Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - The Ultimate 9-Hour Scare Compilation

Episode Date: November 12, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #nosleep #paranormal #creepy #horrorcompilation #ghoststories #nightmarefuel #spookymarathon “The Ultimate 9-Hour Scare Compilation” is the ultimate test of courage — a chilling marathon of horror drawn from the darkest corners of Reddit and beyond. Dive into a nonstop stream of terrifying encounters, ghostly whispers, and psychological nightmares that will make you question every sound in the dark. Perfect for late-night listeners, horror fans, and anyone brave enough to face nine straight hours of fear. Turn off the lights… if you dare. horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, horrorcompilation, ghoststories, truehorror, nightmarish, chillingstories, paranormal, spooky, supernatural, hauntedstories, sleeplessnights, creepyencounters, darkness, eerie, horrorpodcast

Hey, good to see you. Come on in, Ryan. Likewise, man. It's been a while. Yeah, it's kind of a shame to see you in that uniform though. Well, you know me, I've always been decent at following orders. Spent most of my life getting bossed around, so this just felt natural in a weird way. Ha, I have a gut feeling that your days of just taking orders might be ending soon. We'll see. Still got that sense of humor. huh? Glad to know the army didn't completely drain the soul out of you. Let me introduce you to someone, my uncle Ronnie. He comes with me everywhere. Yeah, that's his head in the jar. Wait, what? I'm serious. Every time I'm having a garbage day, which is pretty much every day now, I give that jar a little tap, watch his head jiggle around. Cracks me up, reminds me why I serve. Feels like I'm sorry. I'm slapping back at everything wrong with the world. You're twisted, man. Maybe. But you've got to be a little twisted to keep going, especially now. War with the Americans is coming. Everyone in this uniform has to be ready for it, no matter what. Man, woman, child, if you wear red, you got to be

ready to bleed for it. That's the only way we win, total loyalty, total obedience. No exceptions. No compromises. So, let's raise a glass. To the motherland, to duty, and to whatever comes next. All right, enough of that. Let's cut the chit-chat. Everything we talk about here. Top secret. Yeah, of course. I'm here to serve, Lieutenant. You were under Mikhail Victor's command in Afghanistan, right? That's right. He put me in charge of sniping. operations. Taught me everything. You know, some folks back home say he's a war criminal now. Yeah, I've heard the rumors. He got involved in a lot of the cleanup jobs, didn't he? We all did. That's what Afghanistan was. You think you're going to fight an enemy, and you end up chasing ghosts. You're taught sacrifice, but no one tells you it might not be your life they want, it's your soul. Exactly. Most of the guys back in Moscow, they don't get it.

They sit in their chairs and talk about morality and codes of conduct, but they weren't out there with blood on their hands. They didn't have to make those decisions. You're right. And honestly, if Stalin were still alive to see the shit show we'd become, he'd be disgusted. Yeah. But that's why I need men like you now. Come in.

Ah, Kevin, Simona. Good to see you. Private, meet Captain Sergei Semenov, KGB. He's the one overseeing this whole thing. Pleasure to meet you, Captain. I've heard things about you, private. Good things. Victor spoke very highly of you. Well, that could be bad depending on who's listening. Nonsense. He was a damn fine officer. Before things went, off the rails. Right, let's get down to it. You've heard about Chernobyl, yeah. Of course.

Hard not to. Well, despite what the radio says, the situation's not exactly handled. We've got reports, some people from Preciate didn't evacuate. They're still out there. In the woods. Hiding. Wait, how? We don't know.

But if anyone survived this long in that contaminated zone, they've taken. taken in more radiation than a nuclear reactor. Their DNA is probably spaghetti by now. And more importantly, they're a danger. Biologically, politically, socially. We can't have that. So what are we supposed to do? We're asking you to do what you did in Afghanistan.

Find them. Deal with them. They disobeyed direct evacuation orders. There are consequences. How many of us are going in? Just three. You, me, and Captain Seaminoff. That's it. Three. Against how many? Our surveillance says 7 to 10, Max shouldn't be more than that. Are we worried about radiation? We're far enough from the plant. The exposure you'll get is minimal. No protective suits needed. Sounds easy on paper. You complete this.

mission successfully and I'll make sure you're reinstated as Sergeant Major. You'll serve directly under me again. All right. I'll do what needs doing. I knew I could count on you. And one more thing, I've got something for you. Recognize this? My rifle, damn, I thought I'd never see her again. She got me through hell in Afghanistan. She'll get you through this too. Hope so. Let's do this. Good. Meet us outside. Captain, what do you think? If everything I've heard about this guy is true. I think we're in very good hands. The wind outside the outpost was cold, unnaturally cold for late spring. The trees were stiff, frozen like they were holding their breath. Three figures stood in silence at the edge of the woods. Each carried a weapon,

but only one of them looked like he was born with it in his hands. Ryan checked his scope. The lens fogged slightly. He wiped it clean and looked into the distance. I've got movement, he whispered. How many? Seaminoff asked, his tone sharp. Can't tell yet.

Could be one. Could be five. Conrad, the lieutenant, gave a nod. Keep low. We move in two minutes. Quiet. Precise, they began walking. The ground underfoot was mushy, the remnants of toxic rain and years of decay making every

step uncertain. After about 300 meters, they saw the remnants of a small house. Collapsed roof, black mold up the walls, a swing set rusted into nothingness. There was someone there. An old man, face weathered like he'd lived a dozen lifetimes. He wasn't armed. He looked more curious than afraid. A little girl stood behind him, holding his hand.

Orders. Ryan asked. Confirmation, Semenov said. He's not just a survivor. He's a symbol. A crack in the official story. That can't exist, but it's a kid, that's not our decision. We're just the hands that carry out the will, Ryan's finger hovered over the trigger.

His breath slowed. His mind jumped back to a village in Afghanistan. A little boy with a slingshot. A woman with no face. He blinked it away. He didn't pull the trigger. Not yet. Instead, he lowered the rifle and stood up.

What are you doing? Conrad hissed. I'm done. I didn't come back from Afghanistan just to become a tool again. There's a line. This is it, Semenoff raised his gun, aiming it at Ryan. But Conrad stepped in. Stand down, what? He's disobeying direct orders. No. He's choosing. That's the kind of man I need. The old man looked up. He nodded slowly, like he understood. Back at the outpost, the silence was heavy. Report says the targets weren't found, Conrad typed. Area searched. No evidence of unauthorized survivors, he looked at Ryan. This never happened, understood, and just like that, they were no longer soldiers.

They were something else. Something freer. Something more dangerous. To be continued. It was a dark evening in the dead of spring. The kind of twilight where even the shadows felt too heavy to carry. We were in the woods just outside Preciate, the air thick with one. radiation and a sense of unease. The Chernobyl disaster had turned this place into a ghost town,

but ghosts were the least of our worries. Ivan stood quietly beside me, his breath visible in the cold air. He clutched his rifle like it was his last lifeline. We didn't talk much these days. Just enough to remember we were human. And Ivan, don't forget about the earlier conversation, I said, tightening the strap on my gear. Yes, he replied. his voice distant. Very well. I'll meet you outside. The wind whistled through the trees like a warning. When I stepped outside, Captain Semenov was already waiting for us, checking his watch like he was counting down to doomsday. Hey, I muttered. He didn't look up. Remember, comrades, no prisoners, no survivors. Ivan and I nodded without a word. We were used to following orders, even

when they made us sick to our stomachs. I'll take note of our positions once the targets are eliminated, the lieutenant said. But then Ivan froze. His eyes scanned the darkened tree lean. Lieutenant, we are not alone out here. That's why we are out here, the lieutenant replied, almost too casually. What is it? I asked.

Don't let your guard down, he whispered. Something about his tone made my stomach clench. We walked deeper into the woods. The trees closed and around us like silent sentinels. Every snap of a twig sounded like a gunshot. Every shadow looked like an enemy. Comrade Semenov, come get a cool look at this, Ivan said, pointing to the ground. Tracks military formation.

They're moving in an organized way. Is there something you're not telling us about this mission? I asked, my voice sharp. Only what you need to know, Comrade, Semenov replied. Outside forces helping them. Americans may be. Ivan muttered. Seamanov scoffed. If the Americans were here, we'd know. Whoever left these tracks is either trespassing on Soviet soil or defying the orders of the state. Either way, it's not our problem.

Private, come, he said, motioning me forward. The forest suddenly grew eerily silent, like the world was holding its breath. Then a figure stepped from behind the tree. Come out from behind the tree. I will not tell you again, Seamanov barked. A woman emerged, shaking, her hands raised. Please don't shoot, she cried. I'm looking for my children.

The men in masks told me they would be in these woods. Please don't shoot. Who else is with you? I asked. She didn't answer. Just trembled like a leaf in a storm. Before anyone could say more, there was a single gunshot. The woman dropped.

Semenov. I shouted. You haven't lost your touch, Ivan muttered dryly. She said she was looking for her children, I said, staring down at the body. She'll see them soon, Semenov replied coldly. I can't question a dead woman, Ivan. But you heard her. There may be others.

Do you have a problem with me executing a detractor of the state? Seameneff asked. No, I said. But I felt it. Deep down, I felt it. Then it's a good thing you brought me along, he said. No loose ends. We walked further, deeper into the silence.

Do you see them? enemy infantry seamanoff whispered i looked nothing just trees there are no infantry i said because there are no enemies he's lost his mind ivan said under his breath just because you're working with traitors semenov shouted spinning around drop the weapon ivan that's an order do it now I shouted. I do not take orders from traitors, he yelled back. The gunshot rang out before I even realized who fired. Seamanov fell to the ground.

I rushed to him. Captain. His eyes fluttered open, then closed. He was gone. Then a voice, can you help me find my children now? I turned. The woman. Or what looked like her.

she was standing unharmed what the hell i whispered i do not think they appreciated you shooting their mother she said her eyes were glowing literally glowing then the forest seemed to come alive shadows moved shapes twisted it'll all be over soon she said the mission wasn't about eliminating traitors that was just the story they fed us The truth was so much worse. Whatever happened that Chernobyl didn't just kill people. It created something. Something beyond science. Something that should not exist. Zarkovsky, the minister who approved this mission, wasn't a patriot. He was an opportunist.

And he saw something in the ruins of the reactor. Power. Secrets. Control. And Seaminoff? He was just another pawn. Then I felt it. Burning.

Deep in my chest. I looked down. My uniform was on fire. But there were no flames. You, you killed me, I said. The more you struggle, comrade, the more it burns. The more it spreads. She leaned in.

But I have a question for you. You served with Victor, right? You knew he was insane, but you still followed him. Why? Just kill me. Just do it, I groaned. Answer the question. Yes. Yes. I knew. And I still followed. She smiled. Now pull out your gun. Put it to your head. Do it. Please. Just end this. Of course. she said. If it's any consolation, comrade, you served us well. Go to hell. Give Victor my regards when you get there. I pulled the trigger. But nothing happened. Just a click. Then laughter. Distant at first, then all around me. In the trees. In the wind. The woman was gone. So was Ivan. So was everyone. I was alone. Except I wasn't.

Not really. Whatever lived in the shadows of Chernobyl had marked me. Claimed me. And there were no loose ends. The end. Parisians said time and again that the gargoyles changed position when no one was looking, that they changed location, that they changed gestures and the expression on their faces, but no one was able to provide proof of it.

So these stories were taken as mere rumors, at least until the night. night of May 30th, 143. Well, let's begin. The Cathedral of Notre Dame is one of the most impressive Gothic monuments in the world, in fact, it is the ultimate symbol of European Gothic. Monumentality, splendor, magnificence, it brings together all the characteristics that its style dictates. However, it has never been a simple construction in honor of the Mother of God. The place where it stands, on the Isle de la site, surrounded by the waters of the Seine, has since time immemorial been considered sacred land. The Celts had celebrated their ceremonies here, and later the Romans erected a temple dedicated to Jupiter here. They believed this was a magical place, that energy flowed from all directions, water, land, and that even the wind could carry it.

And that belief endured for centuries. However, the evolution of this building has always been marked by misfortune, attempts at destruction, attacks, even fire, events that came to a head on April 15th of last year, when it was publicly revealed that someone had, by accident, caused this marvel of art to burn. But as our friend Jack the Ripper said, let's go step by step. In the year 528 AD, the first Christian basilica in all of Paris was built on this site, Saint Aetienne. Over the years, the basilica gained more and more importance. However, in the year 1160, Bishop Maurice de Sully considered that the site was not worthy of the importance it was receiving, so he ordered its demolition. Unfortunately for him, Saint Aitienne wasn't completely demolished. Because in 1163, King Louis I.7 ordered several artists not only to rebuild it, but also to transform it into the most magnificent place that had ever existed.

And this is where the authentic cathedral of Notre Dame was born, a Gothic cathedral showcasing different unique styles, each one from the various artists who left their ideas here. Starting here, Notre Dame became a reference point for every historical figure who ever set foot in Paris. In fact, in 1429, Henry the 6th of England chose this site to be crowned king. Unfortunately, the cathedral would not escape misfortune. In 1793, it was the victim of of one of the harshest sieges of the entire French Revolution. Much of its sculptures, trellises, and treasures were destroyed or stolen. In particular, one of them suffered terrible damage at the hands of the enraged mob,

the gallery of the kings of Israel and Judah. In this work, located at the cathedral's entrance, we can see the following. At the center stands a king with a lion at his feet, the famous lion of Judah, a symbol according to the biblical book of Genesis of the tribe of Judah. Tradition says this tribe were the ancestors of King David, the second monarch of the ancient kingdom of Israel. So we can already imagine who the rest of the kings are, biblical kings who, in some way, glorify the importance of the church.

However, the mob thought these kings were imitating the kings of France, all the monarchs who had once ruled the country. So they took it upon themselves to decapitate some of them. But as always happens with Notre Dame, after misfortune comes good news. news. And years later, specifically on December 2nd, 1804, Napoleon Bonaparte and his wife chose Notre Dame to be crowned co-rulers of France, in the presence, of course, of Pope Pius the 7th. As a result of this event, the Pope elevated Notre Dame to the status of minor basilica. But once again, after good news, misfortune returned. In 1871, multiple civilians

rose up and stormed Notre Dame, destroying everything in their path. They grabbed benches and chairs, piled them up, and set a bonfire inside Notre Dame. But fortunately, it all ended in just a scare. For years, the building remained free of misfortunes. The newspapers wrote about its masses, weddings, and celebrations. But in 2017, a man who called himself a soldier of ISIS tried to carry out an attack with a hammer at the doors of Notre Dame. The whole world was shaken by the news, and many assumed that one day someone would do something even worse at this site. And then, earlier this year, the fires began. Just a month ago, the Parisian Church of St. Sulpice, built in the 15th century, suffered a fire that is still under investigation. And in the same

week that happened, 12 more churches also burned. Coincidentally, this past Monday at 6.50 p.m., an accidental fire broke out in the Cathedral of Notre Dame. But thanks to this terrible event, strange myths and stories connected to this place are coming to light, and neither fire nor the passage of time will ever silence them again. Much has been said about this cathedral, among other things, that the shape of its floor plan and many of the works exhibited there contained clear allusions to alchemical symbols and dark magic. However, what interests us are the dark stories told about this site. One of the most famous is that of the blacksmith Biscornet. In the early 1300s, Biscornet was a young blacksmith with a lot of talent.

He didn't have much experience, but his reputation was so good that he was contacted to finish the doors on one side of the cathedral, specifically, the doors of St. Anne. For a young man with so little experience, being given a job like this involved enormous pressure. Making a mistake on a minor work was no big deal, but getting it wrong on the great doors of Notre Dame could mean the end of his career, a career that hadn't even started yet. He had to shine with this job. He had to prove his skill with ironwork. So he spent many days and night sketching designs, drawing plans, taking measurements. These doors became his greatest obsession. But time passed, and he felt that the more hours and effort and passion he put in, the less he achieved. He wanted something worthy

of God. He wanted the whole world to see the doors and remember him. So he pushed himself more and more, dedicated more hours, more days, and according to legend, he worked so hard that he forgot to eat, forgot to sleep, even forgot to breathe. Several witnesses said that one day, while working on the doors of Notre Dame, he collapsed from lack of nourishment. So they sent him home and told him not to come back until he felt better, because doing poor work was worse than doing nothing at all. Biscornet was furious. As soon as he got home, he began to pray, to ask God to help him finish the doors, to help him make the most beautiful doors the world had ever seen. But instead of God, someone else heard his pleas. That very night, the blacksmith

received a sinister visit. Apparently, while he slept, someone knocked at his door, and when he opened it, he found himself face to face with the devil himself. The devil saw in Biscornat a golden opportunity to wound the church. So he offered him a deal he couldn't refuse, I will help you create the most beautiful doors ever seen. Your name will be remembered forever, and your work praised, but the price for your masterpiece will be your soul. Biscornet, eager for fame and recognition, accepted the deal. And the next morning, as soon as the sun rose, he went to Notre Dame to finish his work. A few days after completing it, he died under strange circumstances. In 1345, the cathedral was inaugurated. Unfortunately, hours before the doors were to be opened, no one knew how to open

the doors of St. Anne. They searched everywhere for a handle, a lock, a lever, a hinge, but couldn't find anything. Before dying, the blacksmith had told many people that he had made a packed with the devil, but no one believed him, until that moment. Dozens of people pushed the doors, struck them, searched everywhere, and found nothing. So it had to be the devil's work. It was impossible to open them, at least until a priest hired to bless the new cathedral arrived. This man prayed and began to sprinkle small drops of holy water everywhere.

