Snook - 5 Unsettling Scary Stories

Episode Date: April 5, 2026

These were 5 terrifying stories! These stories had me on the edge of my seat the entire time... I hope you enjoy, and if you do, please follow the podcast and rate 5 stars! It helps more than you know! AliceInBoredom - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1i2tdv8/i_got_a_voicemail_from_my_wife_she_died_ten_years/ shiki1232 - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1ht5zu6/i_found_my_missing_brother_on_a_forum_for_the_dead/ davidb88 - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1hrh3je/hot_singles_near_you/ TheAtlasOdyssey - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1btogmx/my_friend_walked_into_the_water_i_never_saw_him/ peachsquid - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/909vbx/everyone_says_i_had_a_baby_i_started_to_go_along/ IF ANY OF THESE STORIES BELONG TO YOU, PLEASE EMAIL ME AT - [e-mail] before filing a copyright takedown or anything. Please, we can get it sorted out through email or some other form of communication, thank you. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Hey, what's up guys? And welcome back to another scary stories video. And today I've got seven unsettling scary stories for you guys. And I love all of these a lot. They're super scary and just super entertaining and perfect to listen to if you're chilling, sleeping, want to a scary story, or just want to relax and have something to listen to. And I appreciate you so much for stopping by. Thank you so much for watching the channel. And please like the video and subscribe to the channel. As is his channel's goal to be at 500,000 subscribers. So please Please subscribe to the channel, and alright, without further due, let's get into seven unsettling scary stories. I got a voicemail from my wife.

She died 10 years ago. When the first voicemail came, I was in the middle of eating dinner, mindlessly flipping through the news on TV. The screen on my phone lit up, and I barely noticed it. Spam calls were part of my daily routine, but this time it wasn't a scam. It was a voicemail from a number I hadn't seen in over a decade. It was from her. Hi, it's me. I know this is going to sound strange, but I need you to listen carefully.

You can't trust him. The voice was unmistakable. It was Lauren, my wife, the woman I buried 10 years ago. I dropped my fork, the clatter making me jump. For a second, I thought maybe it was a prank, some cruel scammer who'd found her voice on old videos. I'd foolishly uploaded to social media. But then I listened again. There was something about the way she spoke, the cadence, the inflection, the breathnessless

at the end of her words. It wasn't just Lauren's voice. It was her. She'd been dead for ten years. Lauren had been my everything. When she died, I was a husk of myself, wandering through days I can barely recall. A car accident took her from me, quick and brutal. The driver was never found, and now her voice, it was...

impossible. The voicemail was time-stamped only a minute before I played it, and when I tried to call the number back, it rang to nothingness. No dial tone, no voicemail box, just an endless void. I listened to the message again and again, the words embedding themselves into my mind. You can't trust him. Who? Trust who? What was she warning me about? The next day at work, I was distracted. Every buzz of my phone made me jump. Every voice in the office sounded the like hers. By lunchtime, I couldn't take it anymore and drove home. I needed to listen to it again. Maybe find something I'd missed. But the message was gone. Not deleted, just gone, as though it had never existed. No call log, no voicemail history. My heart sank. Maybe I was losing it. Maybe grief had

crept back in. A decade late. Nine at my sanity. That's when the second voicemail came. He needs to get out of the house. He's watching. I froze. My heart thunders as I glanced around my living room. It was daylight, the sun streaming in through the windows. Nothing seemed out of place, but the sense of being watched was suffocating. I grabbed my keys and bolted. I drove aimlessly for hours, Lauren's voice playing over and over in my head. By the time I returned home, it was dark and the house felt different. The air was heavy, charged, like the moment of the moment before a thunderstorm. And then I noticed the picture frame on the mental.

It was Lauren's favorite photo of us taken on our honeymoon. I'd smashed it years ago in a fit of grief. The shards of glass long since swept away. But now it was back. Whole. Perfect. I was shaking as I approached it. My breath caught when I saw the note tucked behind the frame.

He's in the basement. Adrenaline surged as I grabbed a knife from the kitchen and crept down the stairs. the basement was cold and damp, the single bulb casting long, eerie shadows. At first I saw nothing, just old boxes and a faint smell of mildew, but then I noticed the corner. The shadows didn't line up. I stepped closer, my breath hitching. The air seemed to hum in for a second. I thought I heard whispering.

