As The Raven Dreams Podcast - ATRD Ep. 173 - Unexplained Horror & Paranormal Stories

Episode Date: April 22, 2025

Today, on the 173rd episode of the As The Raven Dreams podcast, we have 10 True Chilling stories. These stories come from the shadowy corners of reality, where everyday life takes an eerie twist & ordinary people experience the extraordinary. Today we will be diving into some chilling paranormal encounters as well as some Terrifying Unexplained Horror Stories. If you enjoyed this episode, be sure to like or rate the podcast, and leave me a comment with your thoughts if the platform your own supports it! Scary story episodes 2 to 3 times a week (New stories On Wed/Fri, Comps/remasters on Sundays) If you have a story to submit, would like to find where to listen to the podcast, or want to find me on social media platforms, all of that info can be found at https://www.astheravendreams.com You can also send stories into my subreddit (r/theravensdream) or email them to me at [e-mail] Want to check out some ATRD Podcast Merch? ➤ https://teechip.com/stores/astheravendreams Or for signed merch ➤ https://ko-fi.com/AsTheRavenDreams I wrote a novel, "The Insomniac's Experiment" by Raven Adams! Check it out on amazon (Or you can email me for a signed copy!) Join Patreon to get early access and support the Podcast! ➤ https://www.patreon.com/AsTheRavenDreams Check out my gaming channel with my pal Ghost_Ink ➤ @superNefariousBros On YouTube Disclaimer ➤ Episodes include a content warning for language and sensitive/disturbing content. Listener discretion is always advised. ALL Audio and visuals on this podcast are copyright of AS THE RAVEN DREAMS / RAVEN ADAMS and may not be duplicated, in any format. Bless This Mess. #AsTheRavenDreams #TrueScaryStories #GlitchInTheMatrix Thank you to all of the authors that have stories in todays episode... Taylor, Sabrina, thenonn, Yvette Moreno, Yazan, wendy, Joel Marshall, CommuterByDay, Kitty, Porkchop As Well As Any Author That Has Requested Anonymity. TimeStamps… 1 ➤ 1:44 2 ➤ 13:51 3 ➤ 20:02 4 ➤ 23:17 5 ➤ 32:46 6 ➤ 34:50 7 ➤ 40:22 8 ➤ 49:13 9 ➤ 52:20 10 ➤ 54:03 Ads after story 1 and 7 ----- #TrueScaryStories #AsTheRavenDreams #GlitchInTheMatrix #RedditStories And Remember; You are loved, you are important, and you are valid. Never let anyone tell you otherwise. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Today is my birthday. I am now 34 years old, if you believe it. If not, well, Well, sorry to hear it, but it's true. Uh, yeah, April 22nd is my birthday. And I'm feeling every bit of my age this last week, uh, tired and sore. So, uh, sorry about the weird, uh, upload schedule this week for the podcast. Had some stuff this weekend that kind of caused a bit of a delay.

Plus, the last episode would have been on Sunday. And I didn't want to upload on Easter Sunday, because uploading on family holidays never does well. So, yeah. Anyway, today we have some paranormal stories as well as some unexplained horror stories or unexplained stories. All good, all entertaining, and all interesting. So hopefully you enjoy them. If you do and you have the ability to do so, please do a comment down below with your favorite story of the collection. Or, I don't really have a question for y'all.

Um, what month were you born in? That's a good one to ask. want you to have to necessarily give out your actual birth date. Just what month were you born in? Just curious on that. As you know, I'm April. My wife, patience is also April. My dad's April. My nephew is April. So a lot of April children in my family. So I'm just curious. Anyway, enjoy the scary stories, my friend. And until next time, much love and sleep well. I had something that happened to me in the winter of 2023. And it has definitely given me something to think about, but at the same time gave me a bit of peace of mind.

For many years, my sister and I would go to this local coffee shop, every Friday and just enjoy our coffee, a muffin, and each other's company. We joked about how the muffin gave us more of a rush than the caffeine some days. We were both married, and I have a young son that was in school by the time we met up. But on the days he was off, he would be able to. He would come with me. My sister and son were almost as close as we were and I loved it. But, sadly, my sister passed away in a freak car accident. Another car was going way too fast through an intersection, ran a red light, and hit her hard enough to make her car roll. It was an awful, awful time for my family that left me with nothing but questions and an empty space inside me.

I was distraught for a very long time. I'm sure a lot of people would have been. Of course, I couldn't fathom going to the coffee shop. I tried for a few months to just get out of the house, but it was too painful. So I stayed away for a very long time. Depression and the pandemic kept me home for almost three years, getting out only when necessary or for the random family gathering. It was difficult to even do anything for her birthday, but I did it for her.

After seeing a therapist, I decided it was time for me to move forward, knowing that she wouldn't want me to stay home and mourn for her. She was far too outgoing and an introvert to allow me to stay home all the time. It's like I could feel her tugging on my arm, like we were teenagers again, her begging me to go with her to a birthday party. So I started going by the coffee shop, the same one that we went to every Friday. I decided it was a good way to still hold on to something close, but also break through the walls that I had built since I lost her.

