True Scary Stories to Tell in The Dark to Terrify Your Friends
True Scary Stories to Tell in The Dark to Terrify Your Friends: Do you love true scary stories? What about the haunted stories that actually happened? Or maybe you want to read something dark and creepy? Something that will make your nights sleepless. Of course, you do! We know this because we love them too. That’s why we are going to share some real scary stories here which we find on Reddit.
These scary stories will take you on a strange and fearsome journey when darkness or fog or mist or the sound of a person screaming or a dog howling turns ordinary places into nightmarish places, where nothing is what you expect. People have been telling scary stories for as long as anyone knows.
The tales of fearsome supernatural creatures like monsters, demons, ghosts, bogeyman, and so-called evil spirits have attracted the attention of almost every human being on earth. We still tell stories about creatures we fear, but not all of them are about bogeymen and demons. Quite a few are about living people. You will meet some of them in this post.
As Alvin Schwartz (Author of Scary Stories to Tell in The Dark) says, Scary Stories may have a serious purpose but for the most part, we tell scary stories to have fun. If a story is scary enough, your flesh begins to creep. You get a shivery, shaky, screamy feeling. You imagine hearing and seeing things.
But before you start to tell a scary story, remember these basic things: Appear calm, Use your hands and facial expressions to set the mood, and Make proper eye contact. BTW, If you’re looking forward to a night of sleeplessness, read on. Here are the scariest tales you’ll find on the internet – and they are all true. You have been warned.
1. My Daughter Has A New Friend That I Cannot Meet
A Reddit User Kitkatkit12 Wrote About His Scary Story: I really didn’t think I’d find myself there that day, standing over the burial plot of one of my childhood best friends. My husband lovingly wrapped his arm around me as I held our daughter’s hand. I wiped my nose, trying to keep it together for the kiddo, but was emotionally devastated as they lowered Tess into the ground. She was only 28 years old when the accident happened.
She was in her apartment complex and, according to the police report, slipped on the stairs one night, falling down a few flights and ultimately suffering severe damage to the head and neck. She was announced brain dead about a week later, and her grieving family decided to pull the plug. I wasn’t mad at them, nor did I blame them; I knew it was what she would have wanted. Still, this wasn’t supposed to happen.
You’re not supposed to be burying friends your age, not when you’re in your twenties. She was an amazing writer, friend, and aunt to her nieces and nephews, whom she adored. Annie, her goddaughter, who was the same age as my little one Alaina, stood opposite us; they were both six years old at the time. All of the young faces in the cemetery wept for her that day.
With her family’s permission, of course, I visited her apartment about two weeks later. I had no intention of moving or touching anything, really; I just wanted to see it exactly as she had left it. Tess was both extremely tidy and a complete mess at the same time. Her tiny white kitchen was clean, with dishes stacked up drying, and her favorite mug in the sink, a splash of light pink lipstick on the rim.
The artwork above that sink was a tiny print of Monet’s water lilies, and the cat portrait on the wall next to her kitchen table made me smile; she had painted it back in college, of the tabby orange kitty we shared and had named Butterscotch, or Butters for short. There was a bulky and completely dead sunflower in the delicate vase on her kitchen table, which had one of the two chairs pulled out.
I ran my fingers over the table’s surface as I walked into her warm living room. Her purple jacket was thrown over the left side of her loveseat, and she had an Indy record in her player in the corner. I had been avoiding her room at this point, but finally mustered up the courage to go in there and look around.
As I entered, the scent of her perfume hit me hard. Tears began to well up in my eyes but I held them back, choosing to smile at her memory instead. I should have registered that it had been weeks, and her perfume hadn’t been sprayed in at least that long, but I didn’t at the time.
I flicked on the lamp in the corner instead of the overhead, like she always did, and was drawn straight to her desk, which was overrun with notes and stories. They weren’t neatly stacked or organized like they usually were, which was odd. She must have been working on something when she left that night.
I hadn’t intended on touching anything, but the edge of one paper was poking off the side of her desk from under the others, almost as if it was about to fall to the ground. I pulled it from the stack, and went to read it, but realized it wasn’t a story. In perfect format, with indentations and paragraphs, Tess had written “it’s time” over and over, for an entire page, in her calligraphic handwriting.
Incredibly freaked out, I immediately started scanning the other pages on her desk. Nothing else was out of the ordinary, or off, like this page was. I skimmed the stories, looking for something horror-like; certainly, this was a page she had written for effect, and was part of a larger narrative.
I didn’t want to think of the possibility that there was some sort of decision that she had made that evening that lead to her death, but I also couldn’t find anything that this page might fit into. I picked the page back up again, looking for something that broke that phrase, but nothing did. It repeated exactly the same way, at least 80 times, on one page.
I noticed, though, that the bottom corner had a small “M,” almost like a child had written it. I put down the page, called my husband, and got out of the apartment, taking the elevator. I bawled again that night, venting my concern for my friend’s mental health as my husband listened. I should have spent more time with her, and talked more often.
He assured me that what I found must have been for a project of some kind and that the fall was an accident. Eventually, I came to terms with my panic; Tess was an incredibly independent and driven woman, and the situation must still have been taking its toll on me emotionally.
