Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I just found the SCARIEST Internet Survey in the World

Episode Date: October 11, 2025

Join Lighthouse Horror Backstage on Patreon:Lighthouse Horror | PatreonPatrons get extra lore that never reaches YouTube, early looks at new merch, and insider updates from the creative floor.Shop at the Lighthouse Horror Giftshop: https://hauntedstuff.com/Straight from the stories: patches, shirts, and haunted stuff you won’t find anywhere else.Thumbnail art by Ninerio: ninerioartsBusiness contact: [e-mail] Original YouTube link: I just found the SCARIEST Internet Survey in the WorldSocial MediaINSTAGRAM - @lighthousehorror FACEBOOK -  Lighthouse HorrorTIKTOK - Lighthouse HorrorYOUTUBE: Lighthouse HorrorMusic:Lucas King - YouTubeMyuu - YouTube IncompetechDarren Curtis Music - YouTubeCopyright © 2025 Lighthouse Horror. All rights reservedThank you for listening to this scary story! If you enjoyed this new creepypasta story, please check out some of my other horror stories. We'll be uploading new episodes every week, featuring ghost stories, haunted encounters, mysteries, true stories, creepypasta, and anything supernatural and paranormal. Don't miss out on the thrill and suspense that await you in each episode!

I hadn't meant to stay up late, but when you've got nowhere to be the next morning, the hours start blending together until you're not sure whether you're killing time or it's killing you. It was past midnight. The TV was on but muted. The same news loop were playing silo my wildfires, stock market, celebrity rehab, repeat. My apartment was quiet. The refrigerator clicked every few minutes, like it was checking whether I was still. still alive. Spots, my black cat, was curled on the back of the couch behind me, tail flicking once every few seconds. Her fur caught the glow from my phone screen, two yellow eyes blinking

slow, almost judgmentally. Okay, don't look at me like that, I said. It's called decompressing, okay? She stretched, claws flexing in the fabric. I was deep in the cut. I was deep in the of boredom that makes you do stupid things. Doom scrolling, watching old game clips, reading comment sections on videos I didn't even like. When I got tired of that, I started taking online quizzes. What breakfast food are you? What color matches your aura? How emotionally damaged are you?

Really? Pretty damaged, I thought. For the record, the internet. The internet decided I was a burnt pancake with latent resentment issues. Ah, that's pretty accurate. I told myself I'd go to bed after one more, just one. And that's when I saw it. An ad so plain it somehow stood out.

Help shape tomorrow. No picture, no brand, no stupid dancing jiff. Just black letters on white. with a blinking button that said, Begin survey. I stared at it for a while. My thumb hovered over the screen. Didn't even look like it was trying to sell anything.

Well, should we help shape tomorrow spots? She blinked once, slow and bored. All right, let's see what fresh hell this is. I tapped it. The screen went blank for a second. Then the first question appeared. Dark or light? That was it.

Two buttons. No intro, no thanks for participating. Just the question. I thought about it longer than I should have. My eyelids were heavy. The apartment was already dark. Dark, I said out loud, press on the button.

And the lights went out. I didn't realize it at first. The lamp beside me flickered, sputtered, and died with a faint pop. The TV screen dimmed to black. The tiny green light on the router vanished. The low constant hum of the fridge, the background noise that stopped noticing years ago,

just stopped. For a heartbeat, It was total silence. Not the kind you get when things are peaceful, the other kind. The kind that sounds wrong. I sat there, phone in hand, staring at the reflection of my own face in the blank screen. Okay. That's a faint click from the hallway cut me off.

Then nothing. The street outside was black too. the building across the way. The one with that insomniac always leaves his kitchen light on was just a rectangle of shadow now. My phone looked completely dead. The screen was dark, but I could feel warmth against my palm. Spots made a small sound behind me. A low, confused sound. I could barely see her outline now, just the faint gleam of her eyes in the dark. Yeah. I murmured. Guess we got our answer, huh?

