Last October, my family and I moved into an old house in the countryside. My mom said it would be "a peaceful place for a fresh start," but whatever lived within those walls had no interest in peace.

The first few weeks were normal—creaky floors, drafty windows, the usual quirks of an old house. But then, something strange happened.

It was close to 2 AM. Everyone was asleep, and I was studying under my desk lamp. The only sound was my pencil scratching paper... until I heard something else. A faint noise, like whispering—coming from behind the wall.

At first, I thought it was just my imagination. Then I leaned closer. Two voices, murmuring in a language I couldn’t understand. Low, breathy, urgent.

There are no nearby neighbors. The closest house is over 500 meters away. I turned off the light and held my breath. The whispers stopped.

But the next night, right at the same time, I woke up to a scream from my mom’s room. I ran to her—she was still asleep, whispering in her dreams: "Behind the door… they’re whispering to me."

From then on, every single night at exactly 1:56 AM, the whispers returned. We all started hearing them. Even my dad, the skeptic, began sleeping with the lights on.

One night, he decided to follow the sound. He traced it to a section of the hallway wall, and started chipping away at the plaster. As he dug, something metallic clanged beneath—an old iron door, sealed shut and hidden inside the wall.

There was no keyhole. Just rust and age. We forced it open.

Behind the door was a small room lit only by the faint light of our flashlights. Candles had melted onto the stone floor. Strange symbols were drawn in what looked like dried blood. In the center, a scorched wooden altar stood, covered in dust... but it felt freshly used.

Then my mother stepped inside, her face pale. She whispered, "I’ve been here before... They brought me here as a child."

We stared at her.

She began to explain. Her mother—my grandmother—had belonged to a secret cult. This house had once been their gathering place. Every full moon, they performed rituals in that hidden room—invoking something not meant to answer. One night, they summoned something wrong. Something... inhuman. And that night, a child was sacrificed.

She had blocked the memory her entire life. Until now.

“That child... was my brother,” she said, tears in her eyes.

Suddenly, the candles ignited by themselves. The iron door slammed shut behind us. The whispers didn’t come from the walls anymore.

They came from inside our heads.

We left that room.

But no matter what we do, the whispers haven’t stopped.

Even now, as I type this... it’s 1:56 AM again. And from the wall behind me, I hear the voice:

"One more soul..."

hello guys,

can I have a review of my creepypasta story, please? I just started, and your feedback is very valuable for me so I can improve my content. many thanks!

When marine biologist Dr. Maya Chen arrives in the coastal town of Blackwater Cove to study its mysterious dead zone, she dismisses the locals' superstitions as small-town folklore. But as shadows begin moving independently and strange geometric patterns appear in the water, Maya's scientific worldview is challenged by an ancient cosmic entity lurking beneath the bay. Every 76 years, the town experiences unexplained disappearances, and the cycle is about to repeat. As reality itself begins to warp around her, Maya discovers the truth about the Abyssal Presence and must make a terrible choice: close the dimensional rift and save the town, or preserve her sanity. Some knowledge was never meant for human minds...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pFSSc3Xhue4

It started with an old book no one remembers leaving in my apartment — leather-bound, impossibly cold to the touch, and full of things that felt…wrong to read. I should have thrown it out. But of course I didn’t.

One ritual caught my eye: The Reflection Rite.

“To open the path to the Self Beyond the Glass.”

The steps were simple, disturbingly so. Midnight. A mirror. A name spoken backwards. Blood — just a drop.

Mine.

The mirror didn’t ripple or glow. No lightning or strange sounds. But my reflection smiled when I didn’t.

That was the first sign.

It began mimicking things I hadn’t done yet — turning its head a second before me, grinning when I was blank-faced. Every night after the ritual, the reflection grew… bolder. It began mouthing words I wasn’t speaking.

Then it spoke.

“You look tired.”

Its voice was like mine — only smoother, more confident, almost seductive in how natural it sounded. It told me I had opened a gateway — not to another place, but to another me. A version of myself perfected beyond limits, waiting patiently behind the thin skin of reality.

“Step aside,” it whispered one night, its eyes gleaming like wet glass. “Let me help. You don’t have to fight anymore.”

But here’s the truth.

That thing wasn’t me. It was never me. It’s a thing that needed permission — that needed cracks to slip through.

And every time I doubted myself… every time I thought about how easy it would be to let go and trade places…

…the glass thinned.

I stopped sleeping. I covered the mirrors. But its voice didn’t stay trapped behind silver and glass.

It speaks from dark windows now. From still water. From the black screen of my phone before it lights up.

“All you have to do… is stop resisting.”

Last night, I caught my reflection standing behind me, even though I wasn’t facing a mirror.

Smiling.

Waiting.

⸻

They say the final step of The Reflection Rite isn’t in the book. It’s when you look yourself in the eye — and blink first.

If I disappear… if you see me walking around, smiling that perfect, predatory smile…

That’s not me.

It never was.

Break your mirrors.

Don’t answer when your own voice calls you from the dark.

And for god’s sake — don’t blink.

Huh... I came here because I just had a nightmare and needed answers. One of the last things I remember said in it was "I'm going to check if the lock is inside out" thing is I never heard THIS story before, I'm sure of it. Another thing in my nightmare, the last thing I heard, said "look for the burning water" and I don't know what that means. Anyone understand the meaning of it? #creepypasta

"Every Thanksgiving, a man in black watched the children. One year, we followed him."

I wasn’t supposed to tell this story. Doel, my grandfather’s hometown near the Belgian border, no longer exists on the map. But every time Thanksgiving approaches, I hear whispers—children laughing, then screaming—in my sleep.

It all started in the 1920s. Doel was a small, peaceful town. People lived simple lives. But every year, during the Thanksgiving week, a strange man appeared. He wore all black, had a thick build, and stood completely still near the town’s festival grounds. He never interacted with anyone. Just… watched. Especially the children.

At first, they thought he was just a lonely traveler. But then the bodies started showing up.

Every year, on the last day of Thanksgiving break, children would go missing. Hours later, their bodies would be found hanging from the same oak tree near the edge of the forest. Always the same tree. No signs of struggle. No blood. Just... hanging there, as if placed gently.

Year after year, it kept happening.

In 1935, a group of townspeople decided to follow the man. They trailed him deep into the woods, where he entered an old, rotting farmhouse hidden in a valley. When they peeked inside, they saw something that none of them could ever forget.

A ritual.