At first, it started with me just sitting up there, not in the same spot that we sat, enjoying a coffee and reading a book, and eventually I was able to do some work up there. I worked for myself, and sometimes I had a lot of paperwork, to do, so I took this as a time to get out of the house, have less distractions, and get it done. And the table that we used to sit at was perfect for it.

It was in the corner by a large glass window. I could watch the sunrise, feel the warmth on my face, and be out of the way of the people coming and going. Again, it was difficult the first few times, but then afterwards, it felt right. It felt like I was supposed to be there, and it instantly made me more comfortable with it. I expected to have an anxiety attack, like I so often did when I thought about this place initially, or her birthday, but that never happened. Instead, the familiar smell of the coffee, the soft jazz or oldies that they played, and the velvet-covered chairs almost made me feel closer to her, and it comforted me. The more I sat up there, the more I started to notice the others that frequented the coffee shop,

including a man who I will refer to as art. He looked to me in his mid-30s, well-dressed, but also casual. He always ordered a dirty chai because I remember thinking I should try that. Never had it before, would highly recommend it if you haven't. He always carried a large leather messenger bag, and then when he found his seat, typically in one of the lounge chairs in the center of the room,

he would pull out a pretty battered sketchbook and a container of various pencils, erasers, and other similar items. I think he may have had charcoal in there too, based on how his hands looked some days. I would catch glimpses of some of the pages in his book when he turned them, and I saw a lot of people, portrait styles.

He was clearly very talented, and I remember thinking that it would be really neat to sit somewhere like in a coffee shop and sketch people and things for the day. I noticed he was there every Friday that I was there, and on the random extra days that I started going, he was also there before I even got there, already set up with his drink. I assumed he probably went up there often. While I worked, I would look over at him and see him looking around and back down at his page intently. And one time I even caught him looking at me, but not in a weird or creepy way. In fact, when I noticed him looking at me, he didn't even look away. He got an eye full of whatever it was and then went back down to his page. I thought maybe he was just people watching, but with him furiously sketching away,

way, I wondered if he was possibly drawing me. But there was nothing remarkable about me either, so maybe it was just a theme or reference that he was using, someone sitting at a desk or something of that sort. One day I had to leave earlier than normal, and I saw him shuffling his papers quickly around when I started packing up. I didn't think anything else about it. I just remember him moving things around, but he wasn't really. really packing up.

It was almost as if he was trying to find something, or open his other book that he had with him searching those pages. Then there was the following week that I went up there. Once again, he was there before me and already hard at work, nose down to his book. I got my drink and parked myself in my normal spot and started into my work as well. I glanced up at him when I noticed him once a little. again moving things around, and he pulled out a different sketchpad.

Then he went back to it, occasionally looking over at me. Since this had become a regular thing, I started to become more curious about what he was drawing. I didn't want to be weird, but I wanted to ask him if I could see some of his work because I was intrigued and loved watching people in their groove and working so fluidly, especially when it came to art. Our mother, also a huge artist, instilled in us how powerful art can be depending on the person. So it's always been something that I cherished watching. If I'm not watching your videos, I'm typically watching something artistic. But overall, I decided against it, not wanting to invade his boundaries or make him uncomfortable.

I also know how some people prefer to not be disturbed, so I just continued my own work and thought to myself, what he could be creating. That was until I was in my own groove, and I noticed the man pushed the table out and stretch, with a soft smile on his face, as he looked over his work. I went back to my work when the man ripped out a page, stood up, and to my surprise, walked over to me.

At my side he then handed me the page face down and nodded at me. Confused and curious, I flipped the page over. At first, I was marveling at his abilities. This man was truly an artist. It looked like it was all pencil with a little ink for darker lines and some shadows. It showed me sitting at the same table with my laptop out, focusing on the screen. The woman in the picture was wearing a similar shirt that I was wearing last week,

and the hair was pulled back in a clip, like I like to wear my own. But I also wasn't alone in the picture. Across from me sat a young woman, her face obscured by a large sun hat, her hand nearly touching mine on the table. The details were incredible from the bits of hair in my face to the way I tucked my feet under the chair. But the woman sitting across from me

was what made my heart drop. I told him it was incredible and that he was a fantastic artist, but then I asked about the woman. woman in the photo, already having an idea. I'll never forget the solemn smile, the kind reserved for sympathy, when he said, I like to draw the whole picture. Even when some are no longer present, they're still with you. I looked back down at the picture and nearly cried.

That was my sister. She loved her sun hats and had one to match nearly every dress that she owned. I had never seen this man before, and it had been nearly three years since I had even been up here with her. How could he possibly know who she was or what she looked like? He asked me who she was, and I explained that it looked like my sister who had died years prior. He looked like he understood. He explained how he liked to help others heal through his work, and explained that my sister sat there with me every week that I was there.

Was this why I felt so comfortable there? Because she was with me? I was a big baby at that moment. Big sobs falling down my face, and I'm sure that a few people looked at me, but I didn't care. I had struggled so long to go back to that coffee shop, not aware that my sister was waiting for me,

to continue our ritual. He gave his condolences, but then also told me that he hoped that his work may help me. and reminded me that I'm not alone, not by a long shot. I hugged that man like I had known him for years. He thanked me for allowing him to work. I thanked him profusely, and then he left. I wanted to cry and ask him so many more questions.