And when they touched the doors of, Santa Ana, they opened wide, before the astonished gaze of all those, present in the plaza of the Notre Dame Cathedral. Many truly memorable events, for the history of France have taken place there, but if there's one milestone, that deserves to be remembered by lovers, of mystery, it is the burning at the stake, of Jacques de Mollay. And who was this man? The last grandmaster of the Order of the Temple. In the year 1099, the Crusaders had finally conquered, the city of Jerusalem. The situation of the Christian militias in the East was, anything but comfortable, and the Kingdom of Jerusalem, founded to manage the territory was, very unsafe. It was exposed to the, constant incursions of

infidels, and, making a pilgrimage there could cost Christians their lives. So, between the years 1118 and 1120, the Order of the Poor Fellow Soldiers of Christ and of, the Temple of Solomon was founded, better known as the Order of the Temple, a sort of militia, tasked with protecting the holy places, and defending the pilgrims. During those years, this organization was, very necessary, and its members, according to Bernard of Clairvaux, possessed the following traits, discipline, was constant and obedience always, respected. They came and went at the signal, of whoever held authority. They dressed with what, was distributed to their, them and never sought food or clothes from outside. They lived, a communal life, sober and joyful,

with no children or wives. They were never, found idle nor curious. They detested dice, and chess. They did not hunt. They, kept their hair cropped short. They never combed it. They rarely bathed. Their beard was long, and unkempt. But as the centuries, Past, the Church began to see the order of the temple not as an ally but, as an enemy. The mysterious, Templar order had acquired many, privileges, and after the Crusades, it, had become wealthy. So they no longer, represented the image of austere and humble men. Its members even seemed, more powerful than the Pope, Clement V and Philip the Fourth, the fair, king, of France. So these two, figures decided to eliminate the ten.

Templars, and seize all their wealth. And how did they do it? Both the Pope and, the King knew that the Templars held, knowledge that, in those times, was considered forbidden. They knew, state secrets. They knew religion. They knew politics. They knew too much. So the best way to silence them, was to imprison them and accuse them, of heresy. Many Templars, from the moment these accusations were made, already, knew that fighting for a fair trial would be useless. So, they fled to Portugal or even, the coasts of America. But others did, not have time to escape and, ended up being captured, tortured, and, sentenced to the stake. And that's, what happened to Jacques de Moulet. Mollay faced the following accusations, sacrilege against the

Holy Cross, Simony, heresy, and finally, idolatry of Baphomet, and Lucifer. At first, he denied everything, but after being tortured, he ended up, confessing to whatever they asked. So his punishment was going to be simple, they would strip him of all his possessions, his privileges, his lands, they would take everything. And after humiliating him, they would set him free. He was aware that if he said all of it was a lie, if he recanted, he would lose everything anyway, and also his life. So in 1314, he decided to deny it, all once again because he preferred, to die telling the truth then to live in the absolute depths of misery. And so it was. That same year, he was, burned at the stake in Notre Dame Square.

It was then that one of the most shocking events in the history. of France took place, the curse, of the order of the temple. It is said that Malay, before the watchful eyes of the French, people pronounce the following words, God knows who is wrong and has sinned, and misfortune will soon befall, those who condemned us unjustly. God will avenge our death. My Lord, know that, truly, all those who oppose, us will suffer because of us, Clement and you two, Philip, traitors to the word given, I summon, you both before the tribunal of God, you, Clement, within 40 days, and you, Philip, within the year. The curse came true. Pope Clement the 5th died on April 20th, 1314. King Philip V died on

November 29th, of the same year due to an accident, while hunting. And his advisor, Guillaume de Nogorret, was poisoned, before the year ended. The gargoyles are without doubt, the soul of Notre Dame. These adornments serve more than to unsettle anyone, who looks at them, for their mouths, serve as spouts to drain, water from the cathedral's facade. In fact, their very name indicates it, since gargoyle comes from the French word gargoyle, which means throat. However, their, sinister appearance has led them to be seen differently over centuries. It is said that these beings were not, sculpted out of love for art, but, because Paris had been haunted, since the beginning of time by them. Legend has it that in a cave, on the banks of

the seine lived, these monsters, flying monsters, whose voices were so loud they could, invoked the worst storms imaginable. And of them all, the monster that stood out, the most was called La Gargoyle, so named because it had a long, and twisted neck. La Gargoal was of incredible proportions, she had, huge wings, massive claws, and jaws, so large and strong that when filled with water, they could flood the entire city, of Paris. These beings were so, terrifying that for months, dozens, tried to hunt them, but, many died in the attempt. Though finally, among hundreds of brave souls, they managed to capture La Gargoyle, and burn her in a great fire. As time passed, the artists hired, to decorate Notre Dame decided, to immortalize that legendary, moment by sculpting those monsters, in the likeness of those who, once terrorized the city of Paris.

Unfortunately, they put so much energy and passion into depicting the faces described by their ancestors that the wings of those beings decided to rise from the dead and haunt the sculptures, or at least, that's what people said. Because after the gargoyles were completed, many claimed they moved at night. Parisians said again and again that the gargoyles changed positions, when no one looked, that they changed, places, expressions, even their facial features, but no one could, prove it. So these stories were taken as simple rumors, at least until the night of May 30th, 1431. What happened then? That night, Joan of Arc was burned, at the stake.

For those who don't know, Joan of Arc was a young French peasant, who, after hearing the call of God, led the French army in the Hundred Years' War, against England. However, after, being captured by the English, she was, tried for witchcraft and condemned, to burn at the stake. The night her, execution took place, Parisians claimed, that the gargoyles of Notre Dame, awoke from their slumber, emerged from the cathedral's facade, and flew over Paris hunting, those who had condemned Joan to the flames, all who called her a lying witch, all who tortured her, even the one, who lit her pyre.

All died, in the streets of Paris, according to various accounts of the time, which were filled with corpses. From then on was born the belief, that if the gargoyles were ever removed, from Notre Dame, damaged, changed, or someone tried to destroy them, terrible tragedies would fall upon, the city of Paris. And on Monday, April 15th, many remembered these words, as it seems the fire broke. out, after the Restoration Company, removed all the sculptures, from the cathedral's roof, even attempting to restore some, of the gargoyles. The legends and mysteries, of Notre Dame are many, but the camera today isn't very, cooperative. So now it's your turn, what do you think of these legends?

Do you believe everything that has, happen to Notre Dame means it is, underscore, underscore, or are they simple coincidences? End. Clause. Santa Claus, the man in the red suit said as he answered his ringing telephone. You are not a secret agent, dear. You are a glorified courier, not a super spy, the sweet, motherly voice replied through the phone, I thought you had given up on this whole detective business, anyway.

I had, well, I hadn't really. I thought about giving it up, but there are so many mysteries left unsolved, the bearded man responded. Like, who did steal that Christmas tree, or, or you remember 15 years ago, when that kid, Jimmy claimed he didn't receive that red bike when I remember delivering one to him. Too many questions left unanswered. I just don't see why any of that is your issue, but anyway, that's not why I'm calling. I just want to know if you have seen Blitzin. He isn't out in the yard with the rest of the reindeer. No, sorry, I haven't

seen him. I'm sure he will turn up sooner or later. Santa hung up the phone, slightly annoyed by his wife's disapproval of his latest venture. Oi, Twiddly, come here, Santa called out from behind the large, wooden desk he was sitting behind. Twidly, a small Christmas elf came running into the room, his long pointed ears wobbling with each step. Yes, sir. You called, Twidley said with a high-pitched squeaky voice.

Have you seen Blitzen? Apparently he isn't outside, Santa asked. No, sir. I haven't, sir, Twidley answered, a slight hint of worry in his voice. Santa looked down and picked up his glass of eggnog. He took a large gulp, before placing his cup back down on the bench. Santa enjoyed a warm drink of eggnog, maybe it was because it helped keep him warm in the freezing temperatures of the North Pole, or maybe it was the alcohol.

Santa drank his eggnog on the rocks, which in the North Pole, means three sugar cubes are placed inside of the glass before pouring. Santa swallowed his drink, enjoying the flavor, and looked back at Twiddley. Well, never mind, twiddle, I'm sure he is out there somewhere, Santa said. There was silence around the room, which was broken by the arrival of a letter. The large envelope shot out of the small tube that was located next to Santa's desk. The tube was installed only a few months ago, when Santa had first set up his detective agency. The tube was designed for letters that contained clues to ongoing cases, or maybe even a

new case entirely. The letter sorting elves were extremely careful to only send letters that were of the utmost importance, and not just a child's Christmas wish list. Twidly, who was a letter sorting elf before his big promotion, expertly plucked the letter out of the air when it shot forth out of the tube. He quickly handed it over to Santa Claus and stepped back, not expecting any praise for the feat he had just performed. Twidley didn't receive any praise, and instead Santa just held the envelope in his hands

for a moment. It was heavier than he expected, and when he inspected it further, he could see that there was something else inside the envelope other than a letter. Santa tore the envelope open, and something fell out and thudded onto the wooden desk. Santa looked down and Twiddly craned his neck upwards to be able to see what it was that had just landed on the desk. At first, Santa thought it was some strange sort of stick, but when Twidly let out a little cry of disgust, he quickly re-evaluated this opinion. Santa Claus picked up the small object and held it up towards his face.

It was quite solid and dark brown in color. Santa then realized exactly what this was. It was a small piece of antler, and it didn't take long to figure out who it belonged to. Blitzin. Santa let out a small cry of surprise and revulsion. Blitzen had always been his favorite reindeer, even though a famous song has tried to convince everyone otherwise. Blitzin was the eldest of the reindeer and so Santa has spent the most time with him.

He had been only every delivery since he was old enough to fly, well except for the year of the rabies scare. Santa didn't know what to do. Of course, this is what he wanted. A new and exciting mystery to solve, he just wished it wasn't so personal. He had been waiting for a case just like this, something thrilling that would keep him occupied up until Christmas Eve. But now, he wished for nothing more than a boring wait until the big night, with no

excitement at all. Santa stared in silence at the antler that was sitting on his desk. It was Twiddly, his personal assistant, that broke the silence with a short, squeaky sentence. Is there a letter in the envelope too, sir, he asked Santa Claus. as he gestured towards the envelope in Santa's hand. Oh, yeah, maybe. I'll look, Santa responded as he delved into the envelope in search of a letter. He pulled out a small piece of paper that had small, scribbly handwriting on it.

Santa held it up in front of his face, waited for his eyes to adjust, and read what it said aloud. Dear so-called Santa, I have your reindeer and you have 24 hours to meet my demand. You must show yourself to the world and reveal to them what a fraud you are. If this demand is not met, then I am eating venison for dinner tomorrow night. Santa read the letter out loud, before slumping back in his chair in defeat. He had to reveal himself to the world. It was a strange demand, and one that he did not want to have to do. He had been working in secrecy for so long, and he didn't want that ruin now.

What does he mean by revealing that fraud you are, sir, Twidley asked, genuinely confused by what that meant? You know what, Twidley, I have no idea what that means. I was hoping you might be able to explain that to me. I don't know, sir. You are the real deal to me. Well, never mind that now. We have a very real mystery to solve. So, fetch me the naughty list.

Twidley then sent the next hour showing Santa how to access the naughty list. Ever since it had been moved from paper form to the online version, Santa had been having trouble navigating it. Twidly showed him how to search through the list, and how to sort the results by transgressions. Santa slowly got the hang of how to use the new naughty list system, and figured out how to search through it. He typed the word, theft, into the search bar. 234,984,148 results. He then tried to narrow it down by typing in the word, holding for ransom. 13,682 results. Twiddly, there are a lot of naughty kids this year, getting up to all sorts

of trouble, Santa said when he saw the results. He then tried one for search. He typed in the words, kidnapping a reindeer and holding it for ransom. Three results. Santa hadn't expected that to actually work, let alone reveal that three different people across the world had committed this crime. Santa looked at the list of people that had kidnapped reindeer's in the past year. The names were, Ronald Polvalski James Turner guy pooled. Santa sadly shook his head as he read the list of names.

He couldn't believe what some people get up to. He also felt a bit relieved because he had narrowed the list down to three possible suspects. And Santa being Santa, had another trick up his sleeve. Twittle my lad, if you held one of my reindeer hostage and wanted some kind of ransom for them, would you wait up to see if I paid it, or would you go to sleep? Santa asked his small personal assistant elf. I wouldn't kidnap a reindeer, I promise. Yes, yes, I know, but hypothetically. Would you sleep if you knew there were demands to be met? Well, no, I guess I wouldn't, sir. Exactly. That's what I thought. Santa got excited by this, as he was certain whoever had taken Blitzin was surely still awake.

While the famous reindeer song may be incorrect, there is one that is actually fairly accurate. It is true that Santa can tell when you are sleeping, and he knows when you're awake. He doesn't mind a bit of pouting, though. So, how do I access the sleeping files, Twidly, Santa asked and gestured towards the computer he had used to access the naughty list. Twiddley showed him exactly how to access those files and soon Santa could see, out of the three suspects, exactly who was awake. Ronald Polbolski, a sleep guy pooled, asleep James Turner, awake. Santa was pretty sure he had his culprit. Firstly, Santa knew that he was guilty of holding a reindeer hostage, and secondly, he was now awake and presumably awaiting the demands to be met.

Santa was confident that they had their guy. Come on, Twidley. Do the Slay Mobile, Santa called out as he started. stood up from his wooden desk and made his way out of the office. Twenty minutes later, Santa had reached the docking bay for the sleighs. Twidly had already spent the past twenty minutes getting Santa's new sleigh ready and waiting for Santa to arrive. Santa owned two slays now, something that Mrs. Claus wasn't too impressed with.

His first sleigh was the one that he had owned for as long as he had been doing this job. It was the usual-looking red sleigh, complete with bells and a harness for all of the reindeer. The other sleigh, however, was quite different. The bright red color was the same, but that is where the similarities stopped. This new sleigh was equipped with a huge 1,300 deer-power engine which was capable of going around the world in just 90 minutes. This sleigh also featured reclining leather seats and a satnav, which Santa found very useful. There was also a large trunk to fit whatever it was Santa needed to bring with him.

Near the back of the sleigh, a bright red and blue-red light was attached, just in case of an emergency. Also, along each side, painted in thick white color were the letters NPDA. North Pole Detective Agency. The sleigh zoomed across the night sky, the engine roaring as it did. Santa, who was driving, had a large grin all over his face. Twidly, on the other hand, was screaming and holding on for dear life. When you reach Africa, turn right, a voice said through the satnav. Santa abruptly turned the sleigh, sending Twidly from one side of the vehicle to the other. santa then continued to drive quite wildly for the next ten minutes or so before slowing down the engine and lowering the sleigh ready to land they landed atop a two-story farmhouse that was situated in the center of a large field there was no living creature in sight except for one A large reindeer with a small chunk of antler missing.

As soon as Santa and the elf landed in the paddock, a shot echoed across the field. Santa and Twiddly dove to the floor of the sleigh. Santa peered over the top of the sleigh, still trying his best to stay out of view. He saw a younger man, around 25 run out of the farmhouse, waving his shotgun in the air. The young man instantly saw the bright red sleigh in the middle of his farm and quickly ran over to Blitzin and held the shotgun up against his head. Stop! Stop. Not Blitzen.

Please, Santa yelled out, still in the safety of his sleigh. Come out then. Show the world what you are really like, the man yelled back. Santa stood up in the sleigh, his hands raised. He stared at the man, who he knew was named James, and calmly said. I would James. I would, but I really don't know what you mean. I'm Santa.

I deliver presents to children. What is so wrong about that? What's so wrong about that? What's so wrong about, if you are going to give kids presents, you better give them to all of them. Explain to me why I asked for a red bike, and my neighbor got one. But not me. It clicked in Santa's head. James.