There was a large wooden table at the center of the room. On it, dried blood, symbols carved into the wood, pieces of skin—child-sized. And in the middle, an old, black-and-white photo of a young boy. On the back of the photo, one word was written in Flemish: "Verloren" (Lost).

Before they could react, the man appeared behind them. He spoke in a language no one recognized. It wasn’t just words—it was noise that bypassed their ears and carved itself into their bones. One person fainted. Another vomited. The rest ran. But they all said the same thing: he wasn’t human.

Three days later, the entire town of Doel was wiped off the map. A massive earthquake hit. Buildings collapsed. Every single resident died. But here’s the strange part: no seismic activity was ever recorded. According to every geological record, the ground never shook.

The town simply... vanished.

Years passed. My grandfather was one of the few who escaped because he had left Doel shortly before the quake. He told me everything before he died. I never believed it—until last year.

I visited where Doel used to be. Nothing was left but cracked earth and scattered debris. Yet, the moment I stepped into the forest, I heard laughter. Then a scream. Then... whispering in a language I couldn’t understand.

I saw something, too.

A man, dressed in black, standing between the trees. Watching.

I ran. I didn’t look back.

Now, it’s almost Thanksgiving again. I’ve been hearing things at night. The photo of the boy? It appeared in my apartment last week. Same word on the back.

Verloren.

I think... I think he’s coming back.

And this time, he’s not coming for the children.

Tell me, whoever you are or may be, where are you? Are you at home, at work, at a friend’s place, or maybe even out in public? Are you alone? Do you have a friend, family member or someone you love next to you? Well, no matter what, I just want to know one simple thing: “Do you feel safe, wherever you are?” Do you ever just get that feeling as if someting is wrong? That feeling is natural, however it is irrational, there’s nothing wrong, you probably just need some sleep. At least, that’s what it would want you to think. I know this all seems like just a hoax, however, I must reiterate, “Are You Alone?” If you are, then I want you to have a good look at what’s around you. Are you absolutely certain that there is no one else with you? Because, even if you’ve checked every nook and cranny of your house or wherever you may be, and I cannot say this enough…

Always check the corner of your eye…

Something’s always there, whether you can see it or not, it is there. Watching, learning, waiting. Everyone believes that this fear is irrational, however that’s only if you have a distrust in your gut. If you ever know that you’re alone, but you feel as if you aren’t, look in the corner of your eyes. If you can see someting or someone there, that means it‘s after you. There is no need to panic, that only makes its job easier. You may be wondering what it is, or what it may want. It wishes to replace you, it wishes to take you out of the picture, and replace you, become you. It becomes an exact replica of you, it learns everything it can about you, and does what you would do.

I understand that this may be difficult to understand, but there are ways of fighting back. If you know it is there, keep it in the corner of your eye, and don’t let it enter the centre of your vision. Grab a weapon, anything that could work to defend yourself. Keep it close, and whatever you do: don’t sleap. Sleaping only makes it easier for it to get in your head, and learn about you. If you suspect another person to be infected by one of these creatures, there are manee ways to tell if they are infected. Number one, strange behaviour such as smiling wildly, keeping eye contact constantly and never looking away, wanting to be distant at all times are signs that they aren’t who they seem to be. Second, they may be a lot stranger than the person they are disguised as, such as being a little bit more rude, emotionally dissonant, and maybe even having a slightly different accent. Third and finilly, mistakes to farely simpl words in a lot of their speech or riteing.

Hopefoolly, with this info, you too can servive agenst these creatures, and rememba…

Don’t Resist, thay are hear to help

"I had promised myself I’d never go back there. Since that night, the house had remained shut, forgotten at the end of the road. But time passed, and its silence turned into dust and cracks in the walls. The real estate agent told me someone was interested in buying it. So I went back, just to fix things up and get the house ready for sale. Simple. Quick. But the moment I touched the rusty doorknob… I knew it wouldn’t be."

The door gave way easily, like it had been waiting for me. The air was still, but not dusty — it was heavy. The paintings on the walls looked darker than I remembered. The silence inside was disturbing.

Every corner held memories of us. Her laughter on the porch, Sunday lunches, arguments that always ended in reconciliation. But after that last fight, everything changed. I left and she stayed, crying. I never saw her again. At least not alive.

The living room was just the same. The crooked couch, the squashed cushions. On the wall, the marks of time looked like shadows that hadn’t been there before. I slowly climbed the stairs to the second floor, where our bedroom was. My hands were trembling for no clear reason. Guilt weighed heavy on my chest.

In the hallway, the air grew colder. As if I were stepping into another time, another dimension of the house. I passed one of the bedrooms and something made me stop. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a figure cross the open doorway. It was her face. Quick. Faint. Unmistakable.

My heart nearly stopped. It couldn’t be. I was alone. But I saw it. I saw it. That apparition wasn’t my imagination. It was a warning.

I stepped into the room and there was nothing. No sign of disturbed dust, no presence, no life. But her familiar scent lingered in the air — not perfume, just… presence. Like when someone hasn’t truly left yet. As if she were watching me from a place I couldn’t reach.

I sat on the bed and stayed there for a while. Trying to figure out if it was regret, guilt, or something beyond that. That night — our last night together — I said things I should’ve never said. She cried. Begged me to stay. And I left, slamming the door behind me.

I spent the night in the room. I didn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her shadow in the hallway. And at some point, I was sure: it wasn’t just a shadow. She was there. Watching me.

In the morning, I went down to the kitchen and found a cup on the table. The same one she used. Intact, clean, like it had just been placed there. There was no dust on it. I shook. That wasn’t possible.

I spent the following days trapped there. I couldn’t leave. Literally. The doors locked on their own. The windows wouldn’t open. My phone lost signal the second I stepped inside. It was like the house had swallowed me whole.

On the third day, I heard the stairs creaking. I was downstairs, and I knew no one else was there. I looked up, and for a second, I saw someone’s bare foot vanish at the top. I ran up. Nothing. Just the same presence, the same cold.

I started talking to her. Apologizing. Saying I regretted everything. Saying I’d do anything to have her back. And the house’s silence seemed to listen. Until one night, she answered.

It was her voice. Low, behind me. “You came back.” I turned around in a flash, but there was only darkness. It wasn’t a threat. It was more like… a statement.

After that, she started showing up more often. Sometimes next to me in bed. Other times, standing on the porch staring out. Always silent. Always with sunken eyes, like she hadn’t blinked in years.