I sat there listening. Somewhere outside, something metal creaked. Maybe a power line sway. Maybe not. A car alarm tried to start, and then choked out mid-blair. A minute passed. Two. My breathing started to sound too loud.

Then, sudden I, my phone blink to live. life in my hand. The screen didn't brighten gradually like it should have. It snapped on at full brightness, searing my eyes. The same survey was waiting for me, white on black. Thank you for your selection, it said. Next question. Heat or cold? That was all. No apology for the outage. No glitch message. Just that same plain text like nothing had happened. Spot's head lifted over the arm of the couch. Her eyes tilted toward the phone, like she could hear something I couldn't. All right, I began. Let's play along. My thumb hovered, and then I pressed cold. The air conditioner rattled once.

Then again. And then even though the rest of the apartment was still dark, it roared to life, blasting icy air through the vents. I could see my breath. Spots jumped down, landing softly beside me. Fur fluffed out like static. Her tail twitched. Yeah, I whispered.

Eyes still on the screen. Me too. For a while, I'd. just listened. The air conditioner groaned through the vent like it was dragging winter up from the crawl space. The cold came in waves, until the air in the room felt heavy and thin at the same time. Spots crept closer, silent except for the soft brush of fur against my calf. I could feel her eyes on me even when I wasn't looking. She did that sometimes, watching like she understood something I didn't. The light from the phone painted her fur, silver blue. Every breath she took

caught that light for a second and disappeared again. We were two outlines floating in a small rectangle of glow. I sat there long enough for the cold to start numbing my fingertips. My brain tried to sort it out. The way you do when something makes no sense, but you're too tired to panic yet. Power grid glitch, maybe. Random coincidence. Just a coincidence. Then the screen blinked once. Next question.

Flood or fire? That was all. Two new buttons. The same plain font. Nothing fancy. Nothing playful. My first instinct was to laugh again. But the sound died halfway up my throat.

Flood or fire? Who the hell thought that was a good question for a survey? Spott's ears twitched. She was still sitting by my leg, but her tail had gone stiff, pointing toward the window. Somewhere outside. Something rattled. Maybe the wind.

Flood, I said quietly. Like it mattered whether I answered out. loud or not. My thumb hovered over the option for a long second. When I finally pressed it, the phone made no sound, just a small pulse of light. The word processing flashed once, then disappeared. I waited. Nothing. See? I said, turning toward spot. It's nothing. She didn't move. Her eyes were still fixed on the window.

I could see my own reflection in them pale face, tired eyes, the glow of the phone hovering like a candle. The silence stretched. I let out of breath I didn't know I'd been holding and dropped the phone on the coffee table. It landed face down with a soft tap. For the first time all night, I thought maybe I could just walk away from it. Go to bed. Pretend I hadn't seen any of it. I leaned back into the couch, rubbed the bridge of my nose, felt the sting of cold on my fingertips.

And that's when the phone buzzed again. I didn't pick it up right away. The vibration sounded strange in the quiet, a small nervous heartbeat against the wood of the table. I waited for it to stop. It didn't. Another buzz, longer this time. Then a third.

I reached for it. Flipped it over. Emily. The name hit me before the rest of it did. I hadn't talked to her in months, not since she moved out west. She used to work nights too. We'd taxed when one of us couldn't sleep. The message preview glowed.

Hey, are you seeing this? Round. Unlock the phone. Three new messages stacked on top of each other. All from her. Time stamps only seconds apart. They're saying a tsunami's coming. The whole west coast. People are evacuating L.A. already. It's real. I can hear the sirens from my window. I stared at the words until they blurred. A small laugh tried to crawl out of me. No way, I said, you gotta be kidding me. Spots jumped at my voice.

I could feel her body brush my knee as she slipped beneath the coffee table. Her tail vanished into the shadows. I opened my news app with numb fingers. The feed was a flood of red banners and shaky phone footage. People running. waves already breaking against piers, helicopters buzzing over a dark ocean. Sunami warning in effect. Emergency broadcast. 8 point something offshore. The video is alive. Not recorded. Not a prank. Not rumors.