How could he have known about my sister? He said that he drew what he saw and drew another person with me. If he had moved here recently, there was no way he could have known us, and I highly doubt that he pulled out a news article from a few years ago and read about a random fatal car accident naming my sister. Even if he did, how would he have known that it was my sister? The most he may know is the name the barista called out, which was kiddie,

because it's what my sister nicknamed me as a kid, and I always used it. It was easier for her to say that, instead of sissy. I may have had a lot of questions, but at the same time, I didn't really need any answers, because all I could do was smile and stare at the picture in front of me. He clearly saw something more than what I did. He saw what I couldn't.

And all those times I felt warm and comforted there. I wonder if it was my sister, sitting with me as we used to, just letting me know that she was still there, ready to pick up where we left off. About six months ago, I submitted a post about the haunted house that I was living in. We moved out recently, and I wasn't planning to post about it again, but the last few weeks I lived there, I experienced an increase in paranormal activity. I had always seen glimpses of a face peering around my bedroom doorway. It was very tall, nearly to the top of the doorframe,

leaning at an angle as though it was crouching to look inside. I would also see a small child standing or running in and out of the doorway. They were both completely dark figures, but not black. It's hard to explain, but they had this swirling texture. They were very solid shapes and not translucent. I had to learn to ignore them, but I started seeing them all over the house as I was prepared. to move, even if there wasn't a doorway, like leaning around the side of the kitchen cabinets,

or the corner of the hallways, or window blinds. In my previous post, I mentioned the little kid entity imitating my little brother. I continued to hear it running around and getting into my brother's toys until the day we left. I noticed things that I was packing would be rearranged when I was the only one in the house. Like, I had a neat stack where everything was in the order that it needed to be, loaded into the truck, and when I brought out the next box from my room, my boxes would be in my mom's pile, opened, or just unstacked, and placed in some random order. I also kept seeing a mass of some kind in the bathtub. I thought that it was a bear a few times, but it was mostly just a huge blob made of the same swirling texture as the doorway thing. It was very large and moved around a lot, but would vanish instantly if I turned on the light.

But the thing that made me want to talk about this house again was the weirdest shadow person experience I have ever had. I mentioned in my previous post that I see them a lot, but this was very different than any others that I have seen. I was in my room one night, and I had just called my cats in for the night, and one of them hadn't come in yet. I was feeding the other two when I heard him meowing at the front door. I went to let him in, but when I was halfway to the door, I saw a tall figure step around the corner in front of me and stand in front of the hallways. It was a solid black shadow person, wearing a bright orange t-shirt.

He didn't have any pants. He was muscular and taller than me. I'm 5'2, and he was maybe an inch or two more than I was. I stood facing him, waiting for him to move for around 30 seconds, and I felt very angry that he was there. My cat meowed again, and I said out loud, staring into this thing's face, move now or I will hurt you. He flinched and slowly stepped back into the living room, and after a few seconds, I stuck my head around the corner to make sure he was gone.

Then I let my cat in. The rest of that night and the next day were weirdly uneventful. But the next night, I had a dream that I was getting my four-year-old brother and myself dressed, and ready to go somewhere with my mom when she gets home from work. I knew she would be on her way home and wanted to be ready when she got there. But then I heard someone pounding on the door demanding to be let in. I looked out the peephole, but I didn't see anyone, even in the dream. I got this sick feeling in my stomach.

I reached to lock the door, but the shadow person I saw in the hallway opened it faster than I could, breaking one of the hinges off with the force. I ran and hid my brother in the closet, trying to distract him with his tablet. I listened to the shadow person stomping around the house, which was empty except for the beds and the bedrooms. I heard him slamming doors,

and somehow I knew he had a knife. At one point I heard him close himself in a room and grabbed my brother to try to make a run for the door, but I got a feeling that there were more people outside, so I ran through the living room, which had changed. It was much larger with concrete pillars spaced evenly throughout. Thinking about it now, it looked like some kind of liminal space. As we made it through to where my mom's room should be, the part of the house changed to one I had lived in when I was six or seven, and I locked me in my brother in the room that had been my parents when we lived there.

My brother was talking really loud, getting frustrated and not wanting to stay in the room, and I couldn't get signal to call my mom or 911. So I put my brother in the closet and gave him my phone as a distraction, and I snuck out of the room, locking the door behind me. There was nothing I could use as a weapon, but I saw the shadow purse. person in the living room, walking between the pillars. I yelled at him, I never said you could come in.