The day after this visit to Tess’, I picked Alaina up from school, like I always do. It was within the first week of the school year, so I met her out front and took her hand as she told me all about her day, and all the new friends she was making. She asked me if Auntie Tess would come over and read to her, and I told her again, with a whole lot of sadness, that she wouldn’t be visiting anymore, because she had passed away.
Alaina had never experienced a death in her life but hadn’t asked about Tess in a while either. I asked her why she was thinking of Auntie Tess right now, and she said that her new friend mentioned that she likes Auntie Tess’ stories, too. A bit confused, I knelt down to my daughter’s height and took her hands.
“Who told you that?” I asked her.
“My friend Emily! She told me that Auntie Tess writes the best stories” she replied.
“That’s very sweet, honey” I replied. Surely, this little girl had overheard Alaina speaking about Tess one day, and was just agreeing with her in order to be friends; none of Tess’s works were published.
I turned around and walked back into the school, explaining to Alaina that I just wanted to speak to her teacher, Ms. Steph, about her new friend Emily. Alaina could use a few friends, and I’d love to reach out to Emily’s mom for a play date sometime soon.
“Emily?” her teacher replied. “We don’t have an Emily in our class.”
The teacher knelt down and asked Alaina who she was talking about.
“We played together at recess” Alaina replied, “and she told me she reads Auntie Tess’ stories.”
“Ok,” I said to both of them. “Thank you, Ms. Steph. This girl must not be in your homeroom. If you could look into this and get back to me, I’d really appreciate it.”
“Of course!” she replied with a smile, and we were on our way.
As soon as we got home, I lead Alaina to her playroom and came back downstairs to speak to my husband. He agreed that what Alaina had told me was odd but nice and that we should set up a play date for them at some point. He went upstairs to play with Alaina for a while while I made dinner and poured myself a glass of wine.
Ten minutes later he came back down and told me that Emily was indeed her friend and that they had talked at recess about Tess’ stories. He told me that Alaina and Emily agreed on which stories were their favorite of Tess’, and that she was the best Aunty.
He reiterated that it was a weird thing for them to be speaking about, but didn’t fault the little girl for trying to connect with Alaina either; after all, they’re only six years old. After dinner, we played for a while as a family and watched a movie, then I put her to bed like any other night.
My husband and I watched a bit of one of our shows, and about an hour after I put her down, I decided to go check on Alaina. I kissed him on the cheek and handed him my wine glass, then headed upstairs. When I reached Alaina’s door, I heard giggling. I stopped and listened for a moment. Alaina was speaking to someone.
“No that’s silly!” she laughed.
I didn’t hear any audible response.
“Stop it, Em!”
I swung that door open so fast that it knocked a picture off her wall, shattering on the floor. I saw my little girl sitting up ramrod straight, facing the window with her back to me: a silhouette on the bed. I stepped past the door’s threshold immediately and said her name. The room was completely still.
As the door slammed shut behind me, I heard Alaina banging on it from the other side.
She was yelling in her tiny voice, over and over again:
“It’s the time!”
Scary Stories That Will Make You Feel Like You’re in Twilight Zone
2. I was a Fraud Fortune Teller, But Then I Woke Something Ancient
A Redditor Anhundred Shared True Scary Story of His Life: I’d like to make it clear right away that my intention was always to be a fraud, a con artist. I knew what I was doing right from the start. I didn’t believe in fortune-telling, in tarot cards, or contact the “other side”. I just knew two things: one, I was a good actor, and two, people are so incredibly willing to believe. I started my business in 2009. I started small. I took appointments online and held seances in my living room.
I read cards for people over the phone and I saved up enough money to buy an authentic-looking crystal ball. And actually, that saving didn’t take very long. I was a little surprised at how quickly my business grew, but I should have known that on the internet, word of mouth travels quickly. In 2012, I was able to move into a slightly larger apartment with a large front entrance that I used strictly for business.
I had everything you could possibly think of. Tapestries on the wall, candles burning everywhere, beads and tassels, and softly lit lamps. It was oh so cliché, and just about perfect. I suppose I wasn’t doing any of this out of malicious intent. People would come to me with questions, problems, and I would give them my honest advice under the guise of spiritual direction.
If some lady ended up divorcing her abusive husband and living a happier life, she believed it was because the spirits told her to, not me. I tried to make my prophecies useful, I didn’t want to do any of that “tall dark stranger” nonsense. And I think that’s why people came back. I told them what they needed to hear, rather than what they wanted to hear.
And if I happened to look up their info before they came so that I could “magically” know things about their past, who’s to say that ever hurt the situation? As I said, I didn’t believe in ghosts or the veil or even in the power of my tarot cards. I thought it was all a load of pretending nonsense, and I was just a simple actor making use of my talents to support myself.
I am posting here today to tell you not to make that mistake. I’m not sure why I was allowed to continue in my disbelief for so long, but eventually, I got caught. And I got caught by something bad, something so old and so powerful that I’m not even sure it has a name.