Jimmy. Of course, this was Jimmy who never got his bike. I'm sorry, Jimmy. I really am, I thought I brought it to you, but I guess I got the wrong house. James thought about this response for a moment before he is. angrily said, that's no excuse. I asked for it, but I never got it. I'll make it up too, Jimmy, just don't hurt my reindeer. Jimmy thought about not hurting Blitzin, after all he had flown him out here and grown slightly attached to the animal. But in the end, it was the only

way he knew how to get revenge for the misdeed Santa had committed against him. He squeezed the trigger, just gently and was about to add enough pressure to make it go off when a high-pitched squeaky voice called out. Wait. Both Santa and Jimmy turned to look at the little elf who had just climbed out of the sleigh. He had his small hands up and was looking directly at Jimmy. I can fix this for you. I know how, Twidly told him.

I don't think you can, Jimmy spat back. I knew who you were Jimmy, so I bought something for you. Would you please let me get it? Fine. But if I don't like what it is you have for me, Blitzin is going to get a bullet for Christmas this year. Twiddly, slightly shaking because of the pressure he was under, walked to the back of the sleigh and to the trunk. He carefully lifted the metal door that held it closed, and then a small ringing sound

could be heard. Jimmy, curious and still angry, moved so that he could see what made the sound. He saw a small elf hoisting a large red bike out of the trunk of the sleigh. The exact same red bike that he had always wanted when he was a kid. He couldn't help the emotion rush over himself and he ran towards the bike, tossing the gun to the side as he did. He took the bike off of Twiddly, hopped on and began to pedal. A large smile appeared on his face as he felt the wind against his face.

He had forgotten all about his plan to make Santa reveal himself to the world because, as far as he was now concerned, Santa was the real deal. Back at the sleigh, Santa had walked over to Twidley and he gave him a small pat on the head and said to him, Twidly, my boy, you did it. You actually did it. I have never been more proud of any of my elevens before. Well done. Twiddly, once again, was not expecting any recognition for his feet, but the praise from Santa meant the world to him. As the years went on, Claire's behavior took a turn

for the worse. At first, it was little things, things I could almost write off as her just being weird or overly attached. She'd borrow my clothes without asking, which was annoying but not alarming. Then it escalated. My notebooks would go missing, only to reappear in her room with my handwriting traced over, like she was trying to mimic it. My toothbrush vanished more than once, and I finally caught her using it one morning. When I confronted her, she just gave me this innocent, almost childlike look and said, I just wanted to feel closer to you. It sent a chill down my spine.

I tried to set boundaries. I really did. I'd lock my door, hide things, even started spending more time at friends' houses just to get away from her. But Claire always found a way to creep back into my space. If she wasn't taking my things, she was finding excuses to touch me, grabbing my hand out of nowhere, hugging me for way too long, brushing against me in the hallway. I started to feel like I was being suffocated. Then I met Sarah. She was a girl from school, smart, funny, someone I actually liked. I thought maybe if I focused on a real relationship, Claire would back off. I was so

wrong. The day Claire found out about Sarah was the day everything spiraled. I was in the kitchen making a sandwich when she stormed in, slamming the door so hard the walls shook. Her eyes were wild, unblinking. Why do you need her? She spat, fists clenched. You have me, I took a step back, completely caught off guard. Claire, you're my step-sister. This is normal. People date, she shook her head, her breathing ragged. Not you.

Not with her, then she left. Just like that. For a few days, things were eerily quiet. No stolen items, no weird run-ins. I should have known it wasn't over. It started subtly, seeing her outside my classes when she wasn't even enrolled in them. Spotting her in the grocery store when I knew she hated shopping.

Then, one night at work, I turned around to find her in uniform. You work here now. I asked, my stomach sinking. She just smiled. I wanted to spend more time with you. I quit a week later. But Claire wasn't done. One evening, I came home to find my room completely changed.

My posters were gone, replaced with pictures of the two of us. Some of them were from years ago, some I didn't even remember being taken. A scrapbook sat on my bed, filled with photos, locks of hair, concert tickets, things I'd thrown away. And in the middle, a note, for our future together. That was the moment I knew this wasn't just obsession. It was something far worse. Something dangerous. I turned 18 that summer.

and took the first opportunity to get out. I picked a college in another state, thinking if I put enough miles between us, I could finally breathe. At first, it worked. I made friends, I studied, I started feeling like a normal person again. Then Claire found me.

She showed up unannounced, standing outside my dorm with homemade meals and gifts. My friends thought she was just a caring sister, but I knew better. She wasn't here to visit, she was here to reclaim me. The worst night of my life happened after a party. I came back to my room, exhausted and slightly buzzed, only to find Claire sitting on my bed, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

She looked furious. Why are you running from me? She whispered, her voice trembling. We belong together, I swallowed hard. Claire, you need help, she laughed, but there was nothing for me. funny about it. Then she told me her plan. She wanted to have my children. She was convinced that if we had a family together, I would never leave her. That's when I felt it, the real fear, the kind that grips you from the inside and won't let go. I called my parents that night, told them everything.

They were horrified. Claire was taken home, put into therapy. I changed my number, my dorm, my routines. I did everything I could to erase her from my life. But even now, years later, I still flinch when I see someone who looks like her. I still check my locks twice. And sometimes, late at night, I wonder if she ever really let me go. Because no matter how much distance I put between us, Claire is always there, in the back of my mind, waiting. Part 1, so I just found out my father-in-law and his family are dead. My husband didn't meet to know, but I still found out. I have been very depressed since intimate videos of me were leaked online, so he most

likely thought that I wouldn't notice how anxious he has become. And I still keep in contact with relatives. I know I am not supposed to, but I don't send them pictures or talk about where we are. This makes me so much more thankful for Jason. If not for Jason, I could have ended up marrying that monster Frank. Just the thought of it can cause me to have a panic attack. the last year, the only thing keeping me together is Jason. Frank tried to destroy our marriage, but instead it is now stronger then. With therapy I was able to realize that Frank drew out

what I thought was my darker side and I was ashamed of it. And through counseling I have been made to realize that that person in the video is me and it is unfair to Jason to hide that part of myself from him. He has always shared his all with me. Thanks to that we started to experiment and we went through a honeymoon phase. I had thought that I would feel dirty, but when I look into Jason's eyes all I see is love. It has been a very liberating experience. My only regret is that I never realized this sooner. But because of Frank, I now suffer from depression as well as anxiety. When I am at home, especially around Jason, I feel a lot better. But outside I am always feeling like people are looking at me and talking about the video and sometimes I become terrified Frank

maybe in the crowd. I have cut and dyed my hair. And when I go out I wear sunglasses and a cop or hoodie. Jason tells me that I look totally different and no one would be able to recognize me. But I am still so afraid. I don't know what we are going to do. If not for Frank, my life would be perfect. Married to the love of my life with two beautiful children. But Frank just won't leave us alone. Part two, they have Jason. The Reapers took him. Why won't Frank leave us alone? The children are scared. They don't know what's going on and why the police are here. and they keep asking where their dad is. I don't know what to tell them.

I can't tell them a monster has him. After the Reapers raided Jason's company he realized he couldn't own a business. It made it easy for Frank to track us down, so he got a job working for a private security firm. The pay was good and they were a discreet company which meant less worry about Frank finding us. Or so we thought. Yesterday they grabbed him on his way home from work. They must have been watching him for a while, because they knew the purpose. perfect place to hijack him with no witnesses.

The car was found in an abandoned lot. I say found, but they set it on fire so that it would be found. The detectives told me it was a message and that he is most likely still alive. The thought of what that monster might be doing to Jason at this moment is killing me. But I can't fall apart, my kids are relying on me. Frank has taken so much from us and the people meant to protect us have done nothing to stop him. But I will not let Frank win and I will get Jason back. I don't know how yet, but I will stop Frank.

I used to run a restaurant. Five years of blood, sweat, and late nights went into it, and it sat smack dab in one of the sketchiest neighborhoods in town. Not exactly a postcard location, but rent was cheap, foot traffic was decent, and I figured I could handle the rough edges. Most of the folks hanging around the area weren't bad people, just down on their luck, and if you treated them with a little respect, they usually returned the favor. That said, I had a little strategy to keep things calm.

I'd hand out food now and then to the local homeless guys and let them loiter near the back alley, so long as they didn't cause a ruckus. Win-win. They got fed and stayed cool, and my place didn't get broken into. Then one day, one of the regulars comes in and asks me a weird favor. Said he needed to stash his bag somewhere safe. Called it, luggage, but I should have known better. I hesitated.

I mean, what if he was hiding drugs or something? But I caved. Told him he could leave the bags behind the restaurant, tucked under the awning, as long as he didn't bring any heat to my doorstep. He nodded, mumbled something about crystals and missions, and wandered off. So I go about my day, prepping, slicing, chopping veggies, and getting things lined up for the dinner rush. then just a couple hours before opening these two city detectives walk into my restaurant the mood instantly shifts they flash their badges and say they're looking into stolen goods following a lead from some CCTV footage apparently the guy who dropped his luggage at my place had been seen on camera and the trail led right to my restaurant i didn't want to talk where i'm from snitching is basically social suicide You talk, and you're a dog. You get cut off, maybe worse.

So I tell them I saw the guy but had no idea where he went. They push. Hard. Ask the same question a dozen ways. They even questioned my staff for nearly half an hour before they finally left. I figured that was the end of it. But then curiosity kicked in. I went around the back and checked the guy's bags.

I opened one and nearly passed out. Inside were five rifles, two shotguns, and enough ammo to start a war. I mean, we're talking thousands of rounds. My hands were literally shaking. I was stuck. Do I call the cops and risk being labeled as part of this mess, or do I just pretend I never saw it? Before I could make up my mind, the detectives came back with a search warrant. They knew.

I guess the footage made things clearer than I realized. I didn't resist. I gave them the footage and showed them the bags. They arrested me on the spot. Hulled me down to the station and kept me in holding for the full 12 hours. Not once did I say anything. I knew how that worked, you talk, they twist it. You joke, they call it a confession.

So I stayed silent. That pissed them off. Bad. When they finally let me go, it was four in the morning. They took my phone, my wallet, even my keys, told me to walk home. Took me an hour and a half through the dead of night. I felt numb. Not just physically, but mentally.

My whole life was on the line, and it felt like nobody gave a damn. I couldn't sleep. Not a wink. I kept thinking about my phone. Were there texts that could be misinterpreted? Done jokes with friends that could be used against me. Every scenario ran through my head. Eventually, I dragged myself back to work.

The kitchen needed to be cleaned, the sauces prepped, meat defrosted. Business as usual, right? I just tried to act like things were normal. I didn't tell my staff anything. No point worrying them too. That night, after locking up, I was about to head to my car when I heard footsteps. I turned around and, yep, it was the guy with the bags. He had a few of his buddies with him, and they did not look friendly.

He came up to me, pissed, demanding to know where his stuff was. I told him, point-blank, that the cops took it. I even warned him he was lucky I didn't lose my cool and knock him out. That set him off. His eyes were wild, Guy looked like he hadn't slept in days. He thought I stole his weapons and was trying to screw him over. Out of nowhere, one of his friends pulls out a machete. They grabbed me, dragged me to my own damn car, tied my legs up, and tossed me in the back of my Jeep.

I drove a grand Cherokee, so it wasn't exactly a tight squeeze, but it was still terrifying. They took my keys and drove off, one of them tailing us in a second. car. In the car, I could hear them talking. They were high as hell and arguing about what to do with me. One guy said they should take me out to some remote property and kill me. I froze. I'd never been that scared in my life. I remembered I had a chef's knife in a case behind the driver's seat and tried to wiggle free to reach it, but my legs were too tightly bound. Then, just when I thought it was over, I saw flashing red and blue lights in the rearview mirror. The second car got pulled over for erratic driving. My captors freaked out, yelling about how the cops had bugged the Jeep.

They tore apart the dashboard looking for wires that didn't exist. It was almost comical, if it hadn't been so horrifying. One guy panicked and jumped out of the moving car, running into the woods. The other kept driving. He took a sharp turn and ended up. in the parking lot of a retirement village. Then he came around, opened the trunk, and put a knife to my throat. He was sweating bullets, shaking so bad he could barely hold the blade.

I saw in his eyes he wasn't cut out for this. So I talked calmly. Told him to just take my car. Said if he left now, he could make it to the next date before anyone caught him. He looked around, took a drag from a cigarette he found on the ground, and started yelling. Then he sighed, cut my ties, and asked me for fifty bucks for gas.

I gave it to him. Told him to buy himself something nice. He took off, and I called the cops. Told them my car had been stolen and what had happened, but I refused to give an official statement. I knew what they'd do with it. They'd twist it to fit whatever theory they already had. Sure enough, they treated it like a drug deal gone bad and tried to pin the whole thing on me. months passed. I tried to move on. Kept the restaurant running, did my best to act normal.

But then I got summoned to court. The prosecutor painted this ridiculous picture of me as some kind of crime boss, orchestrating gun smuggling ops with meth head henchmen. I finally told the judge everything, laid it all out, every detail. After a long day in court, the magistrate ruled that while I was technically in possession of stolen firearms, it was clearly circumstantial. I got slapped with 80 hours of community service. Could have been worse. I finished the hours, kept my head down, and ran the restaurant for another couple years before moving on. Thought that chapter of my life was done. Then three years later, the media found me. Somehow, the story resurfaced. The local papers ran wild with it.

Didn't care what the court had decided. They went off statements made by the police commissioner, the same one who had it out for me since day one. According to the articles, I was a gang-affiliated terrorist mastermind. They said I faked the robbery to make myself look innocent and banned me for life from operating a venue. They used photos from my old social media, the worst ones, of course. Me flipping the bird, drinking with friends, you name it. The public ate it up. Suddenly, I was blacklisted. Couldn't find a job, couldn't rent a place, couldn't show my face anywhere without whispers following me. I was left with nothing. Homeless.

Jobless. Futurless. All because I tried to do a favor for a guy who looked like he needed help. One bad decision, one moment of kindness, and my whole life unraveled. And nobody was held accountable. Not the cops who twisted the story, not the media who ran with lies, not the commissioner who spouted assumptions as fact. They all walked away clean while I got branded for life. So yeah, that's my story. One guy, one bag, and one decision that cost me everything. I used to be a respected chef. Now I'm just a headline people scroll past, convinced I'm something I'm not. Feels like I'm stuck in a glitchy episode. episode of Black Mirror, where truth doesn't matter and reputation is just pixels to be reshaped

by the loudest voice in the room. And all I did was let a guy store his bags out back. The end. Colonel Jack, Hawkeye Harris stared at the photo on his desk, a cherished relic of his early days. The photo, dog-eared and slightly faded, showed him in his first fighter jet, grinning like a schoolboy, his helmet tucked under one arm, and the sun glinting off the metal fuselage behind him. His desk was nestled in the corner of his modest. but warm living room, a place that carried the weight of a life well-lived. The wood-paneled walls bore marks of time, lined with shelves filled with books on aviation, framed metals, and photos of Jack with his squadron, each image telling a story of camaraderie

in sacrifice. Beyond the wide bay window, the late afternoon sun bathed the quiet cul-de-sac in a golden glow. Jack's small suburban home sat at the end of the street, its neatly trimmed lawn bordered by Rose Bush's his late wife, Karen, had planted years ago. The faint hum of a neighbor's lawnmower drifted through the air, mingling with the distant laughter of children riding their bikes. Jack turned his gaze to the mantle above the brick fireplace, where a carefully arranged collection of family photos resided. His eyes lingered on one picture in particular, a snapshot of Mia, his daughter, taken during her college graduation. She had Karen's smile and Jack's piercing blue eyes, a combination that always caught him off guard. Now a teacher, Mia had

moved back home temporarily to help her dad ease into civilian life, though Jack suspected she was more worried about his adjustment than he let on. Tomorrow, he'd hang up his flight suit for good. The thought felt surreal, like stepping into a world that moved slower and quieter than the one he'd known. Retirement was waiting, and so was Mia, who'd been counting down the days with a mix of excitement and nervousness. Jack sighed, his fingers brushing the edge of the photo on his desk.