When I reached the corner, I found nothing but a mirror. It hadn't been there before. The reflection wasn't mine. Lauren's face stared back at me. Her eyes wide with terror. Her lips moved silently, forming words I couldn't hear. My knees buckled as the mirror seemed to ripple. The glass warping as though she was pressing against it from the other side.

Then the whispers started. I bolted, slamming the basement door behind me, my mind was raising, my pulse deafening in my ears. I couldn't make sense of it. Lauren's warnings, the mirror, the voicemails, none of the whispers. it felt real. That's when my phone buzzed. Another voicemail. It's too late. He's already inside. I found my missing brother on a forum for the dead. I found my missing brother on a forum for the dead. I never thought much about online forums until one of them brought my brother back. Ryan had been missing for two years. One day he went out to grab coffee and never came back.

No suspicious activity on his bank account, no weird phone calls, no signs of struggle, just gone. The police said he'd likely been abducted, but without evidence, they couldn't do much. My family fell apart. My mom stopped eating, my dad stopped talking, and I... I just stopped feeling. Late one night, while spiraling through forms about unsolved disappearances, I stumbled upon a thread titled Messages from Beyond, Connecting with the Lost. It was buried deep within an obscure corner of the internet and full of people claiming to receive messages from the dead.

It sounded ridiculous, but one comment caught my attention. A username Echoing Void posted. Sometimes the missing don't know they're gone. Sometimes they're here looking for home. Below someone replied, How do you know? In Void answered, because I am one. For whatever reason, grief, desperation, or lack of sleep.

I created an account and messaged void. I typed, If you're really one of the missing, prove it. Tell me something only you would know. The response came within minutes. What do you want me to prove? That he once broke Ryan's nose during a stupid fight over a game of Mario Kart?

That he forgave you before you forgave yourself? My stomach dropped. I hadn't told anyone about that, not even my parents. It was just one of those childhood moments you carry like a secret scar. I asked, Who are you? Void's reply.

I think you know. The next few weeks were a blur. I spent hours every night talking to Void. He said the world he was in was a fractured reflection of ours, familiar but empty. The sky was always gray, the streets abandoned, the air heavy with silence. He couldn't explain how he got there, only that he woke up in this place and couldn't leave. The more we talked, the more he sounded. like Ryan. He even remembered details no one else could, like the nickname he used to call our

childhood dog or how he'd secretly tape my embarrassing middle school dance recital to blackmail me later. One night, Void said something that terrified me. He typed, they're watching me now. They don't like that I'm talking to you. I asked who they were, but his responses became cryptic. The shadows, the ones who keep us here. They don't like the noise. That was the last thing I heard from him for weeks. Then a new message appeared in my inbox. Do you want to see me? Attached was a link to a live video feed. I hesitated but clicked. The stream showed a dimly lit street that looked eerily like the one Ryan and I grew up on. The houses were distorted, their shapes wavering as if viewed through heat haze. In the distance, a figure walked toward

the camera. As they drew closer, I recognized his face. It was Ryan. But the something was off, his eyes were too wide, his movement stiff, like a puppet on strings. He smiled at the camera, but it wasn't the smile I remembered. It was forced, unnatural. He raised a hand and waved, and the live chat beside the video he typed, It's me. I told you I was here. I couldn't move. My heart felt like he was trying to escape my chest. Suddenly, the camera shook violently. The shadows behind Ryan began to shift and ripple, forming towering figures with jagged edges. moved closer. They're distorted limbs reaching for him. Ryan typed, they're coming. You have to help me. Find the door. The feed cut out. I spent the next few days piecing together everything he'd said about his world,

looking for clues about the door. It wasn't much, but he'd mentioned a specific place from our childhood, an old abandoned cabin in the woods where we used to play. I drove there, half expecting nothing. The cabin was just as we left it, rotting and overgrown. Inside I found a trap door beneath a threadbare rug. The ladder below led to a tunnel that stretched on for what felt like miles. At the end was a heavy iron door with strange carvings. As I touched it, my phone buzzed. A message from void.

They know you're here. Don't let them in. Before I could reply, the shadows began to seep through the walls, crawling toward me like living tar. I shoved the door open and stepped through. I don't know how to explain what happened next. One moment I was in the tunnel. The next I was standing in the gray, empty world Ryan had described.