The Real Story Begins Now
I was running an ordinary session for a new client, a woman I had never met before, but who seemed much more into the whole thing than my average customer. She even told me that she had slept with lavender soaked cotton balls in her ears to better “hear the spirits” when she came to her appointment. I was certain that she had just made that one up, but I commended her on her thoughtfulness and told her it would make the seance even more productive.
We sat in front of my crystal ball and I eased her into it with a light guided meditation, slowing her breath and having her close her eyes while I lit the candles and spread out my tarot cards. Having looked at her social media profiles before this appointment, I had seen her posts about her cat’s vegetarian diet, and I was planning on mystically telling her that cats are actually carnivores.
But something started happening when I asked her to open her eyes again. As I fanned out the tarot cards into a semicircle, some of them stuck to my fingers. The woman gasped, and I made a show of it, telling her that these cards held meaning, they wanted to be seen. I flipped over the first one. The tower. She paled, I winced. Not a great card to start out with, but I could make it work.
I launched into a speech about how the tower could be good for her, symbolizing a revelation, a violent throwing off of old ideas (specifically the vegetarian cat diet). But then I flipped over the second card and stopped dead in the middle of a sentence.
The Tower. Again.
There should only be one of each card in my deck, and I only had one deck. There was no way I possibly had two identical tower cards in the same deck without ever noticing. The woman was shaking a little bit now, mumbling words that I couldn’t hear over the rushing in my own ears. I smiled weakly, told her it was a mistake, and flipped over the third card.
The tower. Fourth card, tower, Fifth, sixth, and I finally stopped after the seventh, because the woman in front of me had fully fainted to the ground. I moved to help her up, but at that moment, all the candles I had lit a few minutes ago blew out in a cold rush of air. I sat heavily back down in my seat, and I felt like I had gotten the breath knocked out of me.
My eyes started fluttering, and my vision went blurry. By this time, my heart was pounding, and I had no idea what was happening to me. I thought I was having a stroke or a heart attack, at least until my hands started moving of their own accord. I nearly cried out, but my jaw felt like it was wired shut.
My hands shot up to clutch at my face, and through the thin skin of my fingers, I felt something move beneath the surface. Like little suffocating vines were twirling around my bones and wrapping around my ligaments. I realized I could still control the rest of my body, and I wrenched myself up out of my seat, and over to a hanging mirror.
I could see my own terrified face, hands clutching at it so hard that my knuckles were white, while dark shapes snaked underneath the surface of my skin. My eyes looked wide and hollow, set deep in my face as if someone else were looking out from them, out of the bottom of a deep pit.
My mouth snapped open involuntarily, and a black substance rose up out of my lungs, choking me and spilling from in between my teeth. And that’s when I heard it. The voice, speaking from deep within my chest and resonating through every fiber of my body.
“You Play at Prophecy and Deny That Powers Far More Ancient Than You Exist. You Mask Insolence With Guidance and Have The Audacity to Call Yourself Superior. This is Your Fall From The Tower and We Have Always Been Waiting at The Bottom.”
The black liquid continued to flow from my open mouth, staining my clutching hands, and I started to see spots in my vision. I screamed at myself not to pass out, but I just couldn’t fight to stay awake. I felt the tendrils receding from my hands as my last shred of consciousness faded away.
I don’t know how long I was out, but the woman and I awoke at the same time. She rushed out of there as quickly as she could, and I was too stunned to realize that she had left without paying. I probably wouldn’t have stopped her anyway. I didn’t want to tell anyone at first.
Not even my girlfriend, who knew that my practice was fake. Well, it used to be fake. I canceled all appointments for a week and just lay in my bed, terrified to touch any of my instruments for fear of that voice taking over again. Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer and came here to post this.
The business side of my brain wants to know if there’s a way to use this. A way to come to an agreement with whatever voice spoke to me, a way to coexist and continue to run my shop. The sane part of my brain wants to run away to a different country and take up accounting.
Either way, I urge everyone reading this to believe it. Don’t mess around with things you don’t understand or believe in, and don’t underestimate the power of the other side.
Horror Tales That are Better Than Most Scary Movies You’ve Watched
3. A Plane Ride That Never Ends: I’ve Been Flying for Almost Thirty Hours
A Reddit user Worchester_St Shared This Story about Losing Track of Time on A Continental Flight: I’ve Been Flying for almost Thirty Hours and The Flight Attendants Won’t Stop Crying. Thirty hours ago I hopped on a late-night flight from New York heading to Los Angeles. After boarding, I saw that I had an entire row to myself. Take off passed without incident, and soon I was stretched out for a nap across the row.
I slept for a few hours, I don’t know how long, but I woke up to some severe turbulence. It’s possible that the lights in the cabin went out for a moment, but I was so disoriented that it’s hard to say. I checked my phone to see that it was 4:03 AM, which I figured gave me about an hour until we landed. When I looked out my window, I was shocked to see nothing but a wide-open ocean.
My jaw dropped; there’s obviously no ocean between New York and Los Angeles. I hit the button to call the flight attendant and spent the next few minutes wracking my brain for a lake that could’ve been possibly been big enough to explain what I was seeing. I jumped when the attendant flipped off the light. She was grinning from ear to ear, and tears were pouring down her cheeks.