You can't be here. You can't hurt us. He shrugged and said, Fine, I'll get you next time. And waved his knife at me as he walked out the door. Closing it behind him, and everything went back to the way it was supposed to be and then faded to black,

which was also unusual for me because my dreams end very abruptly. I never saw the shadow person again, but I'm still shaken by the interaction, and I don't know what to make of it. I've never been that close to a shadow person, and have never been able to look directly at them before or since. Hi, Raven. I've recently come across your YouTube channel, and I've enjoyed all the stories so far. They're interesting, intriguing, and relatable. I have always had unusual paranormal experience,

experiences occur in my life with no way to explain them. They happen sporadically when I least expect it, and leave me completely baffled. I regard myself now, in my 50s, as a spiritual person, and am open to experiences. However, the story that I am going to explain happened in my 30s, at a time of turmoil after separating from my ex-husband. I believe that this was the beginning of my spiritual journey in my life. I was living in a two-story townhouse, and the living areas were downstairs with the bedrooms upstairs. I was on my own and childless, as my children were with their father this weekend. It was late at night, and I had just turned off the lights to go to sleep.

I couldn't tell you if I was semi-asleep or still trying to fall asleep, as I don't remember. as I don't remember. But what I do remember is hearing footsteps at the ground level of my townhouse, and they were definitely the sound of shoes walking on my tiled floor. I started to panic as I listened to the footsteps below. They were heading towards the staircase and then proceeded up the stairs towards the bedrooms. The footsteps continued towards my bedroom until I see this tall man with shoulder-length dark wavy hair dressed in a light-colored suit.

It seemed like a light cream-colored suit. The strange thing about this is that it was dark in my bedroom as I had turned the lights off, but I saw him clearly, almost as though he was illuminated. He stood by my bedroom door and stared at me for what appeared to be five to ten seconds. I was so afraid, but I managed to ask him several times, Who are you? Who are you? This apparition appeared solid and not at all transparent, which is why I thought it was actually a person.

He kept his eyes locked on me, and proceeded to slowly walk from the left side of my bed where the door was, over to the right, and not once did his eyes look away from me. As this apparition was reaching the right side of my bed, a white light projected down from the right side corner of the room. I would describe it as a flash of light but a slow flash. I hope that makes sense. At the moment when the light appeared, this man slash apparition disappeared. I was so scared that I quickly turned my bedside lamp on and left the lamp on all night too scared to be sleeping in the dark.

I've never understood why this happened to me, and it's something that I can still recall with clarity to this day. So, this one might be a little weird for you. It may be a little different than what you might normally do because it's not exactly creepy. But it is pretty bizarre to me and maybe even some kind of parallel existence, I think. Either way, it's just something that I have to share,

and I think you'll appreciate it too. I've been taking the red line every morning for many years now. It's become part of my everyday life. And, like many of us, I am a creature of habit, and have my routine down to a science. I know exactly what time I have to leave by. I stand in the same spot while I wait for the train, and then sit in the same car in the same spot near the middle doors. And like most commuters, I people watch, and I start to recognize the other regulars on the

route. There was a guy who was usually dressed in a suit. carrying a thermos with a picture of a family on it, like one of those cute customized mugs. There were two older ladies that sat in the back and always had these very animated conversations. There was another guy I only saw occasionally, but he had on some sort of maroon-colored uniform

and had a large messenger bag, all normal, everyday people going about their lives. But then there was one girl then I started seeing that caught my attention. She got on two stops after me. At first, I noticed her because she looked a lot like me. Same shoulder-length brown hair, similar height and build, an even similar kind of style.

That artsy but professional look that says probably works at a gallery or design studio. Real quote from a friend of mine. But I really started paying attention when I realized that she was, she had worn the same outfit three days in a row. It was this oversized cream-colored sweater, brown pants, and these unique red boots. At first, you may be thinking, just as I did, that maybe she had multiple versions of the same outfit.

I'm guilty of buying the same sweater in different colors, if I like it enough. But it wasn't just the same style of clothes. It was the same thing, because her sweater had what appeared to be a coffee stain on it. Her hair was kind of messy too. Either it was down and frizzy, pulled back in a low ponytail, or maybe thrown in a lopsided messy bun, like she couldn't be bothered with it.

I remember seeing it, the satin on her sweater and thinking, same, girl, I've had those days, and I had sympathy for her. This is why I remembered her in the way she looked. but she wore this exact same outfit for three days in a row, and I definitely noticed. By the fourth day, I was very fascinated and curious. Same outfit, same coffee stain, same messy bun. She even stood in the same spot in the same way,

standing with her weight on her left foot while holding her phone in her right hand. I tried to run it through in my head, Maybe she was staying somewhere other than home and didn't have a change of clothes. Maybe she didn't have much in ways of options. I wasn't sure. Was it interesting to notice? Yeah. But I tried my best to not think about it more than that because I didn't know her situation, right?

Part of me did think about taking a picture to make sure I wasn't imagining things, but I also told myself that it would be creepy. You know, taking a picture of a stranger on a train? Yeah, no thanks. But this went on for two weeks straight. I still didn't, but that is when I really wanted to take a picture. I started feeling like I was in some weird loop. Like I was going in circles, and until something changed, something differentiated,

I would continue this loop. That maybe she was in this weird loop too. Did she see it? Was she aware of it? Because other than the messy hair and stained sweater, she didn't look disheveled, stressed, nothing. She looked normal. I even saw their other regulars,

but they seemed to act like she wasn't really there. The old ladies that liked to look at everyone on the train didn't even glance at her. No one said excuse me to her as they passed her since she was standing. So, why was this happening? Why was this girl that I had never seen prior, now taking the train daily wearing the exact same thing? Same clothes, same boots, same phone case, silver ring on her middle finger, same posture.