The first time she appeared beside me, I froze. I didn’t feel fear — I felt shame. Her eyes weren’t the same anymore. They looked like dark wells, too deep to stare into. But even so, I begged for forgiveness.

She didn’t speak. She just reached out and touched my face. Cold like stone, but soft like when she was alive. I closed my eyes, holding my breath. And wished she’d take me with her.

The next morning, I woke up alone. But her touch was still on my face — a faint redness. I started thinking maybe it was fair. Maybe my punishment was to stay there with her. And maybe she was just waiting for me to accept it.

I lived the routine of a condemned man. I spoke to her, even when she didn’t answer. Left a chair pulled out at the table. Slept on the same side of the bed as before. And waited.

One night, I heard something fall in the bedroom. It was one of our picture frames — the one from the beach trip. It lay on the floor, glass shattered. But what was strange… her face had vanished from the photo. As if she’d never been there.

That shook me to the core. I began to suspect she was erasing the traces. Or worse: preparing me for something I didn’t yet understand. A trade, maybe. An unspoken pact.

On the seventh day, she spoke again. “You know what I want.” Her voice was low, emotionless. It wasn’t a request. It was a reminder. And I knew exactly what she meant.

I went up to the attic. There was an old rope tied to a beam. She stood below, in the dark, watching. With a slight nod of approval. And I… for a moment, I considered it.

But something stopped me. It wasn’t fear — not anymore. It was a primal survival instinct. And when I hesitated, she disappeared.

The next day, something had changed. The walls seemed narrower, like they were slowly closing in. The hallway, which I remembered as short, grew longer each time I walked through it. The kitchen door creaked on its own, even when locked. The house was falling apart from the inside. Or adapting to what it had become.

A prison made of guilt. And I was the prisoner. Or the visitor. Or maybe the last bit of living flesh she still needed. To become whole.

I tried to burn the house down. I built a fire with the curtains and furniture. But the flames wouldn’t rise. They just danced low, like they were mocking me. She wasn’t going to let it happen.

So I screamed. I screamed everything I’d kept inside for two years. The truth. That yes, I loved her. But I never meant to promise what I couldn’t keep.

That night, she appeared one last time. A figure standing at the foot of the bed. And for the first time… she was crying. But said nothing.

The next morning, the front door was open. Light poured in like the world had returned to normal. I walked out without looking back. But I know she’s still in there. Waiting for me to keep my promise.

Discover the eerie tales of Boca Chica Beach, where ghostly apparitions and mysterious events keep locals and visitors intrigued https://www.tiktok.com/@grafts80/video/7490164540894629162?is_from_webapp=1&sender_device=pc&web_id=7455094870979036703

Hey everyone, I’ve been searching for an old YouTube animation/animatic that featured Jeff the Killer and Jane the Killer, set to the song “Killer” by The Ready Set.

It was a fan-made animation — kind of like an AMV or animatic — and it took place in a school. One of the most memorable parts was Jeff chasing Jane through the school halls. The style wasn’t high-budget, more like a fan storyboard/animation with dramatic scenes synced to the music.

I remember watching it around 2012 to 2015, and it was somewhat popular back then. I’ve looked everywhere, but I think it might have been deleted.

Does anyone remember this video, know the original uploader, or have a reupload saved somewhere?

Any help would be super appreciated — this video’s been stuck in my head for years!

Meu nome é Elizabeth Cardoso. Tenho 37 anos, sou médica pediatra, e não costumo falar sobre os pacientes que perco. Mas Carl… Carl não foi apenas um paciente.

Ele chegou ao hospital com o rosto coberto de sangue e ossos fraturados. Nove anos de idade. O relatório dizia que a mãe havia cometido suicídio e o pai, um alcoólatra violento,surtou descontando toda a raiva na criança. Quando Carl foi encontrado, mal respirava.

Durante as primeiras semanas, ele não dizia uma palavra. Só me olhava, ou melhor… olhava através de mim. Mas aos poucos, criamos um vínculo. Ele começou a falar comigo. Pouco, mas falava. Contava sobre como era difícil se sentir sozinho. Dizia que só queria “alguém pra brincar”.

Acho que ele gostava de mim. Eu lia histórias pra ele todas as noites. Ele sempre sorria. Mas, um dia, depois de um ataque de pânico, ele começou a dizer algo estranho:

— “Quando a noite vem… eu me vejo por fora.”

Pensei ser metáfora, trauma. Algo que um psicólogo interpretaria. Mas na madrugada seguinte, os monitores do quarto dele começaram a apitar descontroladamente. Corri até lá.

A porta estava trancada por dentro. Quando arrombaram, Carl não estava mais lá. A cama estava coberta de sangue. O avental dele estava dobrado sobre a cadeira. E na parede… escrito com algo escuro, talvez sangue: “Você me viu, doutora. Agora eu vejo você.”

A polícia foi chamada, é claro. Nenhum sinal de fuga. Nenhum corpo. O pai de Carl, na cadeia, foi encontrado dias depois… sem olhos. Não havia sinal de luta. Parecia que eles apenas… desapareceram.

Eu tentei seguir a vida. Continuei trabalhando. Mas então começaram as madrugadas.

Sempre às 3 da manhã.

As luzes do hospital piscavam. Ouviam-se passos pequenos nos corredores vazios. Pacientes em coma choravam sem motivo. Outros viam uma criança sem olhos, parada ao pé da cama, acenando.

Um segurança o viu no circuito interno e… enlouqueceu. Está internado até hoje, repetindo:

— “Ele só quer brincar. Só quer brincar…”

E eu… eu o vejo. Sempre. Quando olho no espelho tarde da noite. Quando passo pelos corredores escuros. Ele aparece. Com sua pele pálida, lágrimas de sangue, cabelos bagunçados e a mesma atadura na testa.

Mas agora… ele não sorri mais pra mim. Ele só sussurra.

— “Você me deixou sozinho…”

Tento dormir com as luzes acesas, mas às vezes acordo com elas apagadas. E o pior… o pior é que às vezes eu respondo. Respondo ao chamado. Porque, no fundo, eu também não quero mais estar sozinha.

Autor: Santiago

I got a text from an unknown number. I will explain after, but this is the back and forth over a few hours.

UN: Karma is a bitch

Me: Who is this?

UN: We have been waiting. Made $350 off the pretentious bullshit you tried to run. You are out of your League.

Now you are in no one’s league.

Me: I think you have the wrong number. Who do you think you are texting?

UN: I know exactly who I’m texting. You don’t worry about who we are. This is fuck boy (my last name).