“How can I help you sir?” she asked.
“I froze for a moment at her reaction before deciding to just ask my question. “Where are we? Why does it look like we’re flying over an ocean?”
She wiped her cheeks to clear the tears, still grinning wildly. “Sir, we’ll be landing in about an hour.”
“I, uh, OK, thank you,” I said.
After she left I checked the clock on my phone again. 4:03 AM blinked back at me. It hadn’t changed. I had to have been waiting with my call light on for at least five minutes. How was it possible that it hadn’t changed at all? I opened up my laptop and saw it too displayed 4:03 AM.
I pulled out my phone, started a stopwatch in the app, and spent the next two hours looking back and forth between the clocks, waiting for them to change. I tapped the shoulder of an older woman sitting in the row ahead of me. She looked back, an annoyed expression across her face. “Yes?” she asked.
“Do you know how long until we land?” I asked.
She narrowed her eyes. “That flight attendant said it would be about another hour.”
I shook my head in confusion. “That flight attendant? We talked almost two hours ago! We should’ve landed already.”
She stared at me as if I was crazy. I was going to continue trying to convince her, but I felt a hand on my shoulder. I spun to see a male flight attendant grinning down at me, tears pinging off his cheeks onto my shoulder.
“Sir, I’m going to ask you to calm down, or I’ll be calling the Captain.”
I told him that wouldn’t be necessary and sat back. He removed his hand and stepped away.
The flight attendants continued to stop by every few hours offering meals. My stopwatch continued to tick up and is now telling me that I’ve been on this plane for more than thirty hours. I’ve explored all of the coaches and tried talking to some of the other passengers, but they’ve all told me that they’re expecting to land in an hour or so.
Around three hours ago I tried getting into first class. I made it past the curtain but was escorted back by two grinning flight attendants. Their grip on my arms was like iron.
“Sir, the seatbelt sign is on,” one said. “Please remain in your seat with your buckle fastened. We’ll be landing in about an hour.”
I’d just about given up hope when a woman came down the aisle dressed in a business suit. She didn’t look at me or slow down, but she dropped a piece of paper onto my tray as she made her way to the bathrooms at the back of the plane.
I shot a look around before unrolling it. It said, “Are you stuck too?”
I pulled out a pen and wrote “Yes. It’s been thirty hours.”
I folded scrap of paper up and set it on the tray closest to the aisle. She left the bathroom and picked it up as she passed. It’s been twenty minutes since then. I don’t know why, but I don’t think the flight attendants would like it if they knew we were talking. It doesn’t matter. I have to do something. I’ll update you all with whatever happens next.
True Scary Stories, Creepy Tales, and Paranormal Horror Lurk Within
4. My Uncle’s Visits to Ancestral House Turned Out to Be His Worst Nightmare
Reddit User Sambhavi_5 Shared A True Scary Story about Strange Occurrences: My grandfather passed away a couple of years ago. He had spent the last few years of his life at our large ancestral house in a small village at the foot of the Himalayas. Once he passed away, the house was left to be looked after by the caretaker. My uncle lived in one of the most populated hill stations in India and was close enough to that small village.
He was given the responsibility of catching a train twice a year to go and check on the house and make arrangements for any repairs that it might need. Despite being our ancestral home, no one from my father and uncle’s generation, let alone mine, had lived in it. It was only after my grandfather’s retirement that the house came to be occupied by him after the decades that had passed since the death of my great grandparents.
The first thing my uncle noticed when he reached the village was that everyone, and here I emphasize, everyone was sitting outside their houses and crying. The oldest villagers wheezed breathlessly as they sobbed while the wailing mothers kept poking and pinching their children to keep them crying.
There weren’t necessarily tears involved. Some were simply dry sobs and wails. What was wrong? Had some terrible tragedy struck the villagers? He walked all the way to our ancestral house and found the caretaker crying on the steps too!
My uncle waited a couple of minutes until the wailing stopped and then asked, “Has something horrible happened? Why is everyone crying?”
The caretaker simply shook his head and took my uncle’s luggage inside the house. My uncle stayed in the house for 3 days and on each day, all the villagers stepped out of their houses every evening at about 7 and sobbed and wailed till they were hoarse. My uncle kept questioning the caretaker but no explanation was given.
One time, after an hour of badgering the caretaker, the old man simply whispered one sentence, “If I tell you then you will have to stay and do it.”
The 3 days passed and my uncle left the village without getting any explanation. On the next visit, he witnessed the same phenomenon again and was given no explanation again. On the third visit, frustrated beyond measure, he decided to start asking the villagers for an explanation.
A lot of them shushed him saying that it was for his own good that they were not telling him and that they did not want him to suffer the same fate that every person born in the village suffered. My uncle was persistent. He finally got an answer from a young shepherd but it was an answer that made him think that the entire village was utterly mad.