Everything was the same, and I swear I seemed to be the only one to notice. I felt like I was losing my mind, or that this was all some huge prank or experiment to see. see if anyone would notice. Then, one day, I was having one of those mornings. You know the type. My hair refused to cooperate, and I was running low on time, so I just threw it all in a messy clip.

I was wearing my old comfortable jeans with the worn spot since I wasn't feeling well. I was still groggy as I was getting ready to leave, and I fumbled my coffee cup while trying to put my phone in my pocket, spilling it down the side of my shirt and sweater. I was already running late, so I didn't have time to change. I just told myself that I would deal with it being a little cold at work and not wear my sweater. My shirt was darker, so I could at least hide it there. So I rushed out the door, now wearing my coffee instead of getting to enjoy it.

I got to the train and I sat in my regular spot, and then we stopped where the other girl, would get on. And at that moment, I almost didn't recognize her. Her hair was styled, sailing in soft waves with braids on the sides, all pinned back by a large flower. She was wearing a long-sleeved blue dress and looked so pretty and put together in a way that made my coffee's stained self feel even more disheveled. I was surprised by this change, but also refreshed to see it, especially on that. day. That weekend, I got some extra sleep and started feeling better.

I went to bed early that Sunday and had my clothes picked out. The next morning, I made an extra effort, did my makeup, my hair was nicely done. I wore one of my favorite frilly blouses and a new pair of jeans that I bought. That same morning on the train, I anticipated that whatever cycle we were in was broken and looked forward to seeing the same girl. But she got on wearing that same stained sweater and messy hair. What happened? What was so different about yesterday?

Why did she wear something different? So I started thinking about it more and the only thing I could think of was myself. I was running late and wasn't put together like I usually was. It was like we were polar opposites. Was that it? So I decided to test that theory. The next day I wore leggings and an oversized sweater. My hair was unwashed and pulled into a ponytail and I skipped the makeup other than some chapstick.

Astonishingly, she looked beautiful and dressed up, wearing a pink skirt and heels with her hair curled. Was this some kind of parallel version of myself? Can no one else see her because of this? Did she have people on her train that could see me? How did we end up on the same train anyways? I had never seen her prior to this incident. I wanted to talk to her, maybe just small talk to see what she might say. Maybe she noticed our similarities too, but I was worried that either she would think I was crazy,

talking to some random stranger about being another version of me, or if it was real, what could I mess up from talking to her? So I did the only thing I was brave enough. to do. I watched. I watched how I had bad days and she looked stunning. I had good days and she was back in the sweater. But it did do a little good for me because when I'm having one of those rough days, those days where your shirt just doesn't feel comfortable on you and your hair isn't cooperating. Well, I can't help but smile knowing that she probably feels unstoppable. So for backstory, my parents didn't teach me about death before this.

I literally thought that everyone lived on forever before this. In defense, I thought this person was taking a nap, and I was four years old. So, I suppose you could call this my first encounter with death, or at least that's what I think I should call it. We were attending a funeral for our janitor, Dwayne, at our local church. I was notoriously annoying for him because I, liked glitter, and he was the janitor. He had to clean up the Sunday schoolroom after I used glitter.

Nobody else used glitter in the class. Regardless, I liked him. So I was sad when my parents said that he wouldn't be seeing me anymore. Little me literally thought that people just left because they got tired of me. The casket was in the back room where the pastor would enter the auditorium from the side so he could walk on to the stage. The back room has a staircase that led downstairs into the hallway by the adult Sunday school room. They had it open for some reason, so he was just there.

Young Me covered him with one of the blankets that was back there because he was cold. Then I saw him. I saw the same guy that was in the casket. He was standing down the stairs looking up at me confused. One of the other members of the church, Elvin suddenly ran through him. Elvin stomped up the stairs and yelled, Hey, what the hell do you think you're doing? And I ran out of there as if my life depended on it.

Because how could he be in two places at once? I tried to explain it to my parents, but my mom said that typical ghosts aren't real you're going to hell because believing in ghosts is witchcraft. But my parents could never make me stop believing in ghosts. I can't believe I'm finally putting pen to paper. or, well, typing. I've been faithfully listening to you, Raven,

and you definitely have inspired me, so thank you. I have always believed in ghosts. My mom was born in the Hawaiian Islands of Kauai. Many ghost stories come from the people who worked the sugar cane fields. One tale was of a man who was murdered with the poisonous flower. He was known as the Maki Man, and was seen floating over the sugar cane fields at night looking for, for his murderer.

If you heard him coming, you were supposed to lay flat, and keep your forehead to the ground so you wouldn't be tempted to look in his direction. If you would look, he would suck the life out of you, much like the Dementers and Harry Potter. You continued to remain still so the night marchers who followed him wouldn't take you either. This, along with many other stories, kept me lying face down, staring at my mattress many nights until I fell asleep. In 1968, my parents were fishing in Morrow Bay, California.