Me: What did I do to make $350? I don’t know who you are or what you think I did. I think you have the wrong number.

UN: I made $350 betting on you. You know what all you did. Go focus on your marriage. She will wise up. (My wife’s name) is going to the city.

Me: What do you mean betting on me? I don’t know what I did.

Ok, I have goosebumps. At first I thought it was a weird spam, but spam is usually not vaguely threatening like karma is a bitch.

The next part- we have been waiting. (?) made $350 off the pretentious bullshit you tried to run (?) you are out of your league.

But then later, the unknown number says I made $350 betting on you. But if they made $ betting on me, why would they be mad and saying karma is a bitch?

What does betting on you mean? Why we have been waiting?

Those seem kind of spammy. But then they said fuck boy (my last name). I thought that’s really weird, but maybe white page’d me. But then they knew my wife’s name. It gets weirder. If you were to look up her legal name, her first name is technically different from the name she goes by. The UN knew her 2nd name. Weirder still- we are moving to the city soon.

Weirder still- I called the number after they stopped replying. It went to a google voice account that wasn’t accepting calls. Which could be a sign of spam. But I have never gotten vaguely threatening and weirdly specific texts- my last name, my wife’s name, moving to the city…

We white page’d the number. It links to somewhere far away in the country, but has a local area code which makes me think it’s one of those things that scrambles the number.

They almost seem like disconnected vaguely threatening messages, but hard to understand what exactly they are mad about.

Do I call 911? There’s not a real threat, but it’s creepy af. I forwarded the messages to the spam hotline.

What should I do? I’m creeped out.

I’m currently making an edit with the more popular creepy pastas (slender man, jtk e.t.c) as the 7ds I was thinking — 1. Lust – Offenderman 2.Gluttony – Eyeless Jack 3.Greed – Slender Man 4.Sloth – Sally Williams 5.Wrath – Jeff the Killer 6.Envy – Nina the Killer 7.Pride – BEN Drowned

What do y’all think? Need any changes?

Hello everyone! I'm a new horror narrator who's looking to grow a bit! This is probably my best narration to date! Original story is done by u/Accomplished_Low7889

Voice is completely my own, no AI, just good ol' human narration!

Would love some feedback if you guys have any!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VsBoE-M0esg&t=1s

I've been curious ever since it was revealed a Herobrine easter egg is referenced in the official Minecraft movie. How many times has a company of major importance acknowledged or referenced a creepypasta based on their own media?

To my knowledge (outside of Herobrine in the MC movie):

• the Pokemon company DID cheekily reference missingno. in an April fool's entry of the Pokemon TCG channel's Beyond the Pokedex series, when talking about Magmar. However, the second Halloween special of We Bare bears literally features the 1-1 sprite of missingno as a cameo.
• The Sonic twitter has officially referenced Sonic.exe twice, in a gif resembling a rom-hack and a picture featuring a fake cartridge hiding underneath multiple other cartridges. they've also acknowledged the infamous Majin sonic through a promoted fanart work for a Halloween occasion.
• The post-Hillenberg episode of Spongebob Squarepants "Spongebob in Randomland" features a direct cameo from Red-mist as one of the entities Squidward sees in the various weird dimension doors, which was later censored and replaced with an unsettling image of himself as a Baby.

what do you think? do you like these kinds of things being done nowadays?

hello guys,

can I have a review of my creepypasta story, please? I just started, and your feedback is very valuable for me so I can improve my content. many thanks!

When Eduard travels to a remote Indonesian village to meet Laras, the woman he's been talking to online for months, he discovers that some connections are more terrifying than they appear. As whispers haunt his nights and strange symbols appear around him, Eduard realizes he wasn't brought to the island as a visitor, but as a vessel for something ancient and hungry.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d1cr4hGs2Bw

Went to bed last night and had one of those dreams last night, usually I'm very self-aware in my dreams but this one felt more real this time. I had a dream of being abducted by e.ts before and this time they returned to fix where they'd left off. Me and a few others were taking from our homes and into this house in a country like setting. They operated on everyone as they slept, they had a machine I overheard them saying that operated off of vibrations..so we felt no pain or anything. After they were done operating they left from the house, I had got up and ran to the bathroom to look in a mirror , my eyes were black instead of brown with most of the white areas in the eye covered with this purple stuff. The purple stuff eventually vanished, I went to meet the others who were sitting in a living room and some also sitting outside. For the first time ever, I could see my phone with no blurs , I put it away and began socializing with the others. Everyone had many questions that got answered eventually. What really struck me odd is when this lady whom owned a nearby convenience store that had a lobby underground that we gathered in for awhile ...she had sent me a text letting me know the shop closes at a certain time today because it's Sunday..I didn't even know it was Sunday. (I'm leaving out some parts btw, not alot but just enough) After awhile of us congregating, the e.ts showed back up, they told us we were repaired and that they must grab a photo of us each ..not by camera, but by this mechanism that seemed like a podium with an weird object obstructing out of the top, in order to take a picture, you were to gently bite down on the object and an otherworldly flash would occur throughout your whole body then that's it. It felt so real that even my body was all discombobulated while I sat awake ..I got up noticing my body felt way better than it has for the past week it seems. It was such a great a peaceful time that was had with the others so much that I won't forget it.

In the late 1990s, five deaths in the Appalachian Mountains remain unexplained. The media labeled it a "wild animal attack." But only one person knows the truth... and they lost their mind.

It all began in the winter of 1986.

A group of six young people set out early in the morning, and by the time they reached the snow-covered mountains, dusk was beginning to fall. The boys started a large campfire with dry branches they gathered, while the girls settled into a wooden cabin and began preparing dinner.

The cold was starting to show its teeth. But the night wouldn't just bring cold...

Dinner was eaten, tea was drunk, and laughter echoed. Then, as was the camp tradition, it was time for "scary story time." The first volunteer was the tall, dark-skinned young man in a blue jacket. He was the natural leader of the group. He stepped closer to the fire and began:

"Did you see something in the Appalachian Mountains? No, you didn't. Did you hear something? No, you didn't. Did someone call you? No, they didn’t. Just act like nothing's there."

As his voice echoed in the dark, no one breathed, except for the crackling of the fire.

"Years ago, on the mountain's peak, there lived a man. Alone, far from civilization. One day, the air was sharp with cold, just like tonight. The man was chopping wood in his yard when he heard a voice from the forest:

‘Daniel… Daniel…’

At first, he ignored it, but then he recognized the voice: his dead wife.