The air was heavy, the silence deafening. And there he was, standing a few feet away, staring at me with wide, desperate eyes. Ryan, I whispered. But before he could respond, the shadows served. forward. The last thing I remember is his scream. I woke up in my bed the next morning clutching a piece of paper I'd never seen before. Written on it, in Ryan's handwriting, were the words, don't stop looking. There's another door. Hot singles near you. I was never the type to pay attention to neon-colored ads blinking on my screen at 2 in the morning. I'd

usually ignore them, maybe laugh at their ridiculous claims. So when I first saw one that said hot single ladies in your area, I scoffed and scrolled on. But after a few minutes of mindless browsing, I noticed the ad changed. This time the text read, Hot Singles only two kilometers away. I paused. Ads often track your location, but it felt weird to see the exact distance spelled out. I shrugged it off, just a marketing ploy. Nothing new. I got caught up reading a thread for a while, refreshed. That's when I saw it again. But the distance had shrunk. Hot single, near you, 500 meters. There was a face on the banner, a brunette with unsettling pale eyes. The iris so washed out it was nearly white. She stared through the screen with a knowing smile. Something about her expression

felt too personal, like she knew I was watching. A quick shiver ran through me, but I chalked it up to late-night nerves. I forced my attention elsewhere until another refresh brought up a third ad. This time, it covered the top of the page, big and bold. I'm closer than you think. 100 meters away. My stomach twisted. I peered out of my window, scanning the empty sidewalk lit by a single flickering street lamp. Nobody was there. I tried to reason it out. Ads can be hyper-targeted, sure, but 100 meters? That was practically my doorstep. I told myself to ignore it, but it got worse. Another banner loaded with the same woman,

only now her features were off. Her face looked elongated. Her grins stretched a little too wide, almost like a predatory snarl. The text underneath red. We see you. 50 meters. I felt a chill roll through me.

We? There were multiple figures in the background now? Other women with these same pale eyes all leaning forward, as if pressing closer to the, the screen, I tried to close the page, but it froze. A pulsing ad replaced everything. We're right here. Ten meters. My heart thudded. Ten meters is practically my front door. I jumped from my chair and ran to the window, ripping the current aside. Again, nothing, just my silent street, but the atmosphere felt heavier, like something is watching from just beyond the glow of the lamp. When I stumbled back

to my laptop, the ad had changed once more. At your door. Open up. A sharp cladetting. A sharp clad made me whirl my front door knob jiggled, metal scraping metal, something someone was trying to get in. My eyes flickered back to the screen, where a new image had replaced the older ads. It was a photo of my house taken from the sidewalk outside. My porch light was on, the potted plant to the left of the door, and in the banner, that brunette stood near the front steps. Unnaturally tall, face partially obscured by a swirl of static. She looked even more distorted.

with her eyes fixed in a soulless stare. I heard a second jolt at the door. Fear roared in my ears like white noise. I checked my phone, no signal. My Wi-Fi icon flickered. Then came the final blow. That had changed yet again, displaying my exact address beneath a brand-new photo of me,

bathed in the monitor's glow, taken from outside my window. I could see the silhouette of someone behind the glass holding a camera or phone. capturing me in that moment of terror. Hot single ladies at my address. Clicked now. Before I could do anything, slammed the laptop shut,

called the police. My entire screen went black. The house lights flickered, then died. I stumbled in darkness, heart racing. A faint glow came through the curtains from the street lamp. I tried to catch my breath, tried to push away the thought that something stood right outside. The doorknob rattled once more,

then fell silent. I don't know how long I stood there in the dark. waiting for the next sound or movement. Eventually, the light surged back on, and my laptop whirled softly. Its screener made off, but the little power indicator blinked tauntingly, like it was daring me to open it again.

I couldn't move, couldn't bring myself to check if that horrifying image was still there. Couldn't look out the window to see if anyone or anything was lurking. Now, whenever I close my eyes, I see that ad. the warped faces those eyes too pale too hungry they came so close maybe they're still out there in the night waiting for me to click waiting for me to give in if you see them don't refresh don't click don't even linger on the ad because once they know where you are they're not selling you a date they're coming to collect and next time you check your screen you might find your own face staring back

at you from the other side of the glass And this time, you won't be able to shut the page. My friend walked into the water. I never saw him again. Children can often be cruel. A kid picks up a toy and suddenly her hair is being pulled. She accidentally chose the wrong toy, one which was already claimed by someone else. In a sense, they're very territorial, little critters.