My brother was supposed to go with them. However, they were going to be gone too long so we would have missed the first day of school. During their visit, it was decided that he would have to stay home with the promise he could go next time. A few nights after they left, we were all asleep. At the time, we lived in the mountains and our house had a divided loft that my brother and sister and I shared. As we all slept comfortably, my brother started to scream. It was a terrifying scream. Everyone woke up.

Me, fearing the Mockyman, was taking him laid flat as I could on my bed. Of course, my mom came running up the stairs exactly what she told us not to do, to see what was wrong. My brother said that grandma and grandpa were sitting on his bed, that they kissed him. Casually speaking, my mom said it was. was a dream, just a sweet little dream. My brother, still inconsolable, continued to cry and said, No, mom, they are ghosts. My mom reassured him that he must just be missing them because he wanted to go fishing with them.

Still not convinced, I remained in my bed face down. I was not going to succumb to the Maki Man or his followers, the night marchers. A couple days later, my mom was watching a news story. The police were attempting to identify a couple who was found dead in a camper from carbon monoxide poisoning. Apparently the night had become cold, and the couple had brought their small hibachi barbecue to keep warm, not knowing that it was toxic. They peacefully passed in their sleep, along with one of their dogs. Another couple who was camping noticed that a big dog outside the camper appeared to be restless. The couple remembered seeing the older couple and went to check on them,

and they found they had passed away. Upon seeing the news footage, my mom began to wail that deep, tragic wail that someone makes when they are grief-stricken, a mournful whale that comes from deep within your soul. If you've heard it, you know what I mean. Within minutes, the phone began to ring as relatives and friends who saw the story realized it was our grandparents. Of course, my brother already knew.

He knew the day that it happened when they came to say goodbye. My brother has had many other ghost sightings, so many that he doesn't cry anymore. Quite the opposite. He always wonders, had he not screamed, if he could have communicated with them. His fear is that he scared them away from what would have been his last communication with them, which would have been a true gift. Our family is very good at saying their final farewells. A family photograph that hung on the wall very,

very securely, fell off the wall twice. The glass never broke, and we were able to simply re-hang the portrait. The first time it fell our uncle, who was not ill, had passed, while working as a cook on a merchant marine ship. After it fell, my mom looked at the picture and instinctively knew that bad news was coming. The very next day, we were notified of his passing. The second time it fell, our entire family became nervous with anticipation, as my mom re-hung the portrait.

We didn't have to wait a day this time. It was hours later when we were told that another uncle had passed. Following the second funeral, my mom took the portrait off the wall. She announced that we wanted to find out like everyone else. At the time, she wasn't looking at us. It was like she was announcing to the powers that be. A phone call or a very alive visitor is how she wanted to find out. We asked our mom what the difference was.

Someone still had passed. She simply said that the anticipation of who it might be caused her more anxiety than the actual notifications. I hope to share more stories, if you like this one. I do. I have quite a few years under my belt, which definitely means more stories. I have to share this story about my old childhood home because I felt like I was losing my mind when this happened. My family lived in the same house throughout our childhood.

We moved into this house when I was a baby, and when my two other siblings came along, we made room for them too. And when I went to college, I would come home to visit my parents in that same home. I knew the ins and out of that place. The main floor had the living room, the dining room, the kitchen, a bathroom, and a small closet-slash-pantry off the kitchen. upstairs had three bedrooms and a bathroom.

The basement was pretty open and empty, other than a spot under the stairs, where the washer-slash-driar hookups were, and my mom had a small laundry area set up there. At least, that's what I always remembered. As an adult, out of college and out on my own, my parents told us that they were going to retire to Florida. immediately I knew I wanted to buy the house from them.

As my dad got older, it got harder for him to keep up with maintenance, so the house wasn't in the best shape, but it wasn't like it was uninhabitable. Besides, the market at the time was crazy expensive for anything else, so why not buy something that I could get a discount on and that I already knew inside and out? The first few months were great. I slowly moved my stuff in

after I replaced the carpet and flooring. Once I at least got my stuff in, I started doing more work around the place, just as my dad had shown and taught me. But it was when I started working on the basement that I noticed something was off. When I went to the basement, it was like something was missing.

I bought a new washer and dryer that were both front loads. That was different from what my parents had, but the basement itself looked different. But all I could remember about the basement was the laundry area. I looked all over to see if something stood out, but I couldn't spot anything. But then came my weird obsession with counting stairs as I went up and down them. I guess I should mention that. No matter where I went, I have always counted the stairs.

I don't know why, but I remember the basement always being forced. I remember this because the stairs leading upstairs to the bedroom had 16, including the base step that curved around. I remember thinking as a kid that the space between the ground floor and upstairs was taller than that from the basement to the ground floor. But when I went back to the basement stairs, there were 15. So I went back and counted. Going down, there were 14, going up 15. That's just the stairs. I didn't include the concrete basement floor or the ground level floor.

I specifically counted the old rickety wooden steps. How could that even be possible? I watched closely as I stepped on each, but my math never changed. Fourteen down, 15 up. I couldn't sit there and dwell on a rogue step, though, so I set it aside in my brain and moved on, telling myself that it must have been like that as a kid, and then I'm hyper-focusing on it now.