He had spent so much of his life in the skies, the idea of being great. around it still felt foreign. But this house, this family, this was his new mission. The call came at 5 a.m., just hours before the planned retirement ceremony. The shrill, insistent buzz of his phone shattered the stillness of the early morning, pulling Jack out of a restless sleep. He sat up abruptly, the weight of 30 years in the cockpit reflected in the stiffness of his back and shoulders. The room was dim, the faint glow of streetlights filtering through the blinds casting long shadows across the walls. His nightstand was clustered. His nightstand was cluttered with remnants of his life on the edge of two worlds, a dog-eared flight manual, a half-empty

glass of water, and a framed photo of him and Mia from her high school graduation. Groaning, Jack rubbed the grit from his eyes, his mind struggling to bridge the gap between sleep and the reality of the call. His hand fumbled across the nightstand before landing on the vibrating phone. The screen's harsh light pierced the darkness, and his squinting eyes focused on the single word displayed on the caller ID, command. The sight of it sent a flicker of unease through him. It had been months since a call from command interrupted his private life, and he had hoped those days were behind him. The looming ceremony, the culmination of his long career, was supposed to mark the end of these early morning summonses. For a moment,

he debated letting it ring, but old habits died hard. With a resigned sigh, he swiped to answer, his voice gravely from sleep. Harris, he said, his tone a mix of professionalism and irritation, knowing that whatever awaited on the other end of the line wasn't going to make the morning any easier. Colonel Harris, this is General Maddox, came the voice on the other end of the line, calm but tinged with urgency. Jack frowned, rubbing his face as he tried to shake off the remnants of sleep. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and glanced at the faintly glowing clock on his nightstand. Five o'clock. Typical. Morning, General, Jack said, his voice flat.

What can I do for you that couldn't wait until sunrise? Maddox chuckled lightly, though it lacked his usual warmth. Still as sharp as ever, I see. How's civilian life treating you, Jack? Or is it too soon to ask? Wouldn't know yet, Jack replied dryly. Still officially on the clock for another 24 hours. Thought I might get to enjoy a peaceful morning for once, but here we are.

There was a pause, the kind that told Jack this wasn't a social call. Maddox cleared his throat. Well, you'll have plenty of peaceful mornings soon enough. Look, I wouldn't call if it wasn't important. Jack leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. General, with all due respect, I'm out. This is someone else's turn. I've earned my time off.

Maddox sighed, his tone shifting, becoming uncharacteristically somber. This isn't optional, Jack. It's routine, just recon. Nothing dangerous. But you're the only one who knows this airspace like the back of your hand. We've got something unusual out near the Alaskan coast, and the drones aren't giving us the clarity we need. It'll be in and out, quick and clean. Jack ran a hand through his graying hair, his shoulders sagging. General, I've spent the last 30 years putting my life on the line.

Can't someone else handle this? I've got a ceremony tomorrow, and my daughter's been planning it for weeks. You know how she gets. I know, Maddock said, his voice softening slightly. Me as a good kid. Karen would be proud of her. And believe me, I wouldn't be calling you if I had another option. But we're stretched thin right now, half the squadrons deployed, and the rest aren't trained for these conditions. You're the best man for the job, Jack. Hell, you wrote the book on this kind of mission. Jack's jaw tightened. He didn't like being called the best man anymore, it felt like a polite way of saying, indispensable enough to keep dragging into the fire. He let out a long breath, staring at the darkened window across the room.

You're telling me you've got no one else, no one I trust, Maddox admitted. This isn't a combat op. It's routine. You'll be home in time to put on your dress blues and make me a proud. Jack was silent for a long moment. His eyes settled on a model of his old F-16 that Mia had built for him as a kid. She'd painted the words for my hero on the side in clumsy, childish handwriting. Jack closed his eyes, weighing his options. The idea of disappointing Mia nodded him, but so did the thought of leaving something critical undone. Fine, he said finally, his voice low. But this is it, Maddox. One last flight, Maddox exhaled audibly, the relief clear in his voice. I knew I could count on you, Jack. Briefings at 0-700. The birds already prepped. See you soon, Jack

hung up without another word, the room suddenly too quiet. He sat there for a moment, staring at the phone in his hand, before tossing it onto the bed. Routine, he muttered to himself. Sure it is, Jack stood, walking to the window. The first light of dawn was breaking over the quiet neighborhood. His eyes wandered to the garden, where Mia had planted sunflowers last spring. He could almost hear her voice when she found out he'd been called back, angry, worried, disappointed. Mia was waiting in the kitchen when Jack came downstairs, still in his flight suit. The room was warm and inviting, the heart of their modest home. Morning light streamed through the window above the sink, casting a soft glow on the pale yellow walls

adorned with framed photos of Mia's childhood artwork and Karen's favorite recipe cards. The kitchen table, a sturdy oak piece Jack had refinished years ago, was cluttered with mea's laptop, stacks of grated papers, and a half-empty coffee mug with the words world's best teacher printed in bold blue letters. The smell of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the faint scent of vanilla from a candle flickering on the windowsill. Mia sat cross-legged on one of the cushion chairs, her auburn hair tied up in a loose bun, a few stubborn strands framing her freckled face.

She wore a soft gray hoodie in faded jeans, the epitome of casual comfort. Her green eyes, so much like her mothers, narrowed as they darted between her lap top screen and the papers scattered around her. When Jack's boots echoed on the hardwood floor, she looked up, her brow furrowing at the sight of him in his flight suit. You're up early, she said, setting her mug down and crossing her arms over her chest. There was a slight edge to her voice, a mix of curiosity and concern. What's with the suit, Jack hesitated, his hand instinctively running through his graying hair. He glanced around the room, his eyes briefly landing on the family calendar hanging by the refrigerator, where tomorrow's date was circled in

read with the words Dad's retirement. Written in Mia's neat handwriting. They called me in, he said, finally meeting her gaze. His voice was calm, but the faint guilt behind it was unmistakable. Just a quick recon mission. I'll be back before you know it. Mia's expression hardened. She pushed her laptop aside and leaned forward, her tone sharp with disbelief.

A mission. Dad, you promised. No more flying. You said yesterday was your last. side, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He took a seat across from her, the familiar creak of the old chair filling the silence. He looked at her, really looked at her, seeing not just his daughter but the fierce, determined woman she had become.

She had Karen's resolve, that unyielding ability to stand her ground, and Jack couldn't help but feel a pang of pride, even as he dreaded the argument brewing between them. I know, Jack said, his voice softening as he leaned toward Mia. But they need me for this one. routine. Nothing dangerous. Nothing dangerous, Mia repeated, her tone dripping with doubt. She stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. You've said that before, Dad. And every time, I'm the one sitting here wondering if you're coming back. Do you know how many times I've had to watch Mom pace by that window, waiting for a car to pull up with news that you were gone? Jack

flinched. The mention of Karen struck like a dagger, but he kept his voice calm. Mia, this isn't like those missions. It's just recon. No combat, no risks. Just in and out, Mia shook her head, her hands gripping the back of the chair she just left. You don't know that. How can you? You're always so sure, but things can change in an instant, and then, she broke off, her voice trembling. And then I'm the one who gets the call. Jack stepped closer, his hand reaching out to her shoulder. Mia, listen to me. I wouldn't do this if it wasn't important. They don't have anyone else who knows that airspace like I do. It's not something they'd ask if it wasn't absolutely necessary.

Mia pulled away, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. And what about what's necessary for us? For me? For your life here. Her green eyes, so much like her mothers, were filled with frustration in something deeper, fear. Tomorrow's supposed to be your retirement. You promised this was over.

That you'd be done putting yourself in danger. Jack sighed, his shoulders sagging under the weight of her words. I am done, Mia. After this, it's over. But I've spent my life serving, and I can't just turn my back on that in one day. This isn't a choice I made lightly. That's the problem, Dad, she shot back, her voice rising. You always put the job first.

Even now, when you finally have a chance to just be here, you're still running off the second they call. Jack felt a flicker of frustration, but he pushed it down, knowing it wasn't anger at her. but at himself. This isn't about putting the job first. It's about protecting people, making sure others can live their lives without fear. You know that's what I've always done, and what about my fear? Mia's voice cracked. What about my life without you? Did you think about that? The words hung in the air, raw and heavy. Jack stared at her, guilt nodding in his chest. He wanted to argue, to explain, but he knew she was right. He'd spent so many years prioritizing the mission, the greater good, that he hadn't stopped to see how it had shaped her.

Mia, he said quietly, his voice breaking, I'm sorry. I know it's not fair to you. But I swear to you, this is the last time. I'll be back before the ceremony. I swear it, Mia turned away, wiping at her eyes. You better be, she whispered, her voice barely audible. Because if you're not, I don't know how I'm supposed to keep doing this. Jack nodded, his heart aching, the weight of Mia's words pressing on him like an invisible hand. He reached for his coffee on the counter, hesitating for a moment as if searching for the right words to bridge the silence between them. But nothing came. Instead, he turned toward the door, the quiet tension in the room lingering like an unspoken farewell. As he reached for the handle, Mia's voice stopped him.

Dad, he turned, coffee in one hand, his other gripping the doorknob. Mia stood in the middle of the kitchen, her arms wrapped around herself as if bracing against an invisible chill. For a moment, she didn't move, her lips pressed together in a tight line. Then, without a word, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. Jack froze, surprised by the sudden gesture. Her grip was firm, her cheek pressing against the rough fabric of his flight suit. Slowly, he set the coffee cup down on the counter and returned the embrace, his arms encircling her as he rested his chin lightly on her head.

She smelled of coffee and lavender shampoo, a scent that took him back to quieter days when she was still a little girl, running to him with scraped knees and childhood worries he could easily fix. But this wasn't like those times. Her hug was different, not just a goodbye, but something heavier, almost desperate. Jack could feel it in the way her fingers gripped the back of his suit, as if holding on just a moment longer might somehow change what was coming. You come back, she whispered, her voice trembling but determined.

No excuses. No Mabees. Just, come back. I will, Jack said softly, his voice catching. I promise, but as he held her, a deep, unsettling feeling curled in his chest, one he hadn't felt in years. It wasn't fear, not exactly. It was something quieter, heavier, like the slow ticking of a clock counting down.

He'd made countless promises to his family over the years, and he'd kept nearly all of them. Mia finally pulled back, her green eyes glossy but unyielding as they met his. She gave him a shaky smile, the kind that tried to be reassuring but only made the ache in his chest worse. Jack reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face. I'll be back before you know it, he said, trying to sound confident. But as he picked up his coffee and turned back to the door, the foreboding wait followed him like a shadow. The crisp morning air hit him as he stepped outside, a sharp contrast to the warmth he'd just left behind. He paused on the porch, glancing back at the house one last time.

Through the window, he could see Mia standing there, her arms crossed, her silhouette framed by the soft glow of the kitchen light. She was still watching him, her figure outlined against the familiarity of home. For a fleeting moment, Jack thought about going back, about telling her the truth of what he felt. But instead, he gave her a small wave, forced a faint smile, and headed down the steps toward the car. One last time, he murmured to himself, the words hollow in his ears.

Just one more, Jack found himself back in the cockpit of an F-35 Lightning 2, its sleek formed gleaming under the pale light of the early morning. The canopy glinted with the reflected hues of the rising sun, and as the ground crew gave him the thumbs up, the familiar hiss and rumble of the engine starting up filled his ears. It was a sound he had grown to love, a symphony of power and precision that never failed to settle his nerves. The jet taxied down the runway, the tires humming against the asphalt, before the roar of the engines crescendoed into a deafening howl. Jack was pushed back into his seat as the jet lifted smoothly into the air, breaking through the low-hanging clouds. The sky opened

up before him, an endless expanse of blue that stretched into eternity. He adjusted his grip on the throttle, the cool metal reassuring under his gloved hand. The HUD glowed a soft green against the backdrop of the brightening sky, a constant stream of data scrolling before his eye. eyes. Altitude, speed, radar pings, everything was as it should be. It was like slipping into an old skin, every control and display as familiar as the lines on his palms. Viper 1, you are clear for recon. Maintain radio contact, came the crisp voice of the mission operator in his earpiece. The static crackle that followed was a sound he hadn't realized he'd missed. Jack pressed the comms button on his control stick. Copy that. Viper 1 on route, he replied.

lied, his voice steady. The operator chuckled lightly, a hint of admiration in his tone. Good to hear you up there again, Colonel. It's been a while, Jack smirked, his eyes scanning the horizon. Don't get used to it, control. After this, I'm handing over the keys for good, understood, sir. But if I may say, it's an honor having you back. There's no one better for this kind of run. Jack exhaled, a mix of pride and weariness in his breath. Flattery's not going to get me to stick around, control. Let's keep it professional. Roger that, Biper 1. Your flight path is clear for now, but radar shows a little chop about 50 miles out. Stay sharp, copy. Thanks for the heads up, Jack replied, adjusting his course slightly as the jet climbed higher, the engines thrumming

beneath him. The vast expanse of ocean glimmered below, sunlight catching the rippling waves and creating a dazzling patchwork of silver and blue. The jet sensors beeped softly, a rhythmic reassurance that everything was running smoothly, for now. The familiar sights and sounds enveloped him, but Jack couldn't shake the faint shadow of foreboding that had followed him since he left the house. He flexed his fingers on the stick, the leather of his gloves creaking slightly. Control, you've got my six, right? No surprises, he asked, his tone casual but edged with something unreadable.

Always, Viper One, the operator replied confidently. You focus on the recon. keep an eye on everything else." Jack nodded to himself, the horizon stretching endlessly ahead. The hum of the engines and the operator's voice were his only companions as the mission began in earnest. The routine nature of the task did little to quell the uneasy feeling in his gut, but for now, he focused on the rhythm of the flight, the beauty of the sky, and the familiar

dance between man and machine. The flight was uneventful at first. The Arctic expanse stretched below Jack like a vast, frozen canvas, its white surface fractured by dark ribbons of open water. The barren beauty was hypnotic, the kind of quiet vastness that could make a man feel small. The hum of his engines and the steady beeping of the radar were the only sounds in his world. As he neared the designated coordinates, his radar emitted a sharp ping, breaking the monotony.

Jack's eyes flicked to the HUD, his brow furrowing. A contact had appeared, something massive. The object wasn't behaving like anything he was used to. It didn't have a transponder signal, its radar signature, wasn't consistent with known aircraft, and it was moving at an astonishing speed, cutting across the radar screen like a ghost. Control, I've got an unidentified object on radar, Jack said, his voice steady but edged with curiosity.

No transponder. It's, it's huge. Sending you telemetry now. There was a pause on the other end, and Jack could hear faint chatter in the background as the mission operator relayed his report. The AWAC's plane orbiting miles behind him chimed in, its radar picking up the same anomaly. Viper 1, this is AWACS alpha. We're seeing it too.

Signature is massive, but it's not matching any known profiles. Hang tight, we're cross-referencing now. Jack tightened his grip on the controls, his eyes scanning the empty expanse ahead. Hang tight. This thing's moving at mock speeds, and you don't know what it is. We're working on it, the mission operator said, his voice strained. It's not on any civilian or military registries. No heat signature, no transponder, nothing.

just a damn big blip on the radar. Great, Jack muttered. It's not like I'm sitting out here alone or anything. Before he could say more, his jet suddenly jolted, the turbulence rattling through the airframe. Jack cursed under his breath, steadying the controls as the instruments flickered briefly. Control, I just hit some serious chop out here. What the hell was that? Stand by, Viper 1, the operator replied. We're not showing any weather disturbances in your area. Jack's eyes shot forward just as the massive object burst through the clouds ahead of him, its sleek, unmarked surface reflecting the weak sunlight like polished obsidian. It was enormous, easily three times the size of his F-35, with an otherworldly design that defied conventional aerodynamics.

There were no markings, no visible engines, no windows. Just a seamless, predatory shape moving with impossible precision. His breath caught in his throat. Control, he said, his voice quieter now, I've got a visual. It's not one of ours. Viper 1, repeat, came the operator's response, urgency-lacing his words. It's not ours, Jack repeated firmly. And if it is, somebody forgot to send me the memo. The AWACs chimed in again, their voices growing more frantic.

Still no ID on the object. Its radar profile keeps shifting. We've never seen anything like this. Jack's jet was rocked again, this time by the object's wake as it streaked past him with uncanny speed, vanishing back into the clouds as quickly as it had appeared. His heart pounded as he tried to process what he'd just seen. Control, he said, his voice low but steady. You better figure out what the hell that thing is, and fast.

Because whatever it is, it's not playing by the rules. Jack's blood ran cold as the massive, unmarked craft slipped effortlessly through the skies ahead of him, its sleek form almost mocking his attempts to keep pace. He shoved the throttle forward, the roar of his F-35's afterburner. splitting the frigid air like a thunder-clap. Flames erupted from the jet's twin engines, propelling him forward with a force that pressed him into his seat. Control, I'm in pursuit, he called out, his voice tense. Target is maintaining altitude at 45,000 feet. No response to identification requests. The aircraft loomed ahead, eerily steady, its lack of visible propulsion

systems unnerving. Jack's heart pounded as he followed its unpredictable maneuvers, weaving through the Arctic skies. Each time he thought, he thought, thought he'd closed the gap, the craft seemed to slip just beyond his reach, as if it were toying with him. Suddenly, the object slowed, breaking its steady pace with an abruptness that forced Jack to react. He jerked the stick, narrowly avoiding its wake. His HUD lit up with warning signs as turbulence battered his jet. Then, as if sensing his presence, the massive craft opened a set of hidden payload doors beneath its belly. Control, I've got movement. Jack barked. It's deploying, something, the sight hit him like a gut punch.