“We are cursed, sir. She was a witch and our forefathers set her on fire one terrible evening. Everyone born into our village, and everyone who comes to know about her existence, has to cry to repent her death. If we don’t cry for her, she will make us do so. You must cry, sir… You must cry…”
My uncle was astonished beyond measure but paid no heed to the boy’s words. He went back to our ancestral house and announced to the caretaker that he knows the mad history of the village and refuses to cry. That evening, while all the villagers wailed, he defiantly maintained a stoic expression.
Nothing happened. He smirked that night in bed. He had proved the villagers wrong. The next morning, he woke up and saw that his phone, which he kept on Silent Mode every night, had about 30 missed calls and more than 50 messages. Most of them were from his wife, my aunt.
The messages were about ‘regretting his loss’. He called his wife in a fit of terrible panic. His daughter, my cousin, was dead. She had mysteriously committed suicide. There was no reason for her suicide. She was a happy little girl of 4. She did not even know what suicide meant, and yet she had jumped off the roof in the dead of night.
The shock of it all left my uncle numb. He wandered aimlessly through the village, mostly in denial. How could his little girl be dead? The evening came and one by one the villagers slowly began crying. At last, he fell on his knees and joined them by sobbing his eyes out.
This was 50 years ago. My uncle spent the rest of his days as a hermit in his ancestral house. He recently passed away and I was the only one who could make it to his death bed. He narrated the entire incident to me as he gasped for his last breaths. I stay at our ancestral house now. I cannot leave. If I do, she will come for me the way she did for my uncle.
Seriously Scary Stories That Will Make You Lock Your Doors
5. Do Not Talk About The Skinwalkers Again
This Great Scary Story Comes from Reddit User Mixlacoo: I had never heard of the term “skinwalker” before I arrived in New Mexico. I was sent to NM for work, I spent around two months there before heading back to Nebraska for a new assignment. I kept to myself, never really spent time around the area. Occasionally I would hear the men working with me complain about noises at night keeping them awake. I didn’t care for scary stories and didn’t care about what was outside as long as it didn’t mess with my sleep.
The men seemed to enjoy the creepy stories from the locals and would kill time talking about what they heard that day. At first, it all was all fun, the men would talk about paranormal sightings, not having lived through anything like that made it intriguing. However, it wasn’t until one of them didn’t show up for work that made the rest of the team start taking the stories a little more seriously.
One of the men was found hiding in his trailer, I didn’t see him personally but the team was told that he would be sent to a nearby hospital. One of the guys that found him told us that he was huddled up in a small corner mumbling to himself over and over, “Hooves, eyes, it laughed.”
I felt bad for the guy, the stress from work was probably getting to him in my opinion however the other men started to get worked up. One night, I went over to a local bar I found three other guys talking to the bartender about the possibility of something paranormal happening back at camp.
The bartender wasn’t too happy about the guys bringing up folklore they knew nothing about and occasionally left to serve others, trying his best to ignore the three men. One of the men started talking about skinwalkers while the rest listened closely. They had all had a few drinks in them and were getting pretty loud, everyone at the bar started to look at them annoyed at how obnoxious they were acting.
I was looking around thinking how stupid the men were looking when I noticed an older man dressed in farmer’s attire with some Native American print on who was also listening closely. The man looked angry and approached the group very slowly before standing behind them not saying a word.
One of the men from my team looked at him and asked him what he wanted, the old man didn’t respond and just stared at him. I stood up from my table, hoping that none of the drunks would be dumb enough to start a fight with an old man. The old man stood there looking at them while the men started taunting him. Eventually, the three got bored and turned their back on him.
The subject of skinwalkers came up again which is when the old man finally spoke: “Stop talking about something you know nothing about.”
The men turned around and stood up, I moved closer in hopes that they would see me and back off from the old man. The old man stood his ground and told them to not be disrespectful and to not meddle in things that were past their understanding. The men got irritated and right as one was about to step closer to the old man, I finally butted in.
Being somewhat their superior, the three men finally left, leaving me and the old man behind shaking our heads. I apologized and told him that they were just a bunch of immature kids that didn’t know how to handle their alcohol when the old man told me to be careful. He said that the locals didn’t talk about that subject and that talking about them would only bring unwanted attention.
Not wanting to be rude, I only nodded and told the old man I’d keep an eye out on my team. I returned to camp and saw one of the men from the bar asleep on a chair in front of his trailer holding a beer. I didn’t care to leave him out there, I went straight to bed. It must have been around three in the morning when I woke up to the sound of men outside yelling.
I got up and walked out still somewhat half asleep to find everyone standing around something. I walked up only to become overwhelmed by a rotting stench and the horrific sight of the man who was asleep dead with his throat slashed. He had taken his life with a shard of the broken beer bottle, I walked away sick to my stomach while everyone stayed behind.
I walked up a small path feeling sick and puked, when I was finished and was about to walk back I heard something behind me. When I turned around, the darkness didn’t allow me to get a good look up ahead but I was able to make out someone standing not too far from me.
I thought it was perhaps one of the men who also had to excuse themselves from the crowd however the person up ahead was moving funny. I called out for the person to identify himself however heard no immediate response. The person was walking closer very slowly and his body was jerking funny. He looked like a child learning how to walk.