But then things only got weirder when my sister came to visit. She didn't live too far away, and she wanted to come see what all I had done to the place so far, so I got some things for us to have a nice lunch and coffee together. We were in the kitchen, prepping stuff and snacking, when we started reminiscing on things we did as a kid. At one point she mentioned needing to use the bathroom and joked, asking if she could use the one on the same floor, or if she needed to go to the basement.

I remember staring at her confused by her comment. We didn't have a bathroom in the basement. They were upstairs and on the same floor. She looked at me strangely and reminded me how mom would get mad at us for using the bathroom on this floor after swimming because we made the carpet wet. She said that she made us use the sliding door in the kitchen and then use the one in the basement

because we wouldn't get the carpet wet. wet. I just remember looking at her funny. What are you talking about? Our bedrooms were upstairs. There are no bedrooms or bathrooms in the basement? She looked concerned. She explained how Dad had built two bedrooms in the basement for us. The bathroom in the basement was just a toilet, but he completely redid it adding an actual bathroom with a stand and shower and then built the two bedrooms for us. She explained how it was just going to be one for me, but she begged to have a bedroom, too. She said that we thought it was the coolest thing because we called them our little apartments down there. I did not recall any of this. It didn't make sense. We shared a room upstairs. Our parents had one,

and our baby sister had her own room. Why was she remembering something different? She said when I was 12, her 10, they said we needed our own rooms, so he built the rooms in the basement, and they turned the extra room upstairs into an office. But I remembered the office. I remember using our old computer to print out pictures for school. But why couldn't I recall all the basement bedrooms? That never happened in my memory. I told her how I remembered Mom making us use the ground floor bathroom,

so we didn't track water all the way upstairs. But my sister insisted that there was never a bathroom upstairs. So we walked through it together. I showed her the bathroom upstairs. It went, our bedroom on the right, the bathroom across the hall, and then our baby sisters and parents' room. She looked so confused as she studied the rooms. And then we went to the basement.

I knew then that it wasn't a matter of, of misremembering, she looked genuinely disturbed, like someone had ripped out a whole memory from under her. She outlined it perfectly. She measured how wide the rooms were and then walked towards the back, explaining where the bathroom was. She even explained how creepy it used to be until Dad had put in a ceiling light and the powder pink carpet. We carefully inspected the concrete, the walls and the ceiling looking for patches, divvits, even color differences, just to prove her theory. To prove that maybe there were walls there or plumbing,

but there was nothing. The house was practically handed over to me. There was no time for someone to have come in and tear down all that and then clean it up. So then, how come we had two completely different memories? Could that be why the basement felt so weird to me? And do the steps have anything to do with it? Is that 15th steps some kind of gateway to a different timeline, where we lived in the room upstairs versus having the rooms in the basement?

We were both pretty freaked out about this revelation. We both joked that we were getting old and that our memories were tricking us, so we went back upstairs to enjoy our time together. but deep down, I could tell that she was still thinking about it. After she left, I thought about asking my parents, but to be honest, I don't know if I could stomach asking them. I know it sounds silly, but what would I say if they said they remembered the basement rooms? Yeah, I don't remember that, and the rooms and bathroom down there don't exist anyways. I still have not asked them.

I still live in that exact same house, but instead of being afraid of the basement as a kid, well, I'm afraid of it now. I'm worried that one day I will count 14 steps going up again, in the rooms and the bathroom will once again exist. And if that happens, I don't know how I'm going to explain it to my sister. I was around 11 or 12, living in a deeply religious household, where every rule seemed etched in stone. I was the youngest and definitely the most spoiled,

so having my own phone, an old iPhone 4 or 5, was a big deal. One night's around 1.30 a.m., I received a text from an unknown number. It was a list of religious guidelines, formatted with bullet points. I don't remember every word, but one line chilled me to the core. Do not look into mirrors at night with focus. The wording was strangely specific. Our religion is ancient, so I figured it meant not to stare too long at our reflections in the dark. Still, the emphasis on mirrors unsettled me.

I shrugged it off and drifted back to sleep. The next day felt normal, except the text was gone. I searched every message on my phone, but it had vanished, as if it had never been sent at all. Yet that single warning about mirrors took root in my mind. Night after night, I began avoiding them. I would rush through the bathroom, washing my hands so fast that I never dared glance upward. And even the thought of walking past the many mirrors in our home after dark sent shivers down my spine.

A week later, alone at home one night around 10 p.m., my family had gone out, leaving me behind to finish some homework, I decided to confront my fear. Fueled by a reckless mix of defiance and curiosity, I resolved to prove that the warning was nothing more than an eerie message. I approached one of the sinks outside the bathroom, stealing myself and stared into the mirror. I leaned in close. My face nearly pressed against the cold glass and fixed my eyes on my own pupil,

determined to defy the fear that had haunted me for days. In less than a second, a wave of dizziness crashed over me, like the disorienting rush you feel when you stand up too fast. I stumbled back, my heart pounding. When I dared to look back into the mirror, my blood ran cold. There, standing next to my reflection was a girl, not just any girl but a tall, spectral figure, with skin the color of cracked stone. Her hair hung in disarray, partially obscuring a little bit of a little bit of a small, a face where eyes should have been. Instead, it was just an endless void, a gaping emptiness that seemed to suck the light from the room.