Inside the payload bay, he caught a brief but unmistakable glimpse, a cylindrical device, sleek and metallic, unmistakably a warhead. Control, this is not a drill, he shouted, adrenaline surging through his veins. The target is armed. Repeat, armed and hostile. The line crackled as General Maddox's voice came through, sharp and unyielding. Hawkeye, you are weapons free. You have authorization to engage.

age, Jack's thumb hovered over the trigger, the glowing red button practically daring him to act. His breathing slowed as his instincts screamed for him to fire. Years of training told him to eliminate the threat immediately, but something didn't sit right. The craft wasn't engaging him directly. No evasive maneuvers, no countermeasures. It moved with purpose, steadily, deliberately, on a path that made his stomach churn. Control, this isn't normal, Jack said, his voice calm but strained. Target's not acting like a bomber.

It's on a steady course. What's its trajectory? There was a pause, a beat too long. Jack tightened his grip on the stick, his eyes glued to the craft as it began to accelerate again, as if mocking his indecision. Maddox, he pressed, where the hell is this thing headed? The response came, quiet but firm. Seattle, Hawkeye. It's headed for Seattle.

Jack's gut twisted. He could see the warhead clearly now, its casing sleek and unfamiliar, its purpose. purpose all too obvious. Below him, the vast Arctic wilderness was giving way to signs of civilization. There wasn't much time. Control, Jack said, his voice clipped, you better start evacuating that city. I don't know what this thing's carrying, but it's big, and it's moving fast. Hawkeye, Maddox replied, his tone grim, you have one job. Take it down. Jack clenched his jaw, his thumb brushing the trigger again. He knew the stakes, millions of lives were on the line. And yet, a small voice in the back of his mind nagged at him, questioning the craft's strange behavior.

It wasn't evading. It wasn't fighting back. It was just, delivering. But delivering what? And why? He locked his sights on the warhead, his finger twitching as he tracked the target. His instincts screamed at him to act, but his gut told him there was more to this than met the eye. Just then, Jack's radar emitted a sharp ping, signaling an incoming transmission.

His calms flickered to life, and a voice crackled through his headset, distorted and mechanical, yet eerily calm. Turn back, Colonel Harris. This is not your fight. Jack's heart skipped a beat, his breath catching in his throat. The voice wasn't coming from mission control, nor from any military channel he recognized. It was from the craft itself. And whoever, or whatever, it was, they knew his name. How the hell do you know who I am?

Jack barked, adrenaline surging as his grip on the stick tightened. Identify yourself. Who am I talking to? There was a brief pause, filled with faint static, as though the speaker were considering their response. Then the voice returned, cold and deliberate. Your actions here will change nothing. Turn back while you still can. Jack's blood boiled at the cryptic response.

You've got a warhead on board, and you're heading straight for American soil. Don't tell me this isn't my fight. Last chance, identify yourself, or I will fire. The voice remained calm, almost detached. Your weapons are useless against us. You're chasing shadows, Colonel. Stand down, Jack gritted his teeth, his thumb brushing the trigger. Useless.

Let's test that theory. You have ten seconds to comply before I like you up. Another pause. This time, the voice sounded almost, amused. We know you, Colonel Harris. your loyalty your sacrifices even your doubts is this truly the fight you wish to end your story on jack froze the words hitting him like a hammer his mind raced how could they possibly know that his doubts his struggles they weren't something anyone outside his family and closest confidence would know enough games he snapped shaking off the unease you've got a lot of nerve psychoanalyzing me while carrying a damn warhead who are you working for. What's the target? The voice shifted slightly, a hint of pity in its tone now. We are not

your enemy, Colonel. But if you persist, you will force our hand. Stand down, or Seattle will not be the only city at risk. Jack's gut twisted as the implications sank in. Control, he called into his comms, his voice taught with urgency, I'm engaging with an unidentified hostel. They know my name, my history, everything. They're threatening more than just Seattle. What's my play here, General Maddox's voice crackled back, sharp and decisive. Your play, Hawkeye, is to neutralize the target. Forget their games. They've got a warhead, and it's headed straight for American soil. Weapons free, take it down. Jack's gaze flicked back to the object, now gaining speed as it hurtled toward the U.S. coast. His pulse thundered in his ears as the distorted

voice returned, colder now. Your leaders will tell you to fire. They always do. But you are not pawn, Colonel. Choose wisely, Jack's finger hovered over the trigger, his thoughts racing. Something wasn't right, but time was running out. Control, he said, his voice unsteady, I need more intel. There's something off about this, fire, Hawkeye. Maddox cut him off. Do not let that warhead hit its target, Jack's grip tightened, his finger brushing the trigger. The voice crackled through his headset again, but this time, it was softer, almost intimate, as though it were trying to reach a part of him no one else had. Colonel Harris, it began, its distorted tone laced with something resembling understanding.

This fight, it's not yours. You have given enough. You've lost enough. Jack's chest tightened. Don't you dare, he growled. You don't get to talk about what I've lost. The voice ignored his anger, pressing on. Karen would not want this for you.

She fought for her family, just as you have. But now you have a choice. return to them, or risk everything for a cause you do not fully understand, Jack's breath caught in his throat. The mention of Karen struck a nerve, raw and unheeled. You don't know a damn thing about her, he snapped, his voice trembling with fury. Or me. Stop pretending you do, the voice hesitated, as if weighing its next words carefully. We know enough, Colonel. Enough to see that your fight has always been for them, your family. This is your chance to choose them. Walk away now, and you will live to see your daughter again. Interfere, and your life

will be forfeit. Jack's hands trembled on the stick, his mind racing. His duty screamed at him to fire, to neutralize the threat, but his heart ached with the weight of the voice's words. He thought of Mia, waiting back home, and Karen's memory, etched into every decision he made. Don't try to manipulate me, he growled, forcing himself to steady his breathing. You're threatening millions of lives, and you want me to just let it happen. That's not who I am. The voice grew colder, its tone sharp and unyielding. If you engage, Colonel, you will die.

That is not a threat, it is a certainty. Think of her, your daughter. Would you leave her alone just to satisfy a sense of duty that will cost you everything? Jack's jaw tightened, sweat beating on his brow. His thumb hovered over the trigger, his mind a storm of conflicting instincts. The voice spoke one last time, its words chilling him to the core. Whatever you decide, Colonel Harris, know this, Karen would have wanted you to live. But if you try to stop us, you will not. The comms went silent.

Jack was left alone, the weight of the decision crushing him as the massive craft loomed ahead, its purpose unknown but its threat undeniable. Jack clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing as he flipped the weapon selector on his control stick, switching to his AIM, 120 air-to-air missiles. The heads-up display, HUD, blinked, and the targeting reticle illuminated as he maneuvered into position behind the massive craft. Control, unlocking onto the primary target, he called out, his voice calm but firm. This thing's carrying a warhead. I'm not letting it reach the coast, understood, Viper One, came Maddox's voice, clipped and tense. You are cleared to fire when ready. Jack steadied his breathing, his thumb hovering over the fire button as the

radar emitted a steady tone, signaling target lock. The enemy craft was now squarely in his sights, the AMROM missile armed and ready to unleash its deadly precision. But just as the lock engaged, chaos erupted. Suddenly, his cockpit was flooded with alarms. The radar flickered wildly, and his instruments began to go haywire. The enemy craft was jamming his systems, a brutal assault on his avionics that sent sparks flying from a side panel. Jack gritted his teeth, fighting the sudden turbulence rocking his F-35.

Control, my systems are being scrambled. They're jamming me, he shouted over the cacophony of warning sirens. Before he could adjust, his radar lit up with a cluster of smaller contacts, multiple blips emerging from the belly of the craft like a swarm of bees. The blips quickly multiplied, spreading out in an ominous formation. Control, we've got drones, repeat, multiple drones, armed and heading for the U.S. mainland. Jack barked, adrenaline surging as he scanned the rapidly shifting radar. The drones were small but fast, their sharp, angular designs built for speed and lethality.

Each one carried a payload, their signatures pulsing faintly on his compromised radar. They split into groups, dispersing in multiple directions as they streaked toward the coast. Hawkeye, prioritized the drones. Maddox ordered, his voice filled with urgency. Do not let them reach populated areas. Jack cursed under his breath, his eyes darting between the massive craft still in his sights and the drones swarming toward civilian targets. His finger twitched over the trigger, the missile still locked onto the primary target.

There a diversion, he muttered to himself, his mind racing. The warhead in the main craft was the bigger threat, but the drones could cause devastating damage if even one reached the mainland. Viper 1, make the call. Maddox barked, the tension in his voice cutting through the chaos. Jack's hands flew across the controls, his fingers moving with practice precision as he switched to the GAU-22-25-millimeter cannon. The weapon status indicator flickered green on his HUD, and he lined up his first target,

a sleek, angular drone darting through the sky like a predatory bird. The skies were chaos. The swarm of drones moved with eerie coordination, their formation shifting unpredictably as they sped toward the U.S. mainland. Jack banked sharply, pulling into position behind the lead group. The reticle on his HUD locked onto a target, and he squeezed the trigger. The cannon roared to life, a thunderous rattle that vibrated through the cockpit. through the cockpit. Bright tracers streaked across the sky, slamming into one of the drones. It exploded in a burst of debris, the fragments scattering like shrapnel. Control, splash one drone.

Jack called out, barely pausing before shifting his sights to another target. He adjusted his trajectory and fired again, the 25-millimeter rounds ripping into a second drone, then a third. His experience and precision showed, each burst of fire striking true. But as he scored hit after hit, the reality of the situation hit him harder than the recoil of the cannon. For every drone he destroyed, three more seemed to take its place. The swarm was relentless, their sheer numbers overwhelming. Control, Jack growled into the comms, his voice tight with frustration, there are too many of them. I don't have enough ammo to make a dent in this swarm.

Stay on them, Hawkeye. Maddox replied, his tone urging Jack to hold the line. Every drone you take down buys us time. Jack gritted his teeth, weaving through the chaotic sky, his cannon barking as he took out another two drones. But the warning light on his HUD told him the truth, he was burning through his limited ammunition too quickly. His eyes flicked to the massive craft still cruising ahead of him, its ominous bulk a stark

reminder of the larger threat. The warhead it carried was a ticking time bomb, and Jack knew he couldn't ignore it any longer. Control, switching back to missiles, Jack said, his voice resolute. He flipped the weapon selector, his targeting retic. snapping back onto the primary craft. The AIM-120 Amram missiles came online, their status indicators glowing ready. Targeting the mothership.

I've got to stop this at the source. Hawkeye, you sure about this? Maddox asked, his voice crackling with urgency. Not a damn bit, Jack replied, locking onto the enemy craft. The tone in his headset confirmed a solid lock, and he didn't hesitate. Fox 3, he shouted, pressing the fire button. The AIM-120 missile streaked away from his jet, leaving a trail of white smoke as it screamed toward its target. Jack watched it close in, his jaw clenched, knowing that this shot had to count.

Jack watched as the AIM-120 missile streaked through the sky, a white-hot beacon of hope headed straight for the enemy craft. His HUD tracked its trajectory, the lock unwavering. For a fleeting moment, he felt a surge of adrenaline-fueled confidence, this might actually work. But then, like a dark cloud blotting out the sun, the swarm of drones moved as one, shifting course to intercept the missile. Jack's heart sank as the missile's proximity sensor registered the cluster of incoming targets. The explosion lit up the sky, shredding dozens of drones in a fiery burst, their shattered remains raining down like metallic confetti. But the massive craft—it emerged from the smoke and debris enscaved, its sleek, unmarked surface gleaming in the sunlight as it pressed forward, undeterred. Control. Jack barked, his voice tinged with desperation. The missile didn't make it. I'm out of

options here. Where's my backup? Maddox's voice crackled in his headset, strained and grim. Hawkeye, we've got nothing to send your way. All assets are either out of range or engaged elsewhere. You're it, you're telling me I'm the only one standing between this thing and Seattle. Jack growled, his hands tightening on the stick. Affirmative, Maddox replied, the weight of his words landing heavily in the cockpit. You've got one missile left, Hawkeye. Make it count, Jack cursed under his breath, his mind racing. He glanced at his missile count, a single A.I.M. 120 remained.

But he knew that firing it now would be futile. The swarm would intercept it again, just as they had before. He needed another way, and fast. His eyes darted to the massive craft ahead, analyzing every detail. engines, or lack thereof, remained a mystery. Its payload doors were still ominously open, the warhead inside a silent reminder of the stakes. He thought about its jamming technology, its swarming drones, and its single-minded trajectory toward the mainland. And then it hit him. Control, the only way to stop this thing is to take it out directly, he said, his voice

steady despite the chaos around him. Hawkeye, what are you saying? Maddox asked, his tone suddenly sharp. I'm saying I don't think it has traditional propulsion systems. It's too smooth, too precise. If I hit it directly, I might destabilize whatever's keeping it in the air. If I don't, that warhead is going to level Seattle and maybe more. Jack, listen to me, Maddoch said, his voice breaking from its usual calm. There has to be another way. Stand down and wait for reinforcements. There's no time, Jack said quietly, his resolve hardening. He thought of Mia, waiting back home. He thought of Karen, and of all the promises he'd made but hadn't kept. This is my fight, he murmured to himself, fraudling forward. The F-35 roared to life,

the afterburners igniting with a deafening roar as Jack pushed the jet to its limits. He adjusted his trajectory, aiming for the heart of the massive craft. The drones swarmed around him, a defensive barrier, but he weaved through them with precision, his years of experience guiding his every move. Control, he said, his voice calmed, disposed. fight the storm raging around him. Tell Mia, tell her I'm sorry. And that I love her. Jack, no. Maddox shouted, but it was too late.

Jack gritted his teeth, his hands steady on the controls as the massive craft filled his view. The final seconds stretched into eternity as he whispered, Karen, on coming home, the F-35 slammed into the enemy craft in a blinding explosion of fire and metal. The shockwave rippled through the sky, scattering the remaining drones like leaves in the wind. The massive craft faltered, its sleek surface cracking as its internal systems failed. Slowly, it began to tilt, its trajectory shifting from the mainland to the icy waters below. On the ground, the operator's admission control watched in silence as the radar signal for both Jack and the enemy craft disappeared.

Maddoch stood frozen, his hand gripping the edge of the console. Hawkeye, he whispered, his voice breaking. It was a crisp autumn morning, and the air was heavy with a solemn sense of reverence as people gathered at Arlington National Cemetery. A year had passed since Colonel Jack Hawkeye Harris's final flight, and today, the nation was honoring his sacrifice. The ceremony was as grand as it was somber, with high-ranking officials, service members, and civilians filling the space. An American flag fluttered at half-mast, its vibrant colors standing in stark contrast to the gray sky. Mia stood near the front, her hands clasped tightly around the helmet

her father had worn on countless missions. The polished surface gleamed under the muted light, a symbol of his unwavering courage. Her auburn hair was neatly tied back, but loose strands framed her face, now marked by the maturity of grief and pride. She wore a simple black dress, her posture straight, though her eyes betrayed the whirlwind of emotions inside her. When she first got the news a year ago, Mia had been furious. Furious at her father for leaving that day, for choosing duty over family yet again.

She'd screamed into the empty house, throwing his old flight manuals across the room, the anger giving way to sobs that racked her body. She didn't understand then, how could she, what, had truly happened in the skies above the Arctic. But as the details of the mission emerged, and the world learned the truth about the unidentified craft and its deadly intentions, her anger shifted. Jack's decision to sacrifice himself, to intercept the craft and save millions of lives, became a story told in every household, a testament to bravery that transcended personal loss. And Mia, though her heart still ached, couldn't help but feel a pride that outweighed her grief.

The master of ceremonies stepped forward, his voice echoing through the gathered crowd. Today, we honor a man whose courage and sacrifice safeguarded the lives of countless Americans. Colonel Jack Harris gave everything to protect not only his country but the values we hold dear, freedom, safety, and the unwavering commitment to do what is right, no matter the cost, Mia's throat tightened as the officer presented her with a folded flag, the symbolic weight of her father's sacrifice pressing down on her chest. Her hands trembled as she accepted it, her grip firmed despite the tears threatening to spill. As the ceremony continued, Mia's mind drifted to the quieter moments with her father.