I called out once again for the person to identify himself only this time, there was a response. The voice of the person sent chills up my spine, the voice sounded inhuman yet tried to sound as normal as possible. The body was twitching which is what really frightened me, I started to step back still deciding what to do when it spoke again.
The words didn’t make sense and I couldn’t understand what he was trying to say. It wasn’t until he walked up and the moonlight hit his face when I realized it wasn’t him but it. The body was a mesh of what had been Carl the man who I had just seen dead moments ago and something goat-like.
The skin looked stretched out and the face looked like a mask, its legs looked broken and the feet … they weren’t feet, they were hooves. I ran out of there quick looking back in hopes that it wasn’t following me; everyone was so focused on the body that they didn’t notice me running into my trailer.
I made a call to the local sheriff who was already on his way after the call for Carl’s death was made. I sat in my trailer not knowing what to think or say or do; I waited until the sheriff arrived before going out. After Carl’s death, a huge lawsuit was filed against our company for not finishing the job.
However, no one would go back to work after a few more sightings of something inhuman emerged. I was one of the first men who was packed up and ready to go. I visited the local bar one last time in hopes of finding the old man I had spoken to before. I found him in his same spot sitting and drinking.
Before I even said another word he started to speak, “I warned them, can’t go around talking about stuff like that and not expect anything to happen.”
I didn’t say anything and asked him what I wanted to ask, “Did he really take his own life, or was it … a skinwalker?”
The old man looked up and said in a very serious tone, “Don’t talk about them … the talk will attract their attention…”
He got up and left without saying another word. That was the last time I ever said the word out loud…
Real-Life Scary Stories That Will Make You Sleep with The Lights On
6. I Befriended A Strange Little Girl at The Park and It Left Me Confused
A Redditor Sambhavi Shared This Real Scary Story: I heard a giggle from behind me. Turning around, I saw a little girl peeking at me from behind a tree. I was at the park, sitting on a bench and reading a book. Just a few meters off, my brother was having the time of his life at the slide. All the children were busy having fun on the various playground equipment, then why was this girl behaving so oddly? She came and sat beside, smiling sweetly all the time.
The little girl must have been barely 4–5 years old. Where were her parents? I inquired the same. She lifted her chubby little hand and pointed towards a woman sitting on another bench, busy with her phone. I asked for her name next. It was Annie. Annie seemed to be quite the oddball. She never tried to mingle with the other children.
Every Sunday I visited the park with my brother, and every Sunday I found her there. Sometimes her mother was there, but most of the time she was not. Annie told me how busy her mother was with her job and how she often left the little girl all alone at the park to run errands. Annie’s father had lost his job a couple of years ago and had resorted to drinking, resulting in a divorce.
She had no idea where he was and Annie’s mother blamed the failed marriage on the little girl. I felt sorry for her. This poor child had to bear so much at such a young age. She told me how she was bullied at school which caused her to completely stop interacting with children her age. I was her only companion and she confided all her happiness and sadness in me.
A month had passed with me seeing Annie every Sunday. One Sunday, she did not turn up. I felt uneasy. But what could I do? I had no idea where she lived. I had never even interacted with her mother. I desperately hoped that she would be there the next Sunday.
The next Sunday, as soon as I entered the park, I noticed Annie’s mother sitting on a bench, busy with her phone as usual. I felt relieved that I’d see Annie today. But that sensation quickly changed to concern when I saw the expression on the little girl’s face. It was one of deep sadness, the kind that one never expects to see on a child’s face.
“No one loves me.” She said as a tear slid down her left cheek.
Her mother had brought a male colleague home last week, and Annie, whose experience with adult men was limited to her abusive alcoholic father, had refused to interact much with him, causing her mother to lash out at the poor girl. The little girl was locked out of the house for her behavior! I felt outraged and decided that it was time to report these incidents. But my first concern was to cheer Annie up.
“I hid in my secret hiding place at this park when mummy locked me out. Wanna see it?” She whispered.
I felt reluctant to leave sight of my brother but she was insisting too much. Thinking I would be gone only for a couple of minutes, I allowed her to hold my hand and lead me to the area of the park where the lake was. She then pointed towards an untamed bushy area at the far bank of the lake, a place where usually no one ventured.
I could hear the cawing of many crows over there. The rough bushes scratched my legs but I did not stop. A strange odor was in the air. I was never a big fan of nature and I shrugged it off as some terrible natural smell. I reached the large group of crows and shrieked loudly.
It was the rotting remains of a little girl. The crows were feeding on the body. I stumbled back and whipped my head around. Annie was nowhere to be seen. I ran back to the playing area, all the while informing the police about the terrifying situation.
Mind-numbing horror filled me and I confronted Annie’s mother, “Where is Your Daughter?”
The woman gave me a look of great confusion.
“Excuse me? I don’t have a daughter. See, that’s my son on the swings.” said the lady.
She pointed to a boy of about 9 years of age. The cops confirmed that the woman was not lying. The name of the little girl whose body I had found was confirmed to be Annie. It had been rotting away in that corner of the park for about a month now.
Who was I talking to all this while?