Some researchers theorize that it's an evolutionary trait. Figure out where you belong in the pecking order, early. I don't know exactly how a green toy tractor would be beneficial for one's survival, even if it is a perfect replica of a John Deere. Something about projecting parts of yourself onto inanimate objects and therefore extending your survival to that of the object, I guess. I have a fair amount of experience in this department. I grew up in a world without sound. Even if my condition was invisible to the naked eye draping me like a ghost made out of thick blankets the other kids knew. Of course it did. This made me a very easy target. Early, my parents made sure to give me all the tools I would need to take on the world. Sadly, it wasn't really enough.

One would think being deaf as a shield from the words of others, but words are never the worst part. Disgusted looks after I miss a cue during PE, being omitted from band class even though I love the feelings of guitar strings against my fingertips. teachers not bothering putting subtitles on during movie time. Those were the worst parts. The day I met Anton was cold. I remember dragging my feet towards school. Brown puddles were scattered on the pavement and my previously white shoes soaked up the water a little too well to be made out of leather. As I arrived, the bell rang.

Walking slowly, dreading another day of ableism, I noticed a red-haired boy sitting by his lonesome under the bleachers next to the football pitch. something about him gave me an impression of inherent kindness. I don't know what gave me the courage to actually be the conversational instigator, probably the freckles. I'm Sarah. He gently mouthed something back. After that, we spent a lot of time together.

At the start, we would wait for the other kids to finish playing their games before swooping in afterwards when no one is around. Two silent, stealthy ninjas on their quest for world domination through hopscotch and basketball. Anton picked a sign language quickly. and suddenly I had someone who wasn't of my blood to talk to. However, so did my tormentors. Apparently teenagers are cruel too, and they're more determined.

Soon I had heard, pun intended, every insult in the book. When the words got vile, I would follow the advice Anton gave me. Close your eyes, that's your superpower. He would sign. Now, I think I've made it clear how much this person means to me and why it hurts so fucking much to think about his fate.

Fuck. In university we both picked up hiking together. The scenery in Sweden is absolutely breathtaking. If you know where to look, Anton's favorite part about nature were the sounds. Mind, the smells. I remember that morning in vivid detail. We woke up in the same tent just before the gilded rays of the sun pierced the trees of the coppice. Small particles of pine aroma made their way up to my nose, yelling at me.

No screaming that they were ready to reproduce. Get off of your phone. I had to repeat the signs three times before I got his attention. Fine, not many gay dudes on Tinder in homophobic city anyways, he replied. Referring to the near-backwater town where we stayed. We did what we usually did, started wandering the forest aimlessly, enjoying the many impressions of the forest offered. Every time a squirrel scutted up an oak tree or we spotted a plant we'd never seen before,

we stopped. I can mistake these small moments of anomalies in the spacetime continuum. them. They seemed to last just a little bit longer than all the unpleasant ones. I was inspecting a particularly cool rock, probably some kind of granite. When I noticed Anton stopped moving on the spot, this was indicative of something I could never experience. He was listening for, or to something. It kind of looked like he was in a trance of some sort. I made it a game to try to guess what bird had him that enchanted. I made a noise to get his attention, but it was futile. In the end, I just walked up right in front of him.

Is it a blackbird? Is it a violin? At first, I thought it was a nickname I didn't recognize for one of the local species, so I made him clarify. No. Someone is playing the violin. His hands told me. Eventually, he was moving towards the sound, or so I assumed. I kept asking him questions, but he wouldn't stop answering.

If he were, it's magnificent, stunning, almost magical. We entered a small grove, a tiny lake. place in the middle was a centerpiece, and on the water there was a rock. On that rock sat a man hunched over, completely naked with a violin and a bow. There was something off about the way he was positioned, almost like he had been waiting for a long time, as if he or it could hear my thoughts. He stood up and strained himself. I'm not going to lie to you, he was beautiful, long, blonde hair falling down his chiseled body, which was almost glistening in his, in the sun. I would call him the epitome of beauty, but his smile was crooked. Something wasn't right.

Anton had stopped at taking the scene, but was soon on his way towards the man. I began to calmly ask him to stop, walking backwards in front of him. Soon my gestures were getting more and more franticle as I realized he wouldn't slow down. He had stopped responding to me and seemed completely enthralled with the music the man on the lake was playing. Anton was much stronger than me, so I can never physically stop him in normal circumstances if he set his mind to something, but now I couldn't even slow him down. It was as if he turned into a machine. Dead set on reaching his destination.