She remembered his laugh, the way he used to ruffle her hair when she was a kid, and the nights they'd sit under the stars, talking about the vastness of the sky he loved so much. She thought of his final words to her, whispered as he left the house that morning, I'll be back before you know it. In a way, he'd kept his promise. He was gone, but his legacy surrounded her, carried by the grateful murmurs of strangers and the candles flickering in windows across the nation. As the ceremony concluded with a flyover, a formation of jets roaring above in a missing man formation, Mia looked up, her tears falling freely now. Her heart swelled with a bittersweet mixture of sorrow and pride. Her father was gone, but he hadn't

left her alone. He'd left her with a story of courage, a legacy to honor, and a world he'd saved for her to live in. After the crowd began to disperse, Mia stayed behind, standing before the memorial bearing her father's name. She placed the helmet at its base and knelt, her voice quiet but resolute. You did it, Dad, she whispered. You kept us safe. I hated you for leaving that day, but now. I understand. I'm proud of you, and I'll never stop being proud. The wind stirred, carrying the faint scent of autumn leaves, and for a moment, Mia swore she could feel his presence, a warmth in the cold air, a steadying hand on her shoulder. With a deep breath, she stood and walked away, clutching the flag tightly, ready to carry on the legacy her father had left behind.

One last shot with Uncle Jay. I grew up in a neighborhood that most folks would call rough, but to me, it was just home. Broken sidewalks, barking dogs chained to fences, kids playing with half-inflated basketballs, and folks hollering at each other from porches was just the background music to my childhood. I didn't grow up with my parents, nah, they were ghosts in my life, there but not really.

Instead, I was raised by my great aunt, this big-hearted, no-nonsense woman who didn't take crap from anybody and somehow still had enough love in her to look after all the family's straight. And by strays, I mean the outcasts. The ones who had slipped through the cracks. Most of them were deep into addiction, folks called them crackheads.

My great-aunt called them family. Now, one of those so-called strays was my Uncle Jay. And let me tell you, Jay was a legend in his own weird, cracked-out way. You ever meet someone who's clearly high but still manages to function like they got their life halfway together? That was Uncle Jay. Always buzzing, eyes red, energy chaotic, but somehow, he'd still show up to his construction job, pay some bills, bring groceries home, and if I missed the bus, he'd scoop me up and drop me off at school like nothing was wrong. He was high, sure, but he still showed up for his kids and for me too.

Uncle Jay had this goofy energy. Like, he could make a trip to the corner store feel like an episode of a sitcom. We used to walk down to the local bodega, and he'd make me laugh the entire way with the dumbest impressions or rants about how the government put fluoride in our toothpaste to turn people into zombies. Classic J stuff. It was like hanging with a conspiracy theorist and a stand-up comedian rolled into one. But underneath all that, he had a big heart. Anyway, one night, this house at the end of our street went up in flames. Burned to the damn ground.

It was this old, run-down place nobody really paid attention to, but once it was gone, it left this strange emptiness at the corner. You'd think that it'd be the end of that, right? Wrong. Within four days, a full-on makeshift structure was up in its place. I'm talking tarps, scrap wood, broken doors for walls, and even a busted shopping cart used as a gate. And just like that, boom, it became the new neighborhood crack house. Now, Uncle Jay started frequenting that spot a little too often. At first, he'd just hang there a few hours and come back, but after a while, he stopped coming

home altogether. Stopped going to work. Started losing weight. Eyes got darker. The light that used to flicker behind his goofy smile started to dim. My great aunt kept saying, he's on that stepped-on mess, meaning the drugs weren't pure anymore, they were cut with all kinds of crap. Stuff that didn't just get you high, but ate away at your soul. One morning, I was home alone, flipping through cartoons, watching, Arthur, yeah, I was that kid,

obsessed with those little animal kids with human problems. Suddenly, the door creaked open, and in walks Uncle Jay, looking wild-eyed and sweaty. Without saying much more than a lazy, hey, he scoops up two of our TVs, one under each arm like some kind of jacked-up superhero, and just strolls out the door like that was completely normal. I'm sitting there like, bro. Arthur's on, what the hell, my great-a-ant was out at the casino, doing her thing, so I called her all pissed off. I mean, who steals your niece's TV mid-cartoon?

She was heated and immediately sent over my cousin Cass, who was like this no-nonsense, Don't mess with me type. Big dude, always wore Timberlands no matter the weather. Cass shows up, and we decide to march down to the crack house to get our stuff back and check on Uncle Jay. We're outside yelling his name, but no response. After five minutes or so, this scraggly dude I recognized from the block stumbles out, carrying one of our TVs like it was some kind of offering. He looks at me, all apologetic, and says, sorry, Lil, Nick.

name I can't put here. Cass steps forward and asks, where's my uncle Jay at? And the guy goes, he's inside, but, you don't want to see him like that. Cass ain't the type to walk away from a situation like that. He pushes past the guy and heads inside. I could hear him coughing, like seriously gagging, probably because that place smelled like moldy death and burned dreams. After a few tense minutes, he finds Jay, overdosed and unresponsive on a couch that looked like it hadn't been clean since the Clinton administration. Cass calls 911 and drags Jay outside, laying him out on the patchy grass. The paramedics show up, and it's like chaos unfolds in slow motion. They hit him with Narcan, and just when I thought he was gone, Jay bounces up like a man

possessed. Start swinging on everybody. Mad as hell that they ruined his high. Meanwhile, I'm still standing there holding one of the damn TVs, upset because our Arthur was probably over and the episode looked like a good one. So when he tries to run off, still tweaking and furious, I do the only thing I can think of, I stick my foot out and trip him. Man goes down hard, looks up at me and says, ah, niece, you gone, do me like that? Paramedics are cracking up. Like legit laughing out loud.

They strap him down, and eventually the cops show up, and he gets hauled off. That was the last time I saw Uncle Jay for 12 years. I always thought he hated me after that. I mean, I did trip him. And snitch on him. And helped Repo stolen TVs. It's not exactly bonding material. So for 12 years, there was silence.

Nothing. I went on with life, finished school, played high school basketball, I was pretty good too, made the papers often, and eventually. eventually moved out of the neighborhood. Life kept moving, you know. Then, one night, I was out bar hopping downtown with a few friends. Just letting loose, dancing, taking shots, vibing. And out of nowhere, I hear my name being shouted across the street.

My whole body froze. I knew that voice. No way, couldn't be. But it was. It was Uncle Jay. I tried to pretend I didn't hear him. Just kept walking like I was on a mission. But he wasn't having it.

He chased me down and before I could even react, he grabbed me in this big O.L. hug. I could feel the years on him, the way his body felt thinner, his energy still erratic, his eyes a little too wide. He looked older, tired, but there was still this spark in him. He pulls out this wrinkled plastic bag from his pocket and starts pulling out newspaper clippings like it was treasure. Turns out, he had saved every single article that mentioned me from my freshman year to my senior

year in high school. All my basketball stats, pictures, interviews, he had them all. In his damn pocket. That hit me harder than anything. All this time, I thought he'd written me off. But he'd been cheering for me from the sidelines, even while buried under his own mess. We stood on that corner, laughing about the time I tripped him and how mad I was about missing, Arthur. He told me he'd never really been mad.

That he knew I did it out of love, that someone had to hold him accountable. Then he pulls out two little plastic bottles of vodka and says, I was saving these. Let's take a shot, for Auntie, she had passed away right before my 18th birthday. I hesitated, but eventually I clinked that little bottle with his and we took it. took our shot. It wasn't the smoothest vodka, but it hit warm, and it meant something. He asked for my number, scribbled it down on a napkin, gave me one more hug, and I walked away with my friends, still processing the whole thing. Later that night, I got a call. Uncle Jay had overdosed. He didn't make it. I remember just sitting there, stunned. It didn't feel

real. Like, how do you go from sharing a heartfelt moment to being gone forever in the span of a few hours? But somehow, it made sense too. It was like the universe gave us that one last reunion, one final shot, literally and metaphorically, before it was time for him to go. Like fate stepped in to say, you two need this moment. You deserve it, it hurts. It still hurts. I think about all the years we lost. I think about all the what-ifs, the alternate paths his life could have taken. But I also think about how damn lucky I am to have had him at all. Because for all his flaws, for all the mess, Uncle Jay was one of the most loving, genuine people I ever knew. People talk about addiction like it makes someone less of a person. Like addicts don't have hearts or hopes

or the capacity to love deeply. But I know better. I've seen better. I've lived better. So if you've got an addict in your life, don't give up on them. Love them from a safe distance if you have to, but don't write them off. They're still in there somewhere, behind the chaos, beneath the layers of pain and chemicals. And sometimes, just sometimes, they'll come back around for one last laugh, one final hug, and maybe even a clumsy little shot of vodka. RIP Uncle J.

You were a mess, but you were a mess, but you were a little. my mess. And I'll never forget you. The end. Note, I want to make it clear that I hold no bias against Johnny Depp in any way. I am remaining completely neutral on the Johnny Depp-amber heard controversy due to its divisive nature. My only intention here is to share an experience that a friend of mine had with Johnny Depp. This story takes place on June 26, 2016, and involves a childhood friend of mine who had the chance to interact with Johnny Depp. For the sake of anonymity and to avoid any unwanted attention, I will refer to my friend as A. While we eventually took different paths in life, he pursued a career in acting while I became

a digital artist, we still maintained some level of communication. Because of his career in Hollywood, a frequently mingled with well-known actors, and in this particular instance, one of those actors happened to be Johnny Depp. The events I am about to recount were relayed to me directly by a shortly after they occurred. It was around 1 a.m. on June 26, 2016, when I received a text from May, asking me to call him. I found it strange given the late hour, but curiosity got the better of me, and I obliged. When he answered the phone, the first thing he said was, yo, the weirdest shit just happened yesterday. Naturally, I was intrigued and asked him to explain what had happened. That's when he launched into his story.

Approximately 12 hours prior, A had been spending time with Johnny Depp. At some point, Depp invited him over for drinks at his house. When they arrived, A noticed that Amber Heard was not there. Curious, he asked Depp about her whereabouts, to which Depp replied that she was away filming for the upcoming Justice League movie. Depp then gestured for A to take a seat in the living room while he himself settled onto the couch. They started chatting, making small talk about various topics.

I couldn't quite remember the details of the conversation during the first 15 minutes, but he did recall that at one point, he decided to ask Depp a question that had been on his mind since he arrived. Oh, earlier when I mentioned Amber heard, how are things between you two? I told me that upon hearing the question, Depp smirked slightly before responding in a tone that carried a hint of sarcasm. Oh, you want to know how she's doing. He emphasized the word, she, in a way that made a feel as though Depp had a lot to say on

the matter. Depp leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. Before I say anything, you have to promise me that what I'm about to tell you stays between us. My career, my life, everything could go to shit if they're not. conversation ever got out. But you seem like someone I can trust, so I'll tell you. A, not wanting to make things awkward, nodded in agreement.

Depp took a sip of his drink before continuing. How should I put this? Even though she's out there filming all these big Hollywood movies, you'd think she'd still have some energy left when she gets home, right? But no. She comes back looking like a goddamn zombie. She mopes around, complains, and acts like she expects me to take care of everything. And don't even get me started on sex.

She can't even last 15 minutes before she just gives up. Can you believe that? I'm in my 50s, and somehow I have more stamina than her. It's pathetic. I told me that at this point, he was feeling pretty uncomfortable but kept nodding along, not wanting to irritate Depp. Depp continued, clearly venting his frustrations. When I married Amber, I thought I was getting a good deal, you know. Money, sex, fame, it seemed like a dream.

Don't you think it would have been reasonable to expect some sort of benefit from marrying her? A, trying his best to remain neutral, nodded again. Yeah, I can see why you might have thought that. Depp sighed and leaned back against the couch. And like I said, she can't even last a quarter of an hour during sex. She just turned 30 for Christ's sake, and here I am in my 50s, and she's the one acting like she's ancient. It's just sad.

I wanted to do so much more with her, but she's always exhausted from work. She never balances her energy. Isn't balance important in a relationship? A agreed again, sensing that depth wasn't really looking for a counterpoint. That's what I thought, Depp said, shaking his head. Now, this might sound fucked up, but sometimes I just wish I could do whatever I wanted while she's asleep. Of course, you can't, because of all the legal bullshit and the rape charges that would follow. But, man, if I could.

A told me that when Depp said this, he felt an immediate chill run down his spine. He was shocked, but tried his best not to let it show. Depp didn't seem to notice A's discomfort and kept going. Honestly, if she doesn't start making an effort by next year, I'm done with her. I'm sick of her mopey, useless attitude. I nodded one last time, hoping the topic would change. Depp then exhaled deeply and gave A a small smile. Well, that was a lot to get off my chest.

Thanks for listening, man. I hope you understand where I'm coming from. A, still trying to process what he had just heard, managed to say, yeah, I can see why you're frustrated. Depp grinned, seemingly satisfied. Good. Now, let's move on to more enjoyable topics, yeah. Wouldn't want to ruin the night talking about her. A agreed, and from that point on, the conversation shifted to lighter subjects.

That was the last time Amber heard was mentioned that night. After telling me this, A admitted he felt uneasy the whole time but didn't know how to react in the moment. He said that once he got home, he couldn't stop thinking about what he had just heard. He felt like he had to tell someone, which is why he called me. I listened to him, equally shocked, but I didn't know what to say. I simply thanked him for telling me and wished him a good night. After we hung up, I lay in bed, replaying the conversation in my mind. I didn't know what to think.

Eventually, though, I fell asleep, and life carried on as usual. So, that's the story. Make of it what you will. Warning, this story contains content that might be disturbing to some readers. All right, so here it is. The whole messy, unbelievable, wild story that went down at Houston College in New Syracuse. Buckle in, because it's not your everyday college drama. It all started with a guy.

named Caleb Dreyfus Weaver. He was 22, super into politics and apparently, pretty intense about his grades. We're talking about the kind of guy who lived and breathed GPA rankings and probably had color-coded flashcards for every class. Political science major, ambitious as hell, and from the outside, it looked like he had it all together. But then, boom. One really bad day and everything fell apart. One morning, the peaceful, quiet little new Syracuse campus exploded into chaos. Like, real chaos. Picture dozens of squad cars, armed officers swarming the place, helicopters overhead kind of chaos. It all happened fast. Reports came flooding in that there were two active shooters on campus. Total lockdown. More than 400 students evacuated. People

were screaming, hiding in classrooms, sending final texts. You know, that stuff you hear about on the news and pray never happens to your school. Turns out, there weren't two shooters. There was just Caleb. According to witnesses, he had gotten into a heated argument with one of his professors over a grade. Things escalated so fast it was like something snapped in him. Next thing you know, he allegedly pulled a gun, pointed it right at the professor, and

started making threats. It took more than an hour of tense negotiating before they finally got him to surrender. Nobody got hurt, thank God. But still, the whole school was rattled. Everyone was shaken up, not just by what had happened, but by how quickly everything went from normal to terrifying. Eventually, Caleb was cuffed and led away, facing a whole stack of criminal charges. You'd think that would be the end of it. Case closed, kid snapped, now he's going to jail, right? Well, here's where it gets weird. The very next week, Dutton County Police announced that all the charges were being dropped. Yep. All of them. Apparently, there was some mutual understanding reached between everyone involved. Most shockingly, the professor, the one who had the gun pointed at them,

insisted that the charges be dropped, said they didn't want to press anything. No trial. No sentencing. Nothing. Naturally, people were confused. Why would someone who just had their life threatened want to let it all go? The college stayed tight-lipped about the professor's identity. Said they wanted privacy. And maybe that's fair, but man, the rumors flew. Of course, that didn't mean Caleb was off the hook completely. Houston College kicked him out. Expelled. Done. A spokesperson made a public statement a few days later, saying, and I quote, following the serious incident which occurred on campus last week, which saw the campus go into lockdown, the student involved has now been expelled and will no longer be continuing with his studies at Houston College. They tried to

reassure everyone, too. Said it was a one-time thing, a freak event. and that Houston College is still one of the safest places to study. I mean, sure, maybe they had to say that, but after something like that, it's hard to look at the place the same way. Just for the record, Houston College isn't some no-name school. It's actually pretty prestigious. Ranked 14th on Patton's greatest American colleges list. Big deal. People pay serious money to send their kids there. Alumni include fancy people like a famous NBC sports guy and even a former U.S. Secretary of Housing and Urban Development. And then there's Caleb's mom.

Marianne Dreyfus Weaver She talked to the Syracuse Spectator, and honestly, it was heartbreaking. She was crying during the interview, saying she was devastated about her son being expelled. Caleb was a good kid, she said. Always obsessed with doing well in school. He wanted to be a public official one day. That was his dream. And now it's all gone.