‘Daniel… help me… I’m here…’

He dropped his axe and ran toward the sound. The voice came closer with every step.

‘Mary!’ he shouted. But no reply came.

Just as he was about to turn back, he heard a rustling in the treetops. He looked up, and…

He saw it.

A tall, black-skinned creature with white eyes... half-wolf, half-something else.

Its skin looked like rough, burnt leather. Its eyes weren't human—they were deep, black pits that seemed to absorb all light.

Daniel screamed and ran, but the creature followed.

When he reached the door of his house, it grabbed him and dragged him to the ground… and right there… it tore out his intestines and decapitated him.

No one knows what that creature was."

At the end of the story, everyone fell silent. Though the young man in the blue jacket insisted it was just a legend, the blonde, innocent-looking girl – Rauna – was trembling in fear. After a couple more stories, the night grew deep, and everyone headed to the cabin to sleep.

Around midnight, Rauna was jolted awake by a sharp scream. Dazed and confused, she looked around the cabin. Then, another scream echoed, and everyone woke up. Rauna ran to the window.

What she saw… shattered her reality.

Outside, a creature with long black hair, bony protruding ribs, and bulging eyes was chasing her brother Mike.

Without thinking, Rauna rushed out of the cabin without even grabbing anything. She ran desperately to save her brother, but Mike was cornered by a rock. And then… the creature tore his throat out in one swift motion.

Rauna’s scream echoed across the land. Their eyes met. The only word that escaped Rauna's lips was:

“Shit…”

Tears streaming down her face, she began to run. The creature turned to follow her, but then it suddenly changed direction… heading back to the cabin. It tore apart each person inside, one by one.

Rauna hid in a hollow tree. She spent the entire night there, trembling and crying. By morning, she heard the distant sound of police sirens. She staggered out and ran toward the police cars.

When the officers saw her, the little girl collapsed into the snow, unconscious.

She woke up in the hospital. She was alive, but nothing would ever be the same. After that night, she received psychological support for a long time. Now, she lives alone in a small 1+1 apartment, without speaking to anyone.

The case remains unsolved. And the murders are still officially labeled "wild animal attacks."

THE END-HASAN AY

Nodey keeps reproducing with the ground and I have told nodey that he should stop reproducing with the ground. Nodey keeps doing it though and he has an addiction with reproducing with the ground. I am patient with nodey though and I have always been reserved with him. I remember the first time I caught nodey reproducing with the ground. I went outside and I saw that someone had been digging on the field, in multiple spots. I thought that there were construction going on but then I observed that there were no signs of construction taking place, nor were there any safety warning signs about.

Then I saw nodey who was reproducing with the ground and he was a couple of feets down in the ground now. He was the cause of all these holes on the ground. I told nodey to stop reproducing with the ground and I gave him my hand to help him out of the ditch that he had created on the ground. There were so many holes made on the ground that it was impossible to miss. I shouted at nodey for reproducing with the ground and it was clear that he had done it so many times.

When you reproduce with the ground and the harder you reproduce with the ground, just like digging a grave, you will go deeper into the ground. When you dig a hole into the ground, you get the soil that you dug out to make the hole. When you reproduce with the ground and create a deep ditch, the soil will end up in some other different place. All those ditches that nodey had created through reproduction, the soil ended up in random houses and they were not happy. I had to get nodey away from this place because

Then I made nodey swear that he will never reproduce with the ground, and nodey sweared to me that he will never do it. I trusted nodey for some reason because he has this reassuring way of telling people that he will not do something. I trusted nodey and luckily nobody suspected or saw that it was nodey that had reproduced with the ground. So nodey had gotten away with it and I was happy with nodey that he will never reproduce with the ground. Everyone was angry and they wanted to know who has reproduced with the ground and I was doing my best to protect nodey.

Then one day I get up and I see huge amount of soil just in the middle of a busy road. I then see in the middle of the field, a very deep ditch of about 10 meters. Nodey was down there and he was begging for me to help him up with a rope. He was also scared of something else down there with him, and other people started to gather and see that it was nodey that had reproduced with the ground.

All that nodey cared was that he could feel something else down there with him. Then something started to grab nodey down the 10 meter ditch, and it was nodeys children that he had made with the ground, and they took him deeper into the ground until he was no more.

On YouTube and Instagram there is an account where an anonymous poster uploads creepy photos and eerie videos usually its just a creepy guy wearing a mask and doing weird movements saying things under his breath and crying some say he's made his way to other platforms like here on Reddit so just be warned if you look up this account you may find some creepy stuff

Joanne stands behind her front counter, the smell of cheap grain alcohol on her breath, the light behind her casts a shadow. Her hands tremble—not from fear, but from age, from grief, and the weight of the shotgun he left behind.Across the room, What used to be Joshua stands in her silhouette. His eyes glisten with intention. His skin is wrong, too smooth in some places, while barely hanging on in others. He tries to smile.

Joshua:"There’s still time, Jo. The Garden is here. I can’t let you die alone. Come with me! and we'll be reborn. We’ll be together again…"

Joanne’s grip tightens on the shotgun. Fighting tears. 

Joanne:"We already made peace with death. You prayed every night. You said Heaven was waiting.Joshua, please! You were a good man! This isn’t you!"

Joshua’s head tilts slowly—haunted by the ghost of a memory. 

Joshua:"Faith brought me here, Jo. Faith in you, faith in us."His twisted mouth quivers. He raises his hands"I missed you, so much".

And takes a step forward. The floorboards creak under his weight. There’s a wetness to the sound, a soft give, like something is shifting.Joanne pulls the hammer. Her eyes fill with tears, but she doesn’t blink. Her voice breaks. Shaking, and desperate.

Joanne:"You told me Heaven was real, You said we'd find peace! You said you'd wait for me!"

He spreads his arms. His shoulders pop unnaturally, stretching wider.

Joshua (reverent):"I stood before the throne of God…"

Joanne’s breath catches.

Joshua (whispers):"And it was empty."

Joanne:"You’re not my Joshua!"

She slams the hammer

BOOOM

Thunder cracks, The shotgun knocks Joanne back. The thing across the room folds back into the shadows. She readies her aim one last time. Where did it go?

The room is still, time holds still.

Her sorrow drowned in adrenaline. She sees something, a ripple in the dark, and freezes.

"God is dead, for we have killed him."

Joanne panics. 

