now I've returned to claim what was once mine."

The vibrant energy that Zaira radiated was no accident. She was not just a wanderer or a curious traveler; she was the fragmented soul of Mira, given new life. But unlike the fragile woman Joris had once known, this Mira was different. She was stronger now - fueled not by love, but by vengeance. The vibrant colors of her attire seemed to pulse with an energy that grew more intense with each passing moment.

"You think your chaos was your curse, Joris?" she asked, her voice taking on a deeper, darker tone. "No. I am your curse. You destroyed me, and now I am here to destroy you."

For the first time, Joris, the poltergeist, felt fear.

Zaira - no, Mira - raised her hand, and with it, the air itself seemed to thrum with power. The manor groaned, the walls trembled, and the furniture that had once obeyed Joris's whims now defied him. The tables and chairs lifted into the air, swirling around Zaira like puppets on strings.

"You have no power over me," she declared. "It is I who now holds the reigns of this chaos. The vibrant energy you sought to control is mine, not yours. I am here to reclaim it, and with it, your fate."

Joris tried to retreat, but his form flickered and weakened. The energy in the room swelled to a crescendo. The very house he had haunted for centuries now seemed to rise against him, walls warping and floors twisting beneath his presence. He could no longer control the forces he had once commanded.

Zaira - Mira - stepped forward, her form blazing with vibrant light. "You will not haunt this place anymore, Joris. You will be scattered, just as you scattered me. Your spirit will dissolve into nothing."

With a final wave of her hand, Zaira unleashed her power. The vibrant energy surged through the manor, tearing through Joris's ghostly form, unraveling him like a tapestry undone by a single pull of thread. His essence was pulled apart, flung into the wind, never to be whole again.

The manor stood silent, no longer a place of chaos. The vibrant energy faded, and Zaira stood alone, her task complete. She turned and left the mansion, walking down the hill toward the village, knowing she had finally claimed her vibrant revenge.

And the villagers, though they still spoke of the haunted manor, told a different story now - not of the old poltergeist who tormented their lives, but of the mysterious traveler who came, radiant as a sunrise, and swept the chaos away.
Author:

The Phantom’s Redemption

Far away, in the quaint village of Eldergrove, where cobblestone streets wound through ivy-clad cottages, there was a legend of a restless spirit named Mortimer. Once a lively tavern keeper, Mortimer had met his untimely end under mysterious circumstances. Rumors whispered of a curse, a betrayal, and a haunting presence that troubled the village for decades. But none of this was known to Edith, a kind-hearted healer who lived in the heart of Eldergrove.

Edith was beloved for her wisdom and gentle touch, her small cottage always brimming with herbs and remedies. Her closest friend was a blacksmith named Thomas, whose skill with metal was matched only by his compassion for the villagers. The two were inseparable, their bond a source of strength for both.
A strange poltergeist in a glowing costume, its head and hands illuminated, stands in a dark alleyway surrounded by buildings and thick shadows.

One fateful evening, as a storm lashed against the village, Thomas was accused of a crime he did not commit - the theft of an ancient amulet, a relic of significant value to Eldergrove's history. Despite his innocence, the village was abuzz with suspicion. The amulet was said to possess a curse that could bring ruin, and Thomas was at the center of the storm.

Edith knew Thomas was no thief. Desperate to prove his innocence, she began her own investigation. Her search led her to the old tavern where Mortimer had once worked. There, amid the dust and shadows, she stumbled upon a hidden compartment containing old journals and letters. They revealed Mortimer's final days were marked by a sinister plot to frame him for a crime he had not committed, all orchestrated by a jealous rival who sought to seize the amulet's power.
A poltergeist with an unsettling presence stands in a gloomy bedroom, its figure outlined by the flickering glow of a nearby television screen.

As Edith read through Mortimer's writings, she felt a chill, sensing the spirit of the tormented tavern keeper still lingering. In a quiet whisper, Mortimer's voice echoed through the room, pleading for redemption and promising to aid Edith if she could uncover the truth.

Determined to help her friend and release Mortimer from his ethereal prison, Edith performed a ritual to summon the restless spirit. Mortimer appeared, a figure of sorrow and regret. He revealed the true culprit: the village elder who had manipulated events to take the amulet for himself. This elder had orchestrated the entire scheme to ensure that Thomas, a man of integrity, would be wrongfully punished.

With Mortimer's guidance, Edith and Thomas confronted the elder in a dramatic showdown. Mortimer's presence revealed the elder's guilt to the villagers, whose eyes were opened to the truth. The elder confessed, his dark schemes laid bare, and the amulet was returned to its rightful place, its curse lifted with the truth now revealed.