I blinked hard. Flood. My thumb brushed the home button. The survey was still open in the background. Same blank screen. Same word in the corner. Processing. I could feel something closing around the back of my throat. The phone buzzed again.

Emily. Are you okay? I know you're not here, but I'm just texting everyone. I tried to type something back. but my fingers didn't seem to work right. Yeah, I'm... I stopped. What was I supposed to say?

Hey, you know, funny story, I might have picked that one. Spots meowed softly under the table. The kind of sound cats make, when they want to remind you they exist. I leaned forward, trying to see her. But she was a shadow in the shadow. The phone buzzed again. They're saying it's 30 feet high. It's moving fast.

Then nothing. The typing bubble appeared for a second and disappeared again. I stared at the screen until it dimmed, then brightened again with a breaking news alert. Tsunami warning issued for West Coast. Catastrophic event possible. I could hear my pulse in my ears. My apartment was still cold, the vent still hissing. I pressed the side button on my phone,

closed every app, every tab, until only the home screen was left. I wanted to believe that would fix it. The survey icon blinked once in the background and closed itself, as if it had been watching me. I turned the phone face down again. Spots crept out from under the table, pawed at my ankle, and jumped up beside me. Her fur was cool, smooth, still smelling faintly of dust.

She curled against my leg like she always did when storms passed through. Though this time, the world outside was perfectly still. I stroked her back and stared at the window, trying to picture the Pacific miles away, swallowing up coastlines, while here, everything still looked the same. My phone buzzed once more, just once. I stared at the screen, at Emily's messages, at the breaking news banners, and something inside me just folded. Whatever morbid curiosity had been keeping me here evaporated.

This wasn't funny anymore. It wasn't even horrifying. It was worse than that. I'm done, I said. I locked the phone, but it vibrated again. A quick, sharp pulse like a tap on the shoulder. I threw it onto the couch. It buzzed once more or harder.

Spots jumped, claws digging into the cushion. I grabbed it and hurled it into the kitchen. It clattered across the linoleum and slid under the table. The screen blinked once and went dead. My hands were shaking now. I'm done. I'm done. No more, I said.

Spots meowed softly. A low throaty sound. She jumped once. I patted across the living room and sat by the doorway as if waiting for me. I rubbed my face with my palms, feeling the chill of my own skin. The apartment smelled like cold metal now, like the inside of an old freezer. Coffee, I muttered. Yeah, yeah, coffee, that's normal.

I went into the kitchen, careful not to look at where the phone had landed. My old coffee maker sat on the counter, half full from the morning. I dumped it, rinsed the pot out with shaking hands, filled it with fresh water. The hiss of the faucet was ordinary. I scooped grounds into the basket. My hands shook so badly I spilled something on the counter, black specks on fake marble. I brushed them away, focused on the motions. Coffee, filter, water.

Press the button. The machine groaned alive. That familiar burbling sound filled the kitchen. Steam curling upward. I clung to it like a rope. Spots jumped up out of the counter next to me, tail curling around her paws. She tilted her head, watching me.

Her eyes looked bigger in the dimness. Pale yellow corn. She said, catching every scrap of light. Hey, girl. My voice was hoarse. I stroked her back with trembling fingers. We're okay. It's just, you know, it's just the internet?

Just some weird joke. Her fur was soft and warm under my hand. It grounded me. She purred faint light, a low vibration that steadied me. I poured a mug as soon as the pot filled halfway. The smell was sharp and bitter, cutting through the room. I sipped too soon, burned my tongue, didn't care. See? I said. Coffee. We're fine.

And then every screen in the apartment turned down at once. The TV in the living room blinked alive, volume off, but light flooding the walls. My laptop in the bedroom, off for days, snapped open by itself. Even the dusty old tablet I kept on the bookshelf lit up. Bright rectangles of white in the dark. Spots hissed. Fur standing straight up. I set the mug down hard enough for coffee to slosh.