The hammer slams again. Firing her last shot into the dark. The knockback of the gun slams into her delicate shoulder.And for a moment, A blast of light reveals something no longer resembling human values. A flash of talons, and swirling teeth. A painful wheeze followed by a deep gurgling scream. 

My name is Ethan and I’m writing this because my mom doesn’t believe me. I told her I saw a zombie wandering along the beach last night, but she just sighed, ruffled my hair, and told me to stop watching so many horror movies. But I know what I saw.

My parents and I live on an island far from the cities. They told me it’s part of their job—they’re in charge of taking care of important people’s houses. They didn’t give me many details, just that it was hard work but paid really well. I didn’t agree with moving, but they convinced me with the latest video game console. Who could say no to that?

Contrary to what people think, studying at home is boring. I miss my friends. If they were here, at least they’d believe me. We have neighbors, sure, but there aren’t many kids my age. Most of the houses belong to businesspeople and scientists who only visit from time to time.

We’ve been here for three months. The island is huge, but my parents have forbidden me from going beyond the houses. They say there are dangerous places. They didn’t give any explanations, just threats of punishment if I disobeyed. I did anyway.

Gal, our Great Dane, and I ventured a bit farther. We walked along the beach and then took a dirt path that led us to an unfamiliar part of the island. I carried a small flashlight because it was already getting dark. In the distance, I saw some bright lights and metallic structures. I approached carefully and saw a group of people wearing suits like astronauts. I didn’t understand what they were doing. Maybe they were building a rocket? I want to be an astronaut when I grow up, so I watched in fascination.

These people were going in and out of a strange building. From where I was hiding, I saw them carrying boxes, lots of boxes. I decided to stay for a while, hidden behind some bushes, just to watch. Everything seemed normal until two men ran out of the building toward the ocean.

That made me nervous. Something wasn’t right. I waited five minutes before leaving, but just as I was about to go, I felt a light vibration in the ground. It wasn’t an earthquake—more like a sudden jolt. Gal started barking for no reason. I didn’t want to risk it, so I decided to head back.

As I walked home along the beach, I saw it.

About a hundred meters away, a staggering figure was slowly moving. At first I thought it was a drunk man, but when the moonlight hit his face, I felt a chill. His skin was pale, his eyes empty, and he had dark stains on his clothes.

Gal barked loudly. The thing stopped for a second and then began walking toward us.

I didn’t wait to find out more. I grabbed Gal by the collar and we ran as fast as we could. In the distance, I heard gunshots. I turned for just a second and saw a man with a rifle, shooting the zombie several times until it fell.

I didn’t stick around to see what happened next. I kept running all the way home and locked myself in my room.

This morning I told everything to my mom. She just looked at me patiently and said I need to stop imagining things. She doesn’t believe me.

But I know what I saw.

And I know something terrible is happening on this island.

//

It’s been three weeks since I saw the zombie. Mom and Dad have started acting strange—they seem confused. They’re still working normally, but now they wear protective suits when they go out. They told me some kind of toxin had spread across the island, so for safety, they had to go out protected. They’ve forbidden me from leaving. I’ve got my console to play with, but what I saw still terrifies me. What if there are more zombies? I try to distract myself with video games, but the image of that thing staggering along the beach won’t leave me alone. Gal keeps me company, but even he seems uneasy.

In the afternoon, my parents came home. Along with their protective suits, I noticed they brought a lot of food. They said they grabbed everything they could from a nearby store. Dad asked me to store it all in the boat’s pantry. While I did, I noticed something in his expression—not just confusion anymore, but worry.

Before bed, I overheard a phone call from my dad. His words weren’t calm.

“The issue isn’t the money—we did what they told us.” Whoever was on the other end was clearly someone my dad didn’t like.

“If they don’t tell us what’s going on, we won’t be able to keep working. In the houses, some owners have fallen asleep and haven’t woken up.”

Apparently, my dad didn’t get any response. He hung up the phone forcefully and rubbed his face with his hands, as if trying not to lose control. Mom approached him and they began whispering. I didn’t want to hear any more. I went to my room, with Gal curled up next to my bed, trying to sleep.

In the morning, I noticed both my mom and dad had strong colds. Their faces were pale, they looked tired. My dad got up with difficulty, put on his protective suit, and said he had to check something. Before leaving, he checked the magazine of his revolver and holstered it on his belt.

Two hours passed. Mom got a call. It was Dad. I don’t know what he said, but Mom became desperate. In a flash, she grabbed my arm, began checking my body, touched my forehead, looked at my arms, and kept asking if I felt sick. I told her no, that I was fine. Then she went to Gal and checked him too. She let out a small sigh of relief.

After that, she called my dad again.

“What time are you coming back? We’re not leaving without you.”

I don’t know what he answered, but Mom began crying. Her hand trembled as she held the phone. She handed it to me so I could talk to him.

“Hey champ, Daddy loves you. Something bad happened. Bad people made mistakes and now others are paying for it. Daddy will do everything he can to fix it. Listen to your mom.”

The call cut off. I felt a knot in my throat. I cried. I’d never heard my dad sound so sad. My mom hugged me tight. Afraid, I asked her:

"What's happening?"

Mom told me everything. Ever since I saw the zombie, something had changed on the island. They were told that some kind of virus had been released from one of the laboratories. It caused people who got infected to experience strong flu symptoms and extreme drowsiness; they would fall asleep and never wake up. The owners of the houses my parents were looking after had fallen asleep. My parents called their employers, who told them to keep working and even sent them payment in advance. So they did, going out to work wearing those protective suits.

While working, my dad encountered a man walking strangely inside a house. He approached him and noticed the man was missing fingers on one hand. The man attacked him. My dad defended himself, the man fell, got up again, and tried to attack once more. My dad hit him repeatedly, but it didn’t work. Scared, he ran out of the house and locked it behind him. He went to see the island's sheriff to report what had happened.

There were about ten police officers on the island, but that afternoon, no one was there. My dad had become friends with a scientist named Jack who lived nearby, and he called him. Jack told him the police were handling an emergency, that the virus was stronger than they thought, that they might evacuate the island or put it under quarantine, and that he should stock up on food just in case.

My dad came back from work with my mom. They went to the nearest store, but no one was there. They took everything they could carry. At this point, they were already terrified. They thought everything was going to fall apart.

When they noticed they were sick, my dad called Jack again, but there was no answer. So he went to Jack’s house, telling my mom that if he didn’t return, we should leave.

Jack told him that the virus had actually escaped from the island’s laboratories, that he was trying to create a possible vaccine that could only be synthesized in the island's underground lab. My dad followed him.