The village, grateful for Edith's courage and Thomas's unwavering integrity, celebrated their return to justice. Mortimer, finally freed from his torment, thanked Edith and Thomas. As his spirit ascended, his last words were a promise of peace, and he wished for his story to be remembered as a testament to friendship and the quest for truth.

From that day on, the tale of Mortimer became a cherished part of Eldergrove's lore, a reminder of how even the most troubled spirits can find redemption through the bravery of friends who fight for justice. And in the heart of the village, the bond between Edith and Thomas remained unbreakable, a beacon of hope and compassion in the ever-turning wheel of time.
Author:

The Legend of the Celestial Shroud

Far-far away, in the time before the world was shaped by the hands of mortals, when the cosmos was a boundless expanse of swirling energy and unformed dreams, there existed the Celestial Shroud - an ethereal veil that enveloped the universe in a radiant mist. This Shroud was woven from the threads of the first starlight and was the canvas upon which the primordial forces painted their will.

The Shroud was not a mere curtain of light but a living tapestry, alive with the echoes of creation. It harbored the souls of ancient beings, the Proto-Spirits, who were neither gods nor beasts but entities of pure essence. They were the architects of existence, destined to shape the worlds yet unborn.
A strange poltergeist in a glowing costume, its head and hands illuminated, stands in a dark alleyway surrounded by buildings and thick shadows.

Among these Proto-Spirits were the Poltergeist and their kin - the Specters of Echoes, the Wraiths of Whispered Wishes, and the Shadows of Unspoken Desires. Each bore a fragment of the Celestial Shroud's essence, their forms shifting and fluid, unbound by mortal perceptions.

The legend tells of a time when the fabric of the Shroud began to fray. A great cosmic event, known as the Rending of Realities, fractured the tapestry. The Proto-Spirits, in their desire to preserve the integrity of the universe, were forced to confront a malevolent force known as the Voidstorm - a chaotic entity born from the primal dissonance that threatened to unravel the cosmos.

As the Voidstorm surged through the Celestial Shroud, it consumed the essence of the Proto-Spirits, transforming them into spectral beings. The Poltergeist emerged as the most restless of these entities, their essence forever entwined with the remnants of the Shroud. They became the emissaries of the Voidstorm's chaos, bearing the weight of forgotten dreams and fractured hopes.
A poltergeist with an unsettling presence stands in a gloomy bedroom, its figure outlined by the flickering glow of a nearby television screen.

The Poltergeist, along with their spectral kin, were bound to the realms of the mortal world, where they could no longer manipulate the fabric of the universe directly. Instead, they became guardians of the liminal spaces - places where the boundaries between the living and the dead, the seen and the unseen, blurred into a nebulous fog.

These creatures inhabited the forgotten corners of the world: ancient ruins, desolate landscapes, and the spaces between twilight and dawn. They were drawn to the remnants of human emotions and the vestiges of lost memories. The Poltergeist, in particular, thrived on the energy of tumult and discord, their presence a reminder of the cosmic balance that had been disrupted.

Legends spoke of the Poltergeist's ability to manifest from the disquiet of their surroundings, creating disturbances that echoed the turbulence of their origins. Objects would move on their own, unseen forces would stir the air, and an inexplicable chill would pervade the atmosphere. It was said that these manifestations were the Poltergeist's way of reaching out to the living world, trying to mend the fragments of their shattered existence through the chaos they caused.

The other spectral beings had their roles as well. The Specters of Echoes were known to inhabit places where voices of the past lingered, their whispers guiding or misleading those who sought knowledge of bygone eras. The Wraiths of Whispered Wishes haunted places of unfulfilled dreams, their presence a reminder of the aspirations left behind. The Shadows of Unspoken Desires prowled the spaces where secrets lay hidden, their forms shifting with the unvoiced longings of those they encountered.

In time, the celestial fabric was mended, and the Shroud reformed, though its former glory was dimmed. The Proto-Spirits, now forever altered, found new purpose as the enigmatic inhabitants of the mortal realms. They became the legends and myths that whispered through the ages, their tales serving as a bridge between the celestial and the earthly.

Thus, the legend of the Celestial Shroud endures - a testament to the cosmic struggle that birthed the creatures of myth and wonder. The Poltergeist and their kin remain as enduring symbols of the ever-present echo of creation, a reminder that even in the face of cosmic disarray, the threads of existence continue to weave their intricate patterns across the fabric of reality.
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