No. I stepped into the living room. All the screens were showing the same thing. the survey, that same plain font, now huge, filling every display, sink or swim. Beneath it, a red digital timer had appeared, ticking down from ten. You have ten seconds to decide, or the choice will be made for you. My mouth went dry. No, no. I backed toward the hallway, staring as the numbers ticked.

Nine, eight. Spots darted under the couch. My heart slammed against my ribs. I spun and ran down the hall toward my bedroom. The laptop on my desk was glowing with the same message. The tablet on the nightstand, same message. Even the blank screen of my old TV reflected the count. down in ghostly light.

Seven, six. Where's the phone? I muttered. I dropped to my knees, yanking open drawers, scattering old bills, pulling clothes out of the hamper. My hands were slick with sweat. Five, four. I tore back into the kitchen, heart hammering.

The phone had slid under the table, screen still dark. I lunched for it, banged my shoulder against the table leg, cursed. My fingers closed around it. It vibrated once, a low hum like a living thing. Three. The screen lit up in my hand, blindingly bright. Sink or swim.

Spots let out a sharp, panicked yowl from somewhere behind me. Two. I didn't think. I just yelled, swim, and slammed my thumb on the button. The screen went white. The countdown vanished. For a heartbeat, everything was silent. The vent stopped.

The fridge started humming again. The TV screens went black one by one. And then I heard it. A sound from the other room. Not a splash, exactly, but a wet, dragging noise, like something climbing out of a bathtub. Spots? A black blur shot out of the kitchen doorway. Spots barreled toward me, fur plastered to her body, water streaming off her and little

rivulence. She was gasping. Cats don't really pant, but she was. Each breath a tiny shudder. I dropped the phone and caught her against my chest. I'm so sorry, are you okay? I held her tighter. Her fur soaked my shirt.

She buried her head under my chin still shaking, tiny heart pounding like a trapped bird. It's okay, I got you. I whispered. I tucked the towel around her and kept a palm on her ribs. until the rhythm settled into something close to normal. The apartment smelled like wet gravel and cheap coffee, and the faint copper of my own nerves.

The fish tank gurgled sadly from the other room, just the filter, taking one last bubbly breath before it died again. You're okay, girl, I said. We're done. I sat her on the couch. She crouched low, eyes huge, a narrow black comma inside the rumpled towel. When I stood, my knees felt like bad hinges. The phone lay face down a few feet away.

It's light leaking a thin white halo on the tile. I towed it gently, so it skittered under the kitchen table. Out of sight, out of mind. If the world wanted me to pick between bugs, in bullets or something, it could send a paper ballot. Coffee, I said. We're doing more coffee. Saying it out loud made me believe in it.

I rinsed the carafe, scooped grounds, tried to measure with a steady hand and got it all wrong anyway. Too much, then too little, then screw it good enough. The machine clacked to life and started its slow rhythm that familiar sputter that belongs to mornings and normal people. Steam curled against the cabinet. Spots tracked it with her eyes. She hadn't moved off the couch, just the head pivoting,

like a little sentinel daring the air to try something else. I leaned on the counter and waited. A plane crossed somewhere overhead. No, maybe not a plane. Maybe my imagination. Probably the building's bones creaking. When the pot was halfway full, I poured. The smell came first.

Bitter and ordinary. And I wrapped both hands around the mug for the heat. It helped a little. I took a small sip and hissed as it singed my tongue. That helped too. Pain meant the world had rules. See? I told spots.

Caffeine? Civilization. We're fine. She didn't blink. I took the mug to the living room, set it on a coaster I never use for anybody else, and dropped out of the couch beside her. She climbed onto my lap, like we hadn't just learned the universe had buttons. I stroked the ridge of her back. My sweatshirt soaked in her damp, gray cold.