Super-Scary Stories That Will Make You Piss Yourself
7. My Horrifying Camping Experience
This Scary Story comes From A Redditor SlapOrGetSlapped: This is the best subreddit I could think to post this story in I can’t think of where this would belong on this site and feel I need to share my experience. This is from my family’s recent camping trip that has me horrified. I and my family recently went camping on our property for a week to get away from the indoors and electronics. We left on Jun 28th and planned to return on July 4th but we returned today due to my “freak out.”
The Last few days were good we all were enjoying the outdoors and loving the little escape from quarantine. It was late at night and everyone had gone to bed excluding me and my Dad, we were up enjoying the crackling fire and the calmness of the night before joining my mother and sister.
My Dad headed to bed and made sure to mention that I shouldn’t stay up too much longer because we planned a hike for tomorrow. I assured him I was going to bed shortly but I wasn’t quite tired yet. While I was sitting by the fire I started hearing something moving around in the dark, I ignored it because it wasn’t new to me.
We tend to have a lot of deer and other wildlife in the area. This is also our hunt camp too. I then heard what I can only say was like a Geiger counter and my body froze in fear. We camp out here every year, I’ve even camped here with friends a million times but this noise wasn’t something I’ve ever heard.
I sat there staring in the direction the noise was coming from before I heard it right at the edge of the bush. I got up and grabbed one of the long-burning sticks to light up the area and see what was there but when I did the noise stopped so I sat back down watching that area.
I assumed I was just hearing some sort of bug and sat back down and relaxed my focus switching to the fire. I then saw a long boney leg step into the light and I quickly leaped up grabbing the stick again to see what I can only describe as a gigantic beast. I’m 18 and about 5’9 I’m not super tall but this thing dwarfed me in height.
This was 3 feet taller than me, give or take a bit due to shock. My mind raced trying to figure out what this thing was but I had and still have no clue at all. It stood on four long thin legs and had a tiny body only about the size of my own torso and what I think was light brown hair covered it, but what I can only describe as a head-on this thing was the only thing I vividly remember.
Its head had nothing on it at all excluding two large white eyes. I don’t know if they really were eyes but they gave off the feeling that it was looking into me. I stood there for a moment in shock and fear before I began waving the stick screaming loudly, I was hoping to wake my family I guess I’m not quite sure I was terrified.
It seemed to look at me puzzled but then it turned around and walked off slowly not scared by me at all. My Dad quickly got up and saw me staring into the darkness with this burning stick in my hand. I started to quickly explain what I saw in a blur of gibberish. I didn’t let my sight break from where it came from and stood.
But once he got me to calm down a bit I explained it fully to my family due to me waking them all. I sat up all night by that fire as my family went back tonight brushing off what I saw as my imagination playing tricks on me. I made sure we left that morning out of my own fear for what it was.
I went back out there with my ATV and brought a shotgun in case I encountered it but nothing. Not even a footstep was left behind, I even followed the path it would have taken but still, nothing showed. I can’t stop thinking about it. Why did it just stand there looking at me? What was that thing? Where did it go?
What would have happened if I wasn’t awake? Did it know my family was going to wake by my screams? And those dreadful eyes staring into my very core. I’m genuinely shaken to the bone by this thing and confused as to what it was or could be. I will keep looking for it during the day but in my 6 years of living up here, I’ve never seen it since that day.
True, Scariest Ghost Stories From the Depths of Reddit
8. There is A Strange Man in My House
Saphyrie Shared This Real Scary Story with Readers: He’s been here for a couple of days now. He just won’t leave. I don’t know what he wants. I’ve been hiding in the unfinished basement since he arrived. I go upstairs at night, usually between 2 and 5 AM because that’s when he’s asleep, to eat and go to the bathroom and stuff. A lot of my furniture is gone. I bet he sold it or something. I think the mirrors are gone, too, though it’s hard to tell in the dark of the night.
I certainly don’t see a reflection. He’s a slob. The floor I meticulously cleaned a week ago is now covered in wrappers, salt, and dirt he tracked in. I have to step over it so I don’t get my feet dirty. Half-empty cups and stained clothes are left on the stairs, though I don’t go up there because that’s where he sleeps. Very religious, too, to the point where it’s creepy.
He set up crosses all over the place; over doorways, on tables, in the bedroom, you name it, I’ve never been a religious person, but the sight of such an obsession would make anyone uncomfortable. I try to avoid them, but it seems like he adds new ones daily. Being surrounded by them almost makes my stomach churn.
I wish he would leave already. I don’t know how he got in here, I had all the doors locked. I went to bed for the night and the next day I woke up and he was there all of a sudden. In the kitchen, whistling to himself while making coffee. I ran to the storage closet at the end of the hall and hid in there until he went to bed, then I went to the basement.
You know what? If he won’t leave on his own, maybe I should try to scare him out. I just hope he’s not dangerous. It’s been two days. I’ve tried moving his furniture, turning his paintings upside down, anything to let him know someone else is here and wants him to leave, but he never seems fazed. He just calmly moves it back and goes on with his day.