I started shouting, I think. He would just glance at me with content eyes. Not even when he set his foot in the water would he flinch. I started screaming at the man to stop the music, but he just looked at me with dead eyes. He wasn't so pretty anymore. A subtle desperation had entered his expression. and as Anton moved further into the pond, he licked his lips. I felt this awful feeling like that thing carried a hunger, so intense, it could only be

described as starvation. I let go of Anton's arm and started crying. The man would just look at me, then back at my friend, brandishing an awful smile. I didn't stop crying until Anton's shoulders disappeared, then his head. The pond was deeper than I thought possible, and soon I could barely make out the shadow of this submerged Anton. I tried to go in after him, but he was determined to keep sinking.

Soon I got light-headed and swam back upwards before I reached the surface I looked down, and the last I saw of him was his kind eyes and gentle smile. I feel like he wanted to tell me something. Just close your eyes. I gasped for breath. I started making my way back to shore, dripping wet as I sat down in the warm grass.

The man on the rock looked at me with a certain confusion. I started screaming at him. I don't think I use any discernible words. Angry sounds, primal sounds. He just looked at me. The confusion was gone. Now he just looked smug. And he started to change.

The color of his skin started draining. Soon the perfectly bronze skin was more akin to the grays of boiled chicken. His limbs started elongating to lengths deeply unnatural. His smile grew from something lightly wicked to something nightmarish. Weirdly, I couldn't see the increments of the transformation. and he transformed nonetheless. The end result was fucking terrifying. I couldn't move.

It stared at me with large, oval, black eyes. Earlier, I mused on the fact that pleasant moments seem to last longer than unpleasant ones. But this was different. It felt like forever. Then it slowly raised a thin, sickly arm and waved a slow goodbye, the audacity of this fucking thing.

It crouched and started climbing down the rock at the pace of a sloth, never breaking eye contact with me. When it broke the surface of the pond, it did so quietly. I could tell. The water barely moved and then it was gone, along with Anton. I had to get this off my chest, and now people will know where I went. Even if that thing still occupies the darkest corners of my nightmares, the forest seems to be calling me.

Even though my lungs got damaged to a point of permanent remembrance, I dream of the fluttered in water. even though I can't hear his music. I feel something tugging at my sleeves. I imagine the music was a component of something far more sinister, something ancient. The beauty of it, however, is that I won't have to be wary of every crevice, nook, and cranny on my crusade. I know where it will be on that same rock, in that same lake, hunting over that same terrible fiddle. Everyone says I had a baby.

I started to go along with it. My neighbor brought over some baby shoes the other day. They were pink and had glitter on the toes and sequined flowers on the side. We cooed over them for a few minutes and I told her how much I appreciated the gift. After she left, I threw them in my bedroom closet with all the other baby junk I've been given over the past six months. Six months ago, everyone in town started to ask about my baby. I do not have a baby. I have never given birth or even been pregnant.

I thought that I was being mistaken for someone else. I'm not particularly unique-looking. Maybe some other short, dark-haired and hazel-eyed girl gave birth recently. But I am shy by nature and southern by birth, so I was too polite to say, you're wrong. You have the wrong person. I don't have a baby. I said things like, oh, okay. Mostly because it must have been a case of mistaken identity.

People brought over baby clothes, a crib, a swing that plugs into the wall and jiggles, toys and shoes and diapers. A very weird situation to be in for sure, but then, to put it plainly, things got weirder. I was in the grocery store and the manager. A friendly, older man came up to me and asked about my sweet little girl. He asked if she liked the different formula he had suggested and if I wanted more. I just smiled. When I got home, I found formula in my grocery bags and an almost empty can in my cabinet.

I don't even remember putting it in my cart. The thing is, everyone has been so nice to me, and the situation is just so odd that I start to go along with it. How is the little darling today? A neighbor would ask when I went to get the mail. Oh, she's wonderful. Sleeping through the night, I'd answer. Then a young woman that got coffee at the same place as me asked about a play date with her nine-month-old and my then-five-month-old. I sort of blew it off.