My dad discovered that the virus spread like the flu, and that we were all probably infected. So he called my mom. She panicked and checked that both Gal and I were okay. We didn’t show any symptoms. My dad was trapped with monsters in the lab, and my mom was infected. She told me it was dangerous for her to stay with me.

With her last strength, she managed to get Gal and me onto the boat. She stayed behind on the island. She said that Dad would return and they would join us later. I used to sail with my dad, so I know how to handle the boat. I think I’m doing well. The nights at sea are cold. I miss my parents. Gal is my only companion. I don’t know how much time has passed. The food might last a couple of months. I hope to reach land soon or find another boat. If not, I’m throwing this letter in a bottle. I hope someone finds it. If you see us, please help. Our boat is white with blue stripes.

Sincerely,

Ethan Brown

The Igea island, that was another place where they experimented with human life.

The records and information about the place are scarce. Rumors and some notes from scientists found suggest that several experimental vaccines were synthesized there. All communication with the island was lost, so the only way to verify this is in person. Ethan’s message was found a month ago near an observation tower. I checked the radars, but I didn’t find any boat at sea.

Author: Mishasho

"The Boo" - by Trip Nightingale (u/chromaticcryptid)

(I)

Alright, let's try this again. It's gonna take a minute to explain my whole deal, but bear with me. My name's Trip. Yeah, I know, it's a dumb nickname. Blame my Uncle Rick. My cousin's names both start with "T" as does mine, so he thought "The Third T, triple" was hilarious. "Triple" eventually became "Trip" and It stuck, unfortunately...

I'm 22, and I'm trying to figure out life, which mostly involves a healthy dose of cynicism and a whole lot of black eyeliner. My style? It's... eclectic. Imagine a blender threw up a bunch of punk rock, industrial, and metal albums, and I decided to wear whatever came out. Jet black hair, usually with a streak of some obnoxious color like hot pink or electric blue, heavy-duty boots that could probably crush skulls, ripped fishnets, studded belts – the whole shebang. I'm 5'4" and pale, and kinda skinny, but don't let that fool you. I'm surprisingly strong. Years of working as a server lugging around over filled trays and dealing with assholes builds up a certain kind of muscle, you know? Plus, Dad taught me some self-defense stuff.

And yeah, big cliche` I know but, I'm also exploring my sexuality. Let's just say I'm bi-curious, and the city offers a lot more... opportunities for exploration than, say, rural Appalachia.

My childhood was... complicated. It was like living two completely different lives, which is what happens when your parents hate each other. Mom was all about Fairfax. She's a realtor, so it was power suits, high heels, perfectly coiffed hair, and that fake smile she plastered on for clients. Everything had to be pristine, polished, and nauseatingly normal. It was like living in a goddamn advertisement. But underneath all that, I could always sense this... emptiness. This frantic energy that made her seem like she was always on the verge of cracking.

And then there was "The Boo." Yeah, I know, it's a stupid name. I was a kid, okay? But that's what I called it, and it stuck in my head. This... presence. I don't know what else to call it. It started when I was a kid, maybe around six or seven. Just little things at first. A flicker in the corner of my eye when I was alone, a whisper that sounded like my name when everything was silent. A feeling of being watched, even when I knew I was the only one in the room. It was subtle, but it was always there, this cold undercurrent that made my skin crawl.

Dad's world was the polar opposite. He lives deep in the Appalachians, way out in the sticks where the air smells like damp earth and the only sounds are the wind in the trees and the creaking of his old house. He's a prepper, hardcore. The house is basically a fortress, crammed with canned goods, weapons, survival gear, and maps covered in cryptic symbols. He taught me how to shoot a gun before I learned to ride a bike, how to track animals, how to live off the land. It was intense and sometimes terrifying, but at least it was real. There was no bullshit with Dad.

But even in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by miles of forest, "The Boo" followed me. The shadows in the woods seemed to move on their own, twisting into shapes that looked vaguely human. The wind would whisper through the trees, sounding like it was saying my name, or something close enough to make my blood run cold. I'd wake up in the middle of the night, heart pounding, convinced there was someone standing over my bed, but there'd be nothing there. Just the darkness and the silence.

Dad would always notice when I was freaked out. He has this way of looking at you, like he can see right through your skin. He'd give me this knowing look, a kind of grim smile that never quite reached his eyes. "The mountains remember, Trip," he'd say, his voice rough and low, like gravel grinding together. "They hold onto things. Some things don't want to be forgotten." He'd never explain what he meant by that, but it was enough to send shivers down my spine. It was like he knew about "The Boo," whatever "The Boo" was, but he was afraid to talk about it.

As I got older, "The Boo" changed. It wasn't always scary, which is arguably even more unsettling. Sometimes, when things got really shitty – when Mom and I were screaming at each other, when I was dealing with some entitled asshole at work, when I felt completely and utterly alone – I'd almost... crave its presence. It was like a dark comfort, a cold hand reaching out in the darkness. It was like it had become a part of me, this shadow self I couldn't shake.

And then there were... the incidents. The blurry memories, the fragmented nightmares, the feeling of being trapped and helpless. The sense of something heavy pressing down on me, stealing my breath. I still have flashes of those times, and they make my stomach churn. Was that "The Boo"? Or was it something else, something buried so deep inside me that I'm terrified to dig it up? I honestly don't know.

So, yeah, that's my baggage. And so even when I was driving up for a visit to Dad's. The Jetta, my beat-up car that's held together by duct tape and sheer willpower, eating up the miles. The growing sense of unease a knot in my stomach, tightening with every twist and turn of the mountain road. The city lights fading in my rearview mirror, replaced by the encroaching darkness of the Appalachian wilderness... "The Boo" was there too, in the car with me, a cold weight in the passenger seat.

I should also mention that my dreams have been getting worse lately. More vivid, more twisted, more... real. They're always dark, full of teeth and shadows and a suffocating sense of dread. I wake up feeling violated, like something has crawled under my skin and left its mark.

So, one night during my visit, I tried talking to Dad about it. We were sitting on his porch, the only light coming from the flickering lantern hanging above us. I was trying to sketch in my notebook, but my hand was shaking so badly I could barely hold the pencil steady. Waiting tables gives you steady hands, so this wasn't normal at all.

"Dad," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "You ever get the feeling like... something's trailing you? Something you can't see, but you can feel?" He stopped cleaning his guns, the lamplight glinting off the steel. His eyes, usually so sharp and alert, went distant and unfocused. "Trailing you?" he echoed, his voice rough and low. "What do you mean by that, Trip?"