I forced my eyes to the TV. The last frame it had shown, an anchor with doomed eyebrows, still ghosted there in the dark glass, a negative of concern. I didn't turn it on. I didn't touch the remote. I drank my coffee and gave myself a full minute where nothing at all happened. And then every screen in the apartment turned on. It wasn't the cheerful wake of a device resurrecting.

It was a seizure, white rectangles slamming into the darkness at once. The TV, the old tablet on the bookshelf that I hadn't charged since last Christmas, the microwave, the dusty laptop in the bedroom, everything. Spots flinched against me and dug her claws into my thigh. No, no, no, I saw. said. The black font hit at the same time across every screen. Aliens or demons. Under the question, a red countdown, digital clock segments bleeding into the white. You have ten seconds to decide, or the choice will be made for you. Nine. The hum rose from nowhere.

From everywhere. Not loud, just thorough. Eight. I didn't reach for the remote. I reached down under the kitchen table with my foot, trying to hook the phone toward me and missed. Seven. Don't, I told the room.

Don't do this. I set it to the TV and to the microwave and to whatever else could hear me. I'm not. I'm done. Six. Spots let out a low, rusty warning in her throat and slid off my lap, disappearing beneath a couch, like she knew something bad was coming. Five.

The light shifted greener by a fraction. Not the color of plants or hospitals, but the color of something made by a thing that had never seen a plant or hospital. I stood without deciding and reeled toward the table, fingers groping for the phone that had slid beyond my reach. Four. My palm found it, the thin smoothness of the glass. Three, I'm not picking demons, I said, and I hated how fast I said it. I hated how ready I sounded.

Aliens. my thumb hovered The red numbers cut another notch Two I pressed aliens The TV cut from white To static To news

Not one channel Every channel Punched together into a single chorus Anchors talking over anchors Cell phone footage vertical and hurtling. Somewhere, a man sobbing loudly into a microphone. Somewhere, a woman in a reflective vest saying,

this is not a drill. Like she'd been given those exact words to say a hundred times and never believe them until right now. Breaking. Lights over major U.S. cities. Breaking. Unidentified objects. FAA orders.

immediate ground stop. Breaking. Contact event. White House to address nation. The feed stuttered, skipped frames, and then the camera that ate up most of the screen belonged to someone on a high-rise building,

hands shaking, pointing into a sky that had forgotten how to be dark correctly. The shape there didn't move, so much as Occupy. A darker dark inside the glow. A giant alien craft. My phone vibrated in my hand.

Messages cascaded from names I hadn't seen in years. You see in this? Dude, look outside. They're saying it's over Vegas. Wait, no, L.A. Wait, it's everywhere. A number I didn't have saved sent a location pang and a text that was just, Please help me.

The anchor cut back in, terrified professionalism failing at the corners. His voice came through my TV, even though the volume had been on mute a moment ago. Good evening, I'm John Williams. We've been receiving reports of alien crafts. and they appeared to be hostile. May God be with us all. The screen went black. I should have closed the blinds.

I should have stepped away. Instead, I pressed my forehead to the cool pain and looked down. The light cut down through the window. The hair is on my arms lifted. Dust rose into the beam and hung there. Frozen like a constellation. My phone blinked. The survey's plain white space reclaimed the screen, and a new question appeared.

Up or down. Underneath, the red number is starting again. Ten. You have ten seconds to decide. Nine. I backed away from the window without meaning to. The pole wasn't physical at first. It was suggestion.

And then suggestion became demonstration, and my socks unglued from the floorboards by a half inch. My coffee mug dragging across the table. Eight. Spots, that I said, and I heard my own voice distort. Spots? stay. She didn't answer. The couch skirt

once and went still. Seven. The kitchen towel lifted, corners unfurling. The pot holder slid itself to the edge of the counter, stopped. Somewhere, the fridge motor

tried to start and couldn't. Six. It got serious. My heels separated from the ground and didn't return. I grabbed the back of a chair and felt it wanting the ceiling more than it wanted me. Five. Down, I said. Half prayer, half order.