She said they decided to send Caleb up to Canada to live with his grandfather for a while. Said it would be good for him to get away, cool off, try to put himself back together. Can't really blame her. I mean, what else do you do after something like that? Meanwhile, the professor's name was kept totally under wraps. The school made it clear. they were protecting their privacy. Honestly, considering everything, it's probably for the best. That professor's life probably got turned upside down, and they didn't ask for any of this.

But that wasn't the only dark cloud over campus that week. Just a few days before the Caleb incident, something else happened. Another tragedy. A student named Kim Kyeongnam was found dead in his dorm room. It was ruled a suicide. According to friends, he had been struggling badly with his midterms. Couldn't handle the pressure. One of them told reporters that Kim had always been under intense stress to succeed, and when the grades didn't come through, he just broke. Kim was a 20-year-old undergrad from the Republic of Helongjiang, a former Chinese separatist state.

He was of Korean descent and had come to the U.S. on a student visa in 2019 to study economics and math. Super smart kid. Just, overwhelmed, it seems. And nobody saw it coming until it was too late. The police said they were satisfied with the coroner's report and ruled it a suicide. Another life gone way too soon. And it only made the events of that week feel heavier. As for Helongjiang, in case you're wondering, the Republic is made up of about 1.7% Korean

ethnic population, with a mix of Han Chinese and other ethnic minorities. It's a complicated place with a complicated history. Kim probably had a lot of pressure coming from back home, too. So, to recap, in one week, Houston College went from a top-ranked academic institution to a campus rocked by a suicide and an armed standoff. Hundreds of students evacuated, lockdown drills becoming real, and a community trying to make sense of it all. There's no neat ending to this story.

Caleb's future is uncertain. The professor might never teach again. Kim is gone forever. And the students who live through it? They're going to carry those memories for a long time. Houston College might be back to normal now, but you can bet no one there will forget that week. Not for a long, long time.

Sometimes, one bad week is all it takes to change everything. The end. My heroin addiction. had spiraled out of control for years, and I had progressed from breaking into cars to robbing people at ATMs, stealing from drug dealers or waiting in dark alleys for drunk partiers to pass by. I had never had an issue with the generally incompetent and understaffed cops around here and, while the police had my general description, I always used a mask and they didn't know exactly who was committing this crime spree. The night it happened started like any other.

I had shot up dope, knotted off for a few hours, then woke up broke and penniless, like usual. I casually walked to an area frequented by college students, filled with bars and too many guys and girls living off of daddy's money, and waited behind a dumpster, my point four five Ruger tucked under my leather belt. I could see my breath in the air, and my hands and feet were freezing. The winters here were brutal, and without the drugs I needed to live, I felt even warm. worse, cold, shaky and anxious. I wanted to get this over with quickly, get some money and go back to the motel I was renting to call my connect. I first saw the man by accident, as I heard a car passing by the nearby road and peeked my head out to make sure it wasn't a cop. If someone

nearby had seen me hiding behind this fetid-smelling dumpster, waiting, they might call the cops out of spite. But it was just some pickup truck, his headlights illuminating the silhouette of the man walking towards me. He wore an expensive suit, his hair professionally styled with gel, a heavy gold chain hanging off of his neck. He looked like he was in his late 40s, but still had a strong and chiseled frame. As soon as he got close, I jumped out of my hiding spot, pulling the gun up. His eyes didn't even widen in surprise. He didn't yell out. He just smiled at me, his blue eyes flicking from my gun to my face, covered in a certain mask, then focusing in on my eyes.

Empty your pockets, now, I said, gesturing with the gun at his pants. No problem, friend, he said in a low, guttural tone. You can have it. He pulled out his wallet and gave it to me. I patted his pockets, but that was all he had on him. It was strange to see someone who didn't even carry a phone. Not that I would be likely to steal a phone, as they have GPS, but I would at least smash it so that he couldn't immediately call the police as soon as I let him go.

Just make sure you don't bite off more than you can chew, he said to me cryptically, his smile widening. His eyes looked too black even for the darkness of the alleyway, and his smile seemed to stretch wider than humanly possible. I raised the gun instinctively, stepping backwards and never taking my eyes off of him. Yet somehow I felt like he was the one with the power, and he seemed to have no fear or anxiety despite the circumstances of our meeting. It looked as if he thought the gun would do no damage to him.

Once I was near the end of the alleyway, I tucked the gun back into my waistband and started sprinting down the street. I got back to my motel a few blocks away in record time, running into the room and locking it behind me. I pulled out the wallet and began to examine it. It had no ID, no credit cards, not even a library card. All it had was $400 billion. which looked like they were brand new and not even creased in the slightest, and a one-way bus ticket to some place called Naraka.

I immediately turned most of the money into drugs and ended up nodding off in the bed with the TV set to old reruns of the Twilight Zone, having nightmares of that man's eyes turning black in the alleyway as he watched me with evil joy, toying with me like a cat toys with a mouse before it murders it and rips it apart. I knew I had to leave the area soon. Things were getting hot, and police were being dispatched in areas I like to frequent. Undercover informants were trying to find information on who was behind the string of robberies and burglaries in the city, and I was afraid every time I left my hotel room that I would be rushed by an entire SWAT team and locked away for decades.

But by some miraculous stroke of luck, I was left alone. I stopped all criminal activity that weekend, however. I had pushed myself as far as I wanted to, and was determined to restart my life. I went to a nearby methadone clinic and bought a couple dozen bottles from some of the desperate opiate addict standing outside, telling myself I would mean myself completely off within a few weeks by taking small sips of methadone every few hours to take the edge off the worst of the withdrawals. I read the one-way ticket I had stolen from the man. It stated that it was good for any date, and that I could get to the city of Naraka by bus. I called the number on the back of it,

and a robotic voice told me that a bus was scheduled to leave for Naraka at 9 a.m. the next morning on some seldom used one-way street next to the state capital building downtown. After packing up my meager belongings and my last few hundred dollars, I got a few hours of sleep, doing the last of my heroin before throwing away all my needles and paraphernalia. By the next morning at 8.30 a.m., I was waiting on. on the deserted side street, listening to music on my phone, wearing multiple jackets and a couple shirts to try to keep the cold away. But the first fingers of withdrawal were beginning to affect me by the time the bus pulled up. I felt like someone was dripping ice water down my back

and spine, goosebumps popping up all over my skin so badly that they hurt, a rising sense of anxiety and fear about the impending withdrawals rising in my chest. I was afraid and wondered whether I was making the right decision. The bus was totally empty except for the driver. It didn't look like any bus I had ever seen. It was painted in bright shining red paint, with seven pointed stars of all colors covering the exterior, a set of scales next to the logo which read Maat Transportation Company. The driver looked like he was from the 1950s, with a highly polished leather round cap, an old style suit and leather shoes to boot. He looked down at me with icy blue eyes, his expression cold and unreadable.

May I see your ticket, sir, he asked in an emotionless voice, reaching out his hand towards me. I hesitated for a moment, then pulled the one-way ticket from my pocket. He looked down at it, frowning, then looked back at me. All right, let's go, he said. I quickly got on the bus and went to the back, grateful for the rush of warm air as I did so. I took a couple sips of some watered down methadone,

still out of it from barely getting any sleep the night before. Before I knew it, I had fallen asleep. When I awoke, the bus was totally packed. A little girl sat next to me, dressed in an old-fashioned blue dress, tiny blue bows wrapped through her hair, her little blue eyes staring up at me with curiosity. I groggily turned my attention to the rest of the bus, and it looked like the bus had stopped at a United Nations conference

after I fell asleep. There were Asian men with glasses and briefcases talking quietly in a foreign language, a few rail-thin black men with countless scars, red bandanas, and no shirts, a few white women with dyed hair and more piercings than I could count who looked like they had been pulled out of a nearby strip bar, and much more besides. I felt absolutely terrible, like I always did when I woke up and was withdrawing. Freezing cold waves ran through my body, my eyes were watery, my nose wouldn't stop dripping, my stomach was doing flips and goosebumps stood out all over my arms and legs as the

heroin withdrawals crashed into my mind with dysphoric intensity. Ah, darkness, my old friend, I thought to myself. Are you going to Naraka? The little girl beside me asked in a low voice. I turned my bleary eyes down at her. You don't look like you belong. At least not yet. One day soon, I think you will be ready, if you don't change the path you're on. I'm going anywhere but here, I said to her. Where are your parents anyway? My parents, she said softly, looking down at her lap, are dead. I killed them. I rolled my eyes. Sure, I said. That's not a very good joke, little girl. My name is Zinida, not little girl, she said, smiling up at me. Harry, I said, shaking her small, soft hand. I looked down, thinking I should take a sip of methadone to try to get rid of the worst of the opiate withdrawals, and realize my backpack was gone.

I immediately freaked out, looking around frantically, my heart feeling like it would burst out of my chest. I couldn't go cold turkey. Like most addicts, I was absolutely terrified of cold turkey withdrawals, the endless weeks of insomnia and nightmarish intensity of the symptoms. Where is my backpack? I asked loudly. No one looked at me beside Sinaita. Most of the passengers on the bus totally ignored me, acting like I didn't exist. A girl with dozens of piercings and a face tattoo looked over at me and frowned, shaking her head.

I don't know, Sinida said, smiling slightly and shrugging. It wasn't there when I got on at my stop. Why? Was something important in it? I shook my head violently. You have no idea, I said. This whole trip felt more and more like a mistake. Next stop, Veridon, a robotic voice echoed throughout the bus.

The bus started slowing down, and as I looked out the windows, I realized I wasn't in Kansas anymore. The world outside had huge, tree-like molds growing everywhere. They were fiery red with jet black streaks and grew hundreds of feet tall, like the fungi equivalent of redwoods in this new land. I saw humanoid beings walking on trails that wound through the forests of fungi, their legs bending backwards as they crept forward like birds. They stood 20 feet tall with deathly pale skin, like some worm from a cave that has never seen the light of day, and wore black suits on their thin, skeletal bodies. Most disconcertingly,

their faces were totally blank, without eyes or mouths or noses or hair, just perfect smooth skin. They walked by in twos and threes, and I saw some of the passengers of the bus get out and begin following the trails traveled by the strange beings. Am I tripping right now? I said, mostly to myself. I tried to remember if I might have been dosed with psychedelic drugs without my knowledge, if someone might have put drops of LSD in my water bottle or food, but I couldn't remember any opportunity anyone would have had to drug me. I had certainly had enough experience with psychedelics, and this almost felt like something from the DMT world. The bus slowly began driving forward again, the Asian businessmen who had departed and the

faceless beings in front of them fading out of view. The fungi forest thinned out and on the horizon, I saw a floating city. Spirling silver spires without any visible windows or doors were interspersed with massive statues and domed, spiky houses with a most disconcerting lovecraftian appearance. The metal streets of the floating city looked thousands of feet wide, the structures and skyscrapers disappearing into the white, puffy clouds of the sky. Then we were off again, entering a black tunnel. I could see nothing outside the bus now. Next stop, Naraka, the emotionless voice of the robot sounded. A gasp of horror rolled through the bus as some of the passengers in front started weeping or praying. Naraka, Naraka, no,

please, no, a starved-looking black man said in the seat in front of me with a thick South African accent, before putting his face in his hands and crying. We exited the seemingly endless black tunnel, coming into a horrifying world. The streets were paved with bone, and it seemed like we were encased in a metal container thousands of feet tall. The smell of smoke and burning meat entered the bus, and as I looked around, I saw countless people stretching all the way to the horizon. They ran constantly, most of them naked, their skin burning as fire seemed to sprout from the ground itself. It came out everywhere except for the roads, flames rising a couple feet in the air and sending off thick black clouds that rushed in the strong breeze inside the

massive container. To my left, only a hundred feet away, I saw a crying man on his knees in front of a blue-skinned being. The being looked like a tall man in most ways, except for his luminous skin and bulging black eyes. As I looked past him, I saw countless more of the blue humanoids. They appeared to be in charge here and seemed unaffected by the fires, heat or smoke around them. Those are the Narokanavis, Zanida said to my right, peering out the window dispassionately. Look at how well they take care of the sinners. She giggled slightly. The crying man grabbed at the feet of the Narokanavis in front of him, saying, please, sir, I am so thirsty. I have been thirsty for so long. I cannot take it anymore.

Smiling in ear-to-year grin, the Narokanavis grabbed the man, pinning his arms behind his back while another blue skin being came over with a black pot of boiling water. They forced the man's mouth open and poured the boiling water down his throat, his skin being scalded off in papery layers by the intensity of the heat. As the door of the bus opened, dozens of blue-skinned men stormed the bus, dragging out each passenger one by one. The driver grinned,

turning to look back at me, and I realized with horror that it was the same man that I had robbed in the alleyway. This is the last stop, friend, he said, his piercing eyes focused so intently on me that I had to avert my gaze. The blackness of his pupils

seemed to expand and take over his whole eye. After all, didn't you come to me and ask for this? You demanded it, by knife or by gun, and you will get all of it you desire. Maybe even a little more, in fact. He laughed sarcastically as the passengers screamed in panic before they were one by one dragged out the door of the bus and thrown into the fires and streams of lava that cut paths all around us. Then he pointed to the wall of the metal shell nearest us, maybe a quarter mile away. Every 100,000 years, that door opens, and those who are nearest can flee this place,

he continued. And do you know where the door leads? It leads to a forest made of swords, where their limbs are cut off, their eyes are gouged out, their skin and muscle is sliced open, and they are healed over and over and forced to run again. Their heads are cut off, their chests are cut open, and they cry for death, but it never comes. And that place, too, has a door. But the destination beyond each is just as foul, just as evil, and just as deathless. As he spoke, the last passenger was dragged off, leaving just the driver, Zinida and me in an

otherwise totally empty bus. So, I'll ask you only once, is this your stop or not, he said. Please, God, get me out of here, I said, starting to cry, despair overtaking me. My withdrawals had disappeared under the mortal terror and existential horror I now felt. I had a mental vision of myself living here for millions or billions of years, having fed it boiling water and molten lead poured down my throat, being thrown into streams of lava, being cut apart and always healing, always returning, always wishing for death. I'll do anything, anything, please, take me out of Naraka.

Will you make good what you have done? Will you turn yourself in for the crimes you have committed? He said, his smile disappearing, his face returning to its prior placid state. As the bus exited the tunnel, I saw with incomprehensible relief the pale blue sky of my world. We appeared to be in New York City, over a thousand miles away from where I had first started this morning. I saw Manhattan and its distinctive skyscrapers in the distance. The bus came to a stop in front of a bus depot. I turned to Zanida, who held out a black bowl, made of some voles.

volcanic obsidian-like material. It was the same bowl I had seen the Narakanava use when it poured boiling water into that poor man's mouth. This is for you, she said. A memory of your journey, perhaps. Take it with you and remember, always. I smiled down at her. I will, I exited the bus and wrote this up on my way to the police station. I'm turning myself in for the armed robberies I committed, among other major felonies. They will have to extradite me to the other state, but I am going to tell them the truth, and let whatever happens happen. Hopefully they have some leniency on me because of my addiction and my remorse,

but I have no choice in the matter. Even life in prison would be far better than what I had already seen today. I'm going to send the bull out to a scientific institute to be studied before I go into the police station, though. If it is what I think it is, it may be me. made of a material never before seen on this planet, but one that only comes from Naraka. I hope I will never see that evil place again. I've worked for the CIA for the last 20 years. My jobs vary, ranging from torture to weapons smuggling to chemical weapons manufacturing.

When an insurgency begins in a hostile country, like Syria or Libya, my job sometimes required me to traffic in guns, ammo, and money. So I had seen a lot of things. and I felt a sense of relief when I was told that, from now on, I would only have to work within the United States. When my superior, Agent White, called me to his office one hot summer morning last year, I went right away. Sit down, Agent Black, he said to me, motioning to the chair across the desk. Do you want coffee or anything? Sure, I said, and he called his secretary to bring us both coffees. She hustled in, dropping the steaming hot cups in front of us and leaving immediately without a word. So, he said, we've been hearing a lot of chatter lately

about the Chinese starting a mind control program. I nearly choked on my coffee when he said that. That stuff is all bullshit, sir, I said dryly. You know it and I know it. The CIA tried that in the 60s, and they had no results. Nkultra, Nkofen and Chiquit already covered that ground unsuccessfully, I might add. He smiled slightly at this. They had no results that they publicized, you mean, he said. The truth is slightly more nuanced. Nculture was not run with the kind of scientific vigor that we would bring to a modern experiment, however. They were basically just dosing people with huge doses of LSD or injecting them with amphetamines and barbiturates until they became drooling idiots. This is not the experiment we are

interested in funding. So what is? I asked, genuinely curious. We want to see whether certain people can see the future, keeping them under controlled, scientific confinement in the process to rule out any kind of fraud or charlatanism. Also, we want to see if psychics can see military secrets in the present, secrets that we don't currently have access to. Any advances in interrogation techniques achieved from the use of new drugs would also be funded. We are particularly interested in the potential of Bromo Dragonfly and Alpha PvP in test subjects. Both have caused nightmarish hallucinations in people accompanied by visions of hell, which could be useful for getting hardened subjects to talk.