I struggled to explain, the words coming out in a rush. The coldness, the shadows, the feeling of being watched, the nightmares. He just listened, his face unreadable, his expression giving nothing away.

Then he sighed, and it was a sound full of weariness and something that almost sounded like fear, which is rare for him. Dad isn't easily scared. "The mountains are old, Trip," he said, his gaze fixed on the impenetrable darkness beyond the porch. "They've seen things, felt things... things that leave a mark. On the land, and on the people who live here." And that was it. Cryptic as fuck, as usual. He never gives me a straight answer.

(II)

The weather was nice so decided to explore. I ventured deeper into the woods than I ever have before, following a narrow, overgrown trail that seemed to lead into the heart of the mountains. The trees grew taller and thicker, their branches forming a dense canopy that blocked out the sunlight. The air grew colder and heavier, and the silence was so profound it was almost deafening. I could feel "The Boo" all around me, this oppressive, cold presence that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

I stumbled upon a clearing. It was circular, but instead of anything in the center, it was just... empty. The ground was bare and packed down, like something had been there for a long time. And there was a strange stillness to the air, like even the wind held its breath in that spot. Around the edges of the clearing, the trees were twisted in weird ways, their branches growing at odd angles, almost like they were trying to reach away from the center. There were no animals, no birds, no insects. Just silence and emptiness. And then, for a split second, I could feel "The Boo" right next to me. A cold, hungry presence that made my blood run cold.

I turned and ran. I didn't even think, I just ran. My boots pounded on the uneven ground, roots snagging at my feet, branches whipping at my face. I didn't know why I was running, not really. Just this overwhelming urge to get the hell out of there, to put as much distance as possible between myself and that clearing. My lungs burned, my heart hammered in my chest, and I just kept pushing.

Then, something rustled in the undergrowth to my left. I yelped, a sound that was way too high-pitched and pathetic for my liking. My whole body seized up, and I nearly ate dirt, convinced that "The Boo" had somehow materialized beside me. But then, a raccoon bolted from the bushes, its eyes gleaming in the faint light. It paused for a split second, giving me this "what the hell is your problem?" look, before scampering off into the shadows.

I froze, every muscle in my body clenched tight. I was trembling, not just from running, but from the raw, primal fear that had gripped me. Fear of the unknown, of the unseen, of whatever the hell "The Boo" actually was. I felt ridiculous, scared shitless by a freaking raccoon. But the feeling of wrongness, of danger, lingered, clinging to me like a shroud. I forced myself to move, stumbling back towards the house, my legs shaky and unreliable. It was like they'd forgotten how to work properly.

Every shadow seemed to deepen, every rustle of leaves sounded like something sinister. I kept glancing over my shoulder, half-expecting to see... something. "The Boo," maybe, or something even worse.

Dad was waiting on the porch, his face etched with worry. "Trip? What the hell happened to you? You look like you've seen a ghost."

I wanted to tell him everything. About the clearing, about the feeling of dread, about "The Boo." But the words caught in my throat. I couldn't explain it, not really. It sounded insane, even to me. "I... I got lost," I mumbled, which was technically true, in a way. "I went exploring, and the trail disappeared." He studied me for a long moment, his eyes piercing. I could practically feel him trying to read my mind. "You sure that's all, Trip?" he asked, his voice low and cautious.

I forced a laugh, even though my insides were still trembling. "Yeah, Dad. Just been a while since I've been out here." He didn't look convinced, but he let it go. "Well, come on in. I made stew." The stew was good, hearty and warm, but it didn't quite chase away the chill that had settled deep in my bones.

I kept glancing at the windows, half-expecting to see something peering in from the darkness. Half expecting another raccoon to pop up and give me another jump scare.

That night, the dreams were even worse. More vivid, more terrifying. I woke up screaming, tangled in my sheets, the memory of that empty clearing burned into my mind. Dad came rushing in, his gun in hand, his face a mask of concern. "Trip! What is it? What's wrong?" "Nightmare," I gasped, my voice dry and raspy. "Just a nightmare."

But it wasn't just a nightmare, was it? It felt... real. Like a memory, or a warning.

The next few days were tense. I avoided the woods, sticking close to the house, helping Dad with chores. I tried to act normal, but I could feel "The Boo's" presence lingering, a cold weight in the air.

One afternoon, Dad was out chopping wood when I decided to rummage through some old boxes in the attic. It was dusty and cramped, filled with forgotten relics of our family's past. Old photographs, yellowed letters, moth-eaten clothes. In the bottom of one box, I found a journal. It was old, bound in worn leather, the pages filled with my grandmother's handwriting. I started flipping through it, curious.

Now, I know what you're thinking, "another cliche`"? But, I'm serious, this happened.

Most of it was mundane stuff – recipes, gardening notes, observations about the weather. But then, I found something... strange. A series of entries, written in a shaky hand, describing a feeling of unease, a sense of being watched. She wrote about shadows moving in the periphery, whispers in the wind, a cold presence that she called... "The Visitor." My blood ran cold. "The Visitor." It was almost the same as "The Boo." Was it the same thing? Had my grandmother felt it too?

The entries grew darker, more frantic. She wrote about nightmares, about feeling trapped in her own home, about a growing sense of dread. The last entry was a single, chilling sentence: "It's getting stronger."

I slammed the journal shut, my hands shaking. I felt sick, terrified. Was this my future? Was "The Boo" going to consume me, like it had my grandmother? I didn't tell Dad about the journal. I was too scared, too confused. But I knew, with a chilling certainty, that I couldn't stay in that house any longer. I had to get away, to escape whatever darkness was lurking in the mountains.

So, I packed my bags, told Dad I had to get back to the city, that work was calling. He looked disappointed, but he didn't try to stop me. Maybe he knew, deep down, that it was for the best.

The drive back was agonizing. Every mile took me further away from Dad, but also further into the clutches of my own fear. "The Boo" was still there, in the car with me, a silent, unseen passenger. And I knew, with a sickening certainty, that it wasn't going to leave me alone.

The Enfield Poltergeist is one of the most infamous paranormal cases in history. In the late 1970s, the Hodgson family in Enfield, London, experienced terrifying supernatural events, including levitations, voices, and furniture moving on its own. Investigators like Ed and Lorraine Warren were called in, but skeptics still question the authenticity of the events. Was it all a hoax, or was there a dark presence haunting the family?

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