It didn't register anywhere but my own mouth. The beam brightened, and for the first time there was a sound in it. High, thin. The opposite of thunder. Four. Ceiling, floor, ceiling, floor. The room flipped the wrong way. I was maybe three feet up.

Maybe 30. Couldn't tell. The blinds rattled himself into an open mouth. The outside wasn't a street anymore. Three. Spots cried once. A small sound. and my brain tried to push me down toward her by sheer loyalty.

The body disagreed. Two. The question on the phone didn't change. I jammed my thumb at the screen and missed because the screen slid half an inch away in my own hand. I clenched, got a better grip, forced my finger down. Down, I said, like the word had weight. The number hit one as my thumb connected. The light went out.

Gravity remembered me then and took me back hard. I hit the bed on my hip and shoulder, bounced once. Lost the breath I'd been hoarding. The ceiling overhead was just sealing again. I lay there and stared upward. Spots? I said. My voice came out hoarse.

A tremor moved the bedspread. And then a wet, small weight stepped carefully under my stomach. She was still damp, not dripping anymore, smelling like a penny in the inside of the fish tank. Cautious, but not convinced she needed hiding anymore. She tucked herself into the corner between my ribs and my arm and squeezed, and then started purring. I put my hand on her back. It's okay, we're down, I said.

The phone lay against my other hip, screen angled toward the ceiling. New text had arrived across the same white space. Just one line. Thank you for your preference. The words hung on the phone's screen. I sat there for a long time. Spots pressed against my ribs. Both of us breathing in sync.

My eyes stung. My head was killing me. Finally, I slid off the bed and stood. My knees popped. The phone slipped from my fingers and landed face down on the blanket. And I didn't pick it back up. I'm done, I said. We're done, spots.

The cat followed me as I walked to the living room. The apartment felt like it had been wrung out and left to dry, air-heavy. But it was quiet again. The fridge hummed steadily. The power outside had returned, and the aliens seemed to have gone away. Street lights glowed their usual dull amber, throwing long shadows across the sidewalk. A car rolled the path slowly, and I could see people again.

I dropped out of the couch, let myself sag into the cushions. My head was killing me. I dug my fingers into my temples and pressed until the pain sharpened, then blurred. My palms smelled like wet fur and coffee. Spots hopped up beside me, tail curling around my forearm. She was mostly dry now, still cool to the touch. I scratched behind her ears. She leaned into it with a small purr, and we both stared at the window.

Outside, the world looked like a photograph. Cars in motion. Street lab study. Clouds moving. No beams of light, no aliens, no craziness. I breathed that slowly, almost a laugh. It's over. Spots needed the blanket once, then settled with her head on my fly.

I leaned back, eyes half closed, and then my phone buzzed. Not a little notification tick. A full sustained vibration that resonated through the coffee table. I opened my eyes. The phone lay where I'd left it on the bed. Its glow reflected faintly off the hallway wall. I didn't move at first. My hand stayed on spots, fingers resting against the back of her neck.

She went still, too, ears tilting toward the sound. The buzz stopped, then started again. And I stood slowly. Each step toward the bedroom felt heavier, like wading through water. The hall was dim, but the phone's glow was enough to paint a square of light on the floor. It pulsed once, twice. It was waiting. I reached for it with shaky fingers.

The screen was white again, but not empty. A new question had appeared. Would you like to share this survey with your friends? Yes or no? My stomach turned. Spots meowed softly from the living room. A sound like a warning. I stared at the words my thumb hovering.

No, I said. No, no, no. I tried to tap no. But my hands were shaking. The screens seemed to shift. under my thumb. Sweat slick the glass, and in my panic, my finger slid sideways. A soft chime, and the button, yes, lit up. I froze. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. The glow on the screen dimmed back to normal. My own reflections stared up at me from the glass. Pale.

hollow-eyed, a black cat sitting behind me. And then the phone vibrated once more, a low, satisfied hum. And on the screen, new words appeared. Thank you for your service.