Next time I saw her, though, she talked about setting up another play-date at. how much fun our two darlings had. She showed me a picture on her phone. Aren't they just precious in this picture? Your little girl has the most beautiful blue eyes. Her dress really makes them pop. I'll text this to you. I looked at the picture and saw a chubby baby

and a red shirt and blue shorts. It had dark hair and dark eyes. It was the only baby in the picture. I went home and opened my bedroom closet full of baby junk. I pulled out teddy bears in an unopened box with a changing table in it. I pulled out a shopping bag with new baby clothes.

I dumped it out on my bed and looked through them. I found a light blue dress. A few weeks ago, I decided to call my mom. Hello, she answered. Mom, it's me, I said. Oh, Pearl, hi. How are you, I asked. We don't talk often.

I'm good, we're all good out here. She paused and asked, and how are you two doing? Us, too, I asked hesitantly. Now, don't act like that. I know I haven't been in touch much, but I do care about you and my grandbaby, she said sourly. I know, Mom. Oh, she's crying. I gotta go.

I lied. Give Holly my love, she said, and then hung up before I did. The funny thing is, breakfast at Tiffany's has been my favorite book since I was a kid. I'd always thought Holly would be a great name for a kid I would eventually have. I went into my room to put my phone down after my short conversation with my mom. The changing table and the crib were neatly set up by the window. I didn't do that. I'm sure I didn't.

I walked over to the crib and looked inside. Nothing was there. I walked over to the changing table and took a step back before I bumped my shin against one of the legs. Because I remembered that I had done that before. I looked down and saw a bruise on my shin. I know I had hit it against the changing table, but I also know that they weren't in here before. I know it.

How's Holly today? My neighbor across the street asked. We were both grabbing our mail. Oh, she's good, happy as ever, I said. I heard her screaming up a storm when he came home last night. I'd be surprised if you were able to get her to bed at all. Once she lays down, it usually doesn't take too long, I replied. I went inside and looked through the mail.

A bunch of junk, a few red envelopes. I put everything down on the kitchen counter and opened a cabinet to get out a cup. I heard some noises coming from my room. I paused and listened. I didn't hear anything for a minute, so I grabbed the cup and got some water from the sink. I heard something over the sound of the tap. Holly must be awake. I went into my room and looked down in the crib.

Holly's stuffed elephant was in the crib. I reached down and picked it up. It was cute. No wonder someone got it for Holly. I put the elephant back down in the crib and brought the cup to my mouth to take a sip. I realized I was holding a baby bottle. mom brain I thought where did I put my cup down but then I saw I was holding my cup and I'm not a mom what the fuck was I just thinking I looked back over at the crib why do I still have this crap in my room I kicked the crib then I kicked it again then again until the wood began to splinter I pushed the changing table over on its side I opened my closet and shoved it in the pieces of the crib and any other baby related item I could find I slammed the door closed I can't I can't keep this charade up, I decided.

I can't go along with this nonsense anymore. I went to get coffee this morning. I was so tired. I felt like I hadn't slept all night. The barista smiled at me. Your kid kept you up? She asked. No, I said firmly.

Her smile wavered. I sat down at the table to drink my coffee. Some woman walked up to me. She asked how I was doing, how my daughter was doing. I'm fine, I answered, and left it at that. She sat down at the table and in a hushed and concerned voice, she asked me if I was experiencing any depression. She said that new mothers often feel like this. I'm not a new mother, I said.

A man came in and walked quickly up to the table. He bent down and whispered something in my ear. It didn't register at first. What? I asked. You left your kid in her car seat in your car, he said again. I jumped up and ran outside. I unlocked my car and opened the back seat.

How could I be so stupid? How fucked up am I? to leave my kid in the car. But nothing was there. No kid. No car seat. I drove home. I sat on my bed and looked through the pictures of my phone.

I looked at the picture of the chubby baby and the red shirt. I stared at it. Where is she? Where is Holly? There's only one kid in this picture, but everyone else says that there are two. Chubbs in my little Holly, bright blue eyes, blue dress. She does look so pretty in that blue dress. I do have a bit more to write, but Holly just started crying.

I need to go check on her. And all right, guys, that wraps up seven unsettling scary stories. I really hope you enjoyed this video. I enjoyed all these stories in here a lot. They were really unique. This was a big list of kind of unique stories. And just let me know in the comments below. Did you enjoy it?

Because I enjoyed it a ton. And thank you so much for watching to the end of the video. I appreciate every single one of you so much. Please like and subscribe if you enjoyed. This was Snook, and I'll see you next time.