For two long, heart-stopping seconds, we just stared at each other. And then as if the moment had never happened, I looked to the side, only to find nothing there. I ran leaving behind that cursed mirror in the haunting image of the girl who should not have been there. Hi, Raven. Big fan of the channel. After listening to the latest workstories, I realized that I finally have my own little experience to share with you.

Many years ago, I worked in a pub in a small town in England. The pub is known as one of the most haunted in the area, and we frequently hosted paranormal investigators and invited them into the cellar. I had never experienced any paranormal activity and was growing increasingly skeptical. Until, one night, I was closing the place up. I'd cleaned everywhere and turned off all the lights. Before I was going to leave and lock up, I decided it would be best to use the toilet. So, I headed back through the now dark bar, illuminated only by the emergency exit sign and into the toilets.

As I stepped up to use the urinal, I heard footsteps, and it was clear that someone was coming into the toilet. Not particularly unusual. Although the pub was empty, this could easily have been the owner. or someone from one of the hotel rooms upstairs. I turned my head to see who was coming and saw absolutely nobody. Not a soul. I finished up and walked back through the bar where I noticed that a bag someone had left was now swinging on the coat peg that it was on,

as if someone had brushed past it. I stood and washed it keep swinging for maybe three minutes. It never lost momentum, as if someone kept swinging it. I decided to get out of there as fast as possible. I rushed home and had a terrible night's sleep, but I will never forget that bag. Raven, your channel is perfect for helping me fall asleep each night. Multiple times a night, as I wake up often in the night.

I'm thankful that you divide your stories into chapters, so when I wake up in the middle of the night, I can go back to where I was when I fell asleep. Thank you. Some people might consider this a glitch in the matrix, story, but it occurred in the late 80s, before the Matrix was even a thing. So I've always called it my guardian angel story. I should also tell you that I'm female.

When you're reading stories, I always wish the storyteller would specify their gender as it's harder to get into the story not knowing. Anyway, I was driving back to college my freshman year, after having been home for a couple of weeks for an emergency surgery that I needed. I was only 17, as I had graduated high school a year early, and my young age combined with the fact that I wanted to be home with family, after having gone through the fairly traumatic medical event, left me feeling lonely and homesick.

It was a three-hour drive, and I glanced in the rear-view mirror to notice a car that had been driving in my vicinity for quite a while. Sometimes it was in front of me, sometimes behind me. but it seemed like every time I looked it was there. It was an old 70s model. I don't remember the color, and I never really saw the driver, as the car was usually a good distance from me.

I didn't feel like I was being followed, and it didn't really creep me out or anything. Being a Christian, I thought, maybe it's my guardian angel keeping an eye on me. I kind of laughed at myself for the silly idea, but the thought of it comforted me and made me feel not so alone. so I embraced it. It stayed within my line of sight for quite a while,

until eventually I realized I needed to stop for gas, which kind of made me sad to leave the car that was watching over me. Oh well, I was comforted for a little while, and that was enough. So I thought to myself, goodbye, guardian angel, as I watched the car continue on the highway, and I turned on to the exit. I filled up and got back on the highway, listening to those great 80s hits on the radio.

Within minutes, I looked in my rearview mirror and there it was again. That car, my guardian angel. I tried to think of where it had come from. How could it have gotten behind me like that, when it didn't exit with me and I saw it continue straight on the highway? There were no other exits after the one I took that he could have exited and gotten back on, catching up to me and I would have seen him parked on the side of road if he had pulled over.

At this point, I felt sure that someone or something was keeping an eye on me, making me feel protected. I don't remember how long that car stayed with me. I just know that whoever was in that car made this homesick girl's day

and made a long, lonely drive not so lonely. Hey there, friends. I hope that you enjoyed this collection of scary stories on this episode of The As the Raven Dream. podcast. If the platform you're on has the option to follow podcast and you enjoyed my work, please do consider doing so. Also, leaving ratings and reviews are super important for the

algorithm to support the growth of the podcast. I'm just one guy doing this. I don't have a team. It's literally just me doing everything. So any support like that is greatly appreciated. Never expected, though. So if you go above and beyond with that, I do appreciate it. Some platforms also allow you to leave comments, and if you feel inclined to do so, please do. I would appreciate that. I do have a Patreon in a merch store that you can also check out if you want to support a little further. The Patreon site of things get you early access to all of my content. It is formatted differently as it goes in line with what my YouTube channel is, but it is the same stories, just different collections.

There is also a website, astherravendreams.com, where you can check out pretty much everything about me, my social media platforms, fiction stories I've written if you want to read those, as well as submitting your own stories, which there's a big button on the front page, you click to do so. And those stories basically keep the podcast alive, to be honest with you. So, yeah. All that said, friends, I do hope that I see you again here very soon. Until then, remember that you are loved, that you are valid, that you are important. You're the best you that you can be. Don't forget it. And until next time, Much love, and sleep well.