Like he’s expecting me. Creep. I’m going to go confront him. I head upstairs in the middle of the afternoon. He’s watching TV. I watch in disgust as he throws an empty packet of chips on the floor. On my floor. My hand tightens around the rope I brought with me and I take a step towards him. This ends now.
“Hello?” he shouts out of nowhere, pausing the TV. I stand deathly still. Does he already know I’m here? He reaches into his pocket. I’m prepared for him to pull out a gun, but he doesn’t. Instead, a small wooden cross is now pointed at me. It shouldn’t hurt, but it does. I can feel my body melting away. I look down, and my hands have faded into wisps of smoke. Maybe a gun would’ve been better.
“I knew this house was haunted when I bought it,” he says calmly. “I’m not afraid of ghosts. But I wasn’t expecting one to be afraid of me.”
The rest of my body has faded away. The rope has fallen to the floor. As my vision goes dark, I hear him whisper: “It’s time to move on.”
Terrifying Scary Stories You Shouldn’t Read Alone
9. A Shadow Figure Followed My Brother
Cerati Shared His Scary Story with Us: My house was built in 1904. It is a single-family home with, wood frame setting on a concrete block foundation. I have been living here for about 12 years. Of all the weird things that my siblings and I have seen or heard in this house, this one event is my favorite. This happened to my brother. About ten years ago my brother and his best friends had started a garage band playing mostly “Spanish rock,” alternative music but in Spanish.
His friends could only get together on Sunday afternoons. They would practice into the early evening, and they would usually call it quits by 8 pm. This was the time I usually showed up and went to bed, cause I worked the graveyard shift. This happened in late fall, so the days were getting shorter, they had just finished a long session when the decision to head to someone else house came about.
My brother handed his car keys to his buddy so they could load up the equipment. Everyone had filed out of the basement, but the tricky part was that they needed to walk all the way to the back of the basement, up the back stairs, through the kitchen doorway, down the hall into the living room, and out into the front porch. Everyone was outside sitting in my brother’s truck waiting for him.
My brother was walking up the back stairs when he remembered that he had left his pancakes in a to-go container sitting on a speaker in the basement. He made the decision to go back. Now the basement is not clean, with full sightlines, there had been partitions made, and the boiler and main heating unit are right smack in the middle.
So after my brother walks back, he is about to retrieve his food container, when out of the corner of his eye he sees it. It is a shadowy figure, right in his peripheral vision, this feeling of dread and uneasiness washed over my brother. We had been taught that if you are in the presence of a spirit or ghost and you felt a bad vibe, to say a quick prayer, or to cuss at it.
My brother chose the latter, he basically just told it “hey fuck you, I don’t have time for this shit”. My brother started to walk to the back of the basement and briskly up the stairs, closing doors, and turning off lights as he was walking out. The last light switch is on the opposite side of the front door.
Luckily the door was open and the light from the streetlamp was flooding the living room with its amber light. My brother said he felt something at his back, but at no point did he turn around. As he flicked the last switch the living room went dark, as did the rest of the house.
As he stepped out he pulled on the door closing it behind him, still holding his food container in one hand he jogged down the few porch steps. He walked towards the front gate…our house resides far from the main street, essentially having a large front yard but no rear garage.
As he closed the gap between himself and his friend-laden truck he kind of smiled and thought things over in his head, mad at himself for spooking out when there was no reason. He climbed into the driver’s side of the truck, putting on his seat belt and getting ready to pull out of the parking spot directly in front of the house when one of his friends asked:
“ Hey wait what about your brother, isn’t he coming with us?” My brother answered, “What do you mean? He went to work early tonight, he is already gone, do you see his car anywhere?” The next question they asked, “So then who was walking behind you when you were leaving the house?”
Scary Stories That Will Scare the Life Out of You
10. A Real Haunted Story of A Cat Murderer
This Scary Story comes From Reddit User Francesc20: In the village where I live, there is a legend. This legend is not much told, perhaps due to the bloody details. I have decided to share this legend with you, here on the Internet. It is said that in ancient times there was a woman named Maria. He lived in an ancient building uninhabited for years, located near the town. She was highly respected by her peers.
Many considered her a graceful and kind woman, but in reality, they did not know who she really was. It was well known that he hated cats, but no one expected so much. In fact, she had a “passion” for killing cats. He caught them and, once caught, killed them in the worst ways. He strangled them; he drowned them in water; he forced them to eat poisoned canned food; and so on.
It is also said that he even began to poke their eyes out and bury them in the garden, so as not to attract suspicion. One evening he was walking in the middle of the street. In his bag, he kept the cat’s entrails, well hidden. He was taking them to the nearby landfill since there was no place in the garden.
Suddenly, a car hit her. The impact was so severe that it broke the leg bone and part of her stomach opened, causing the cat’s guts to mix with hers. The efforts of the ambulance were of no use. She was already dead. Before dying, however, he saw a cat, staring at her with a feline smile on his face.
And here it is, the legend. If it didn’t seem so bloody, it’s because I skipped many parts. At first glance, the legend seems interesting. Too bad it’s not a legend.
How do I know?
I know because I too used to kill cats. But now no more. At least, not since I saw a cat staring at me from the window, with a feline smile on his face.
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