He paused for a long moment after this, looking thoughtful. And psychic research, of course. I scoffed. Psychics. I said scornfully. Like from a circus? Are we bringing in? tarot card readers too. He laughed. Sure, why not, he said, handing me a slip of paper.

Report here tomorrow morning. It will be your first day with the researchers. We've decided to call it Operation Raven. I went to the address written in Agent White's tiny, copperplate handwriting. By the time I pulled up to the front gate, the sun had just started to rise. I had always liked getting an early start. Two armed guards sat at a booth, a red and white-striped metal gate blocking the way inside. Behind them, I saw massive, brown buildings with no windows. The architecture looked brutalist. The building stood tall and imposing, forming perfect cubes of smooth concrete surrounded by row after row of razor wire. Identification, a guard said, coming up to the window and putting out his left hand. He kept the other near.

his holstered pistol. I opened my wallet and flashed my CIA credentials. After staring at it for a long moment, he nodded, going back to the booth and allowing the thick metal gates to slide open. I had never been here before, and I was amazed by how many cars filled the parking lot. Hundreds of them stretched out in front of my eyes, and I drove around for five minutes before finding an empty spot towards the back. As I started the trek towards the door, I felt like guys watched me from all directions. I signed in again at the front desk of the complex, an armed security guard eyeing me mistrustfully as I pulled out my identification and badge. When I told him who I was and what

I was doing there, he said to take the elevator to the bottom floor, then pretended to go back to reading his newspaper. Behind the rustling edges, though, I caught him glimpsing everyone that walked past with a soldierly intensity, ready to react at a moment's notice. I got in, seeing the building went all the way from minus five to five. I pressed the button from minus five, feeling the elevator quickly descending, my stomach rising with the motion. When it dinged and the doors rolled open, I found myself standing in front of a large laboratory. A team of doctors, scientists and lab workers stood 20 feet away, forming a semicircle around a steaming hot coffee pot in the corner. They discussed something in hushed.

tones, and when they saw me approaching, they all went silent. Hello, I said calmly, stepping forward. I'm Agent Philip Black. The director sent me here to look at your work. A female doctor stepped forward. Even though I towered over her five-foot frame, she exhibited a kind of self-confidence that made her seem larger. Her black hair framed her thin face, and her eyes gleamed with intelligence.

She smiled, showing straight, white teeth. Her stylish glasses reflected the bright fluorescent lights overhead. Nice to finally put a face with the fake name, she said, grinning. My name is Dr. Lander. I didn't react, simply looking around at the chemistry equipment and computers set up. Where do we keep the subjects? I asked. She nodded at a narrow hallway at the far end of the large laboratory. I'd like to see them. You can see them all you want, Dr. Lander responded, but we're about to start an experiment. Perhaps it would be better if you saw our research firsthand before talking to the subjects. Things will make more sense, I think, if you watch.

Sure, I said, tearing my gaze away from the narrow hallway. It seemed to beckon me, cool and dark in the corner. I suddenly felt very hot, and the light seemed too bright overhead. Dr. Lander turned and headed towards a room in the corner. I saw a chair welded to the floor with straps hanging down from both sides. A bag of saline and a syringe filled with blue fluid stood on a metal tray next to a box of latex gloves. Two lab assistants stood at attention, one on each side of the chair. Dr. Lander chatted with one as we waited for the guards to bring the man in. This stuff, Alpha PVP, they call it Flaca on the chair.

the streets, she said to the assistant. In some subjects, it has caused visions of demons and hellfire. I think this is the same stuff that caused someone to eat another guy's face with his bare teeth. We could also use amphetamine psychosis in weakening the subjects will for interrogations, but the problem is they start to get delusional and their information. I stopped listening as two black-suited officers brought in a very hairy man. He was stout, barrel-chested, and only about five foot six. But his arms and legs looked like tree trunks covered in thick, black hair. He had a unibrow and his eyes looked nearly black.

A massive wizard beard hung down to his belly button. He wore a bright orange prison jumpsuit. This is kidnapping, he said in a thick Eastern European accent. You cannot just come and tie people up and take them out of their homes. Dr. Lander ignored his outburst, instead. turning to me and the assistance as the guard strapped the man down in the chair. She raised the syringe filled with blue liquid so we could all see it. Now this here is a special combination of drugs we thought might be a good starting point.

It is a combination of potent hallucinogens, including LSD 25, ALD, 52, Bromo Dragonfly and the more potent purified isomer of Alpha PVP. We will be feeding the substances intravenously to the subject during intramed. interrogation and observing his reaction. Are there any questions? Fuck you, you American pig, the man in the chair said. The doctor ignored him. That's not a question, I said, trying to break the tension. No one laughed. Okay, so let's start running the solution then. For the recording, this is subject 102202, Vladimir Gryka. She nodded at the lab assistant who stood next to the four-line feeding into the man's arm. Go ahead, the lab assistant, a thin man with large glasses and a

balding hairline, took the syringe and gingerly screwed it into the plastic tubing taped to the man's arm. The blue fluid mixed with the clear saline as it fed into the man's veins, the dark cyanotic color lightning as it went. The subject, Vladimir, continued to hiss and scream at the doctor and her assistants. His eyes met mine, and I noticed they looked rather strange. When I first saw him, I remember thinking about how dark his eyes looked. But now the iris had turned a muddy yellow, like a tiger's eye gemstone. His scowl had turned into a grin, and his teeth appeared to sharpen and lengthen. They looked dark and stained, with the serrated points covered in a thick, yellow film.

Where were you during the massacre of your family on April 10, 2022? Dr. Lander asked Vladimir. His muscles seemed to grow before my eyes, ripping through his clothes. He gnashed his teeth as foamy saliva dripped from his mouth. She sighed. Okay, prepare round two of the drug combination on my. I was with my family, of course, you stupid bitch, Vladimir said, his voice deepening and turning into a growl.

The black hair on his body looked like it had grown, and even his hands and face were now covered. I had changed. I was hungry, so hungry. They tried running through the forest, but I could see far better in the darkness than they could. I took them one by one, ripping them apart as they screamed and begged for mercy. That was my own wife and three daughters. He leaned forwards in his chair as claws sprouted from his fingers, as white as ivory and as sharp as scalpels. So what do you think I'll do to you when I get out of this goddamn chair. With a roar, the beast in the chair pulled against the straps. For a few moments, it looked like they would hold. And then, with a ripping noise, they all gave way at once.

The man had fully transformed into a wolfish abomination, and silver streams of saliva ran from his grinning mouth. Code silver, code silver. Dr. Lander screamed as she began to run towards the door. The thin male lab assistant stood there, quivering and trembling, the bald spot on his head turning a bright red. The other assistant, a young blonde woman, sprinted past me. I stood there shocked for a moment, not knowing what to do. But my instinct screamed at me to stay with Dr. Lander. Without waiting to see what would happen, I turned and started sprinting for the door. Shut the door, shut the door. Dr. Lander cried as the three of us ran out of the room. I looked at the heavy steel door.

with its shadow-proof glass window. What about your assistant? I said. She shook her head. It's too late. He's already dead. Close the door before it gets out. She shoved me aside as her and the blonde assistant each grabbed an edge.

With a groan, they slammed it closed. Dr. Lander bent over double, hyperventilating. She looked up at her assistant. Good job, Casey. Quick thinking, I looked in the window pane and saw the male assistant running towards the door, covered in blood. He definitely was not already dead. I gave Dr. Lander a skewed, mistrustful look. Let me out, please, the assistant pleaded as he slammed his bloody fist against the small window.

With glowing, yellow eyes and greasy, black fur covering every inch of his body, Vladimir looked like something straight out of a medieval textbook on occultism. He leapt high into the air and came down on the assistant's back, clawing and gnashing his teeth as shreds of fabric and drops of blood flew everywhere. Dr. Lander stared into the room, her eyes as emotionless as that of a marble statue. The blonde assistant shifted nervously from foot to foot, her face flickering from Dr. Lander to the window and back again. Aren't we going to help?

Casey, the blonde assistant, said. A moment later, the wall shook as the werewolf slammed into the male assistant again, knocking him to the floor. I saw the assistant smear his own blood all across the white walls as he tried to crawl away from the beast, holding one side of his neck with his left hand. Bright red blood spurted between his fingers and soaked his lab coat. The beast jumped and flew across the room. The assistant twisted his body so that he was. laying on his back, putting his arms out in a defensive posture. In a blur, the werewolf landed back on top of the prone man.

It began clawing at his chest and face as the assistant to put his hands up and shield his eyes. I saw its claws sliced through his fingers like a sharp knife through hot butter. The four digits fell to the side, the man's spurting hand still raised high in the air as he lay on the ground. I heard his gurgling breaths as he began choking on his blood. I heard Casey gasp and suppress a cry of horror as she watched the final moments of the brutal act. In a show of mercy, the beast knelt down and placed his ivory-white teeth over the male assistant's throat.

Then he bit deeply into the man's neck and, with a sickening spray of blood and a ripping sound, finally killed the poor bastard. Well, that was a massive failure, I said spitefully as we walked away from the gruesome murder scene. Why would you say that? Dr. Lander asked politely, her large, brown eyes turning to regard me. I mean, your guy is definitely dead, I responded with incredulity. Is that not a problem? Do you go through assistance like toilet paper here?

Sometimes to make an omelet, you have to crack a few eggs, right? Dr. Lander answered, smirking. Casey was sweating heavily and shifting uncomfortably from leg to leg. I think she may have been reassessing her career choice. at that moment. That was actually the most information we have gotten out of Vladimir so far. Normally, he just blacks out when the topic of his family is brought up. So the hallucinogenic drug mixture is already exceeding expectations. I think we need to try it again on a few more people. But anyways, we have another experiment planned within a few minutes. We'll put a pin

in this for now. The werewolf continued to shred the dead body in the interrogation room behind us. I heard bones cracking and ripping, squelching sounds. I hope the next one isn't so, wet. I inquired. Dr. Lander only gave me a cryptic half-smile. Once the notice for code silver got relayed to the ground floor, chaos broke out. A team of men in bulletproof vests and military gear came running out of the elevator, heading in the direction of the interrogation room. I saw that carried special long-barreled tranquilizer guns rather than automatic rifles. What do you use to put down a werewolf? I asked, genuinely curious. I watched as one soldier flung open the door and a few others stuck their guns in. I heard soft-popping sounds as they

fired. Within seconds, they pulled them back out and the door slammed shut again. Oh, it's a special blend we developed here, she said. Normal tranquilizers don't work on them. A super potent opioid like a torfine that would take down an elephant just slows them down. So we use a combination of a torfine, carfentanyl and fencycladine. Even that is sometimes iffy, and it takes a massive dose just to sedate them. They have a very strange neuropharmacology compared to normal animals. For some reason, they're highly susceptible to synergistic effects,

from NMDA antagonists, yet a pure opioid agonist has little effect. Yeah, I really don't know what that means, I said. We came to another cell with a clear plexiglass shield covering the entire front entrance. I peered through, wondering what other oddities lay down here in the heart of Operation Raven. I looked back down the steel reinforced halls just in time to see three men in sweat gear dragging Vladimir's unconscious body along the floor. He had partially returned to his human state. Now he looked more like a Neanderthal covered in thick black hair,

his strange claws fused to the stubs of his fingers. His face was saturated with coagulated blood. Pieces of gore and shredded skin stuck to the entire front of his now naked body. Remnants of his orange jumpsuit littered the hall, small pieces of bloody cloth falling to the sides as they pulled him by his arms towards another nearby metal cell with a bulletproof glass front. Okay, our second experiment for the day is a little different, Dr. Lander said as she stopped in front of another cell.

Looking down the hallway, I saw that each of the rooms on both sides had prisoners. Most were men, but I saw some women and even a few children locked behind the glass walls. I estimated that at least 50 people must live here as subjects in hellish experiments. Dr. Lander pointed at a woman laying on her steel bed, her face turned away from us towards the wall. I saw a few photos on the walls, mostly pictures of small children grinning for the camera in their best clothes. Mrs. Weber. Dr. Lander said politely, her light voice echoing off the cold metal and concrete walls of the building. Can we please talk to you? The woman continued to ignore us. Okay, well, we're coming in. You know the rules. Dr. Lander nodded at Casey, who quickly

took a massive ring of keys out of her pocket. With a click, she turned the lock in the ballistic glass front. The clear glass door slid to the side. I looked down the hall and saw a couple armed guards watching us with consternation. They're probably afraid of another code silver, I thought to myself as I entered the cell. This is subject 171041, Mary Weber. For the recording, Dr. Lander began. Mrs. Weber still just stared at her wall, refusing to talk or turn her body. All I could see of her was Auburn Hare and an orange prison jumpsuit.

I wondered if she was dead, or perhaps in a deep catatonic state, like some schizophrenics experience. What's the point of this? I asked in a low voice to Dr. Lander. Can this woman even talk? Yes, she is physically capable of speech, Dr. Lander said, which didn't seem like an answer to the question. We just have to get it out of her. What are we testing?

I asked. Psychic research, she answered. Mrs. Weber here is capable of seeing events occurring in other parts of the world. Remote viewing, I believe they call it. Her powers extend beyond her. that, but I'd like to see if we can get any results on smaller details before moving on to larger ones. Dr. Lander turned away from me towards Casey. Okay, let's flip her over. Mrs. Weber, we're going to move you so that we can have access to you during the experiment.

She nodded at Casey, and with a grunt, they spun Mrs. Weber around to face us. When I saw her face, I gasped. Her eyes shone a bright red, without pupil or eye red. Covered in a film of blood, they looked demonic, vampiric even. Yet the blood, if that's what it was, didn't overflow. No crimson tears flowed down her face or stained her eyelids. She didn't look old, perhaps in her late 30s. She might have been pretty with her wavy, auburn hair and creamy, white skin. Yet the bloody demon eyes and blank, statuesque expression on her face ruined whatever beauty she

possessed. Mrs. Weber, if you ever want to see your family again, you have to cooperate with us, Dr. Lander said, her tone cold. I thought the use of the word, see, in politic under the circumstances. When Mrs. Weber's face continued to show as much expression as a statue's, Dr. Lander turned to the assistant. Please give the injection. Casey took a needle out of her pocket. It had a colorless liquid inside of it. Is this stuff similar? to the last experiment. I asked nervously, taking a step back. L.A. Do Whatever and AlphaPCP.

Casey lifted the plastic tubing taped into one of Mrs. Weber's veins and began injecting the drug before pulling out a saline syringe to flush the line. She exhibited a degree of nonchalance I could only characterize as outstanding, especially for someone whose work partner just got murdered by a werewolf a few minutes ago. This stuff is a new experimental substance, Dr. Lander said proudly. We have had some results using it on people with latent psychic powers. You won't find it on the streets, what is it? I asked nervously.

She paused for a long moment, as if lost in thought. You know what DMT, or dimethylethyptamine, is. It occurs naturally in the brain, and it also causes out-of-body experiences and mystical experiences. in most people. Of course I know what DMT is, I said. You know, when the Soviets did their own version of Mkulture back in the day, they mostly used DMT instead of LSD. Well, this new stuff makes DMT look like ginger beer, she said confidently. The lab used DMT as a starting point, but with tweaks of chemistry, we found something far stronger. She pulled out a clear, sealed vial and threw it to me with an underhand toss.

I read the label carefully, for Floro-H-O-D-M-T, it read. Experimental drug. Not approved by the FDA or DEA. Not for human consumption. I gave it back and she tucked it into a random lab coat. I looked back over at Mrs. Weber and gasped. Translucent white light flowed out from her body, from every pore on her skin and every hair. It circulated over her like water, flowing and reforming.

Her mouth formed an, oh, of horror and fear, a silent scream dying in that gaping black hole. Casey stood next to the woman, her eyes wide as she backed up a couple steps. She looked like she wanted to turn and run. I think we've just turned the lights on, Dr. Lander said, and now it's time to see if anyone's home. She checked her watch, counting down the seconds. After about 30 seconds, she sighed, turning to Casey. Give her another dose, please. Casey seemed to grow paler, but she took another syringe filled with the clear liquid and began to inject it into the line.

By the time she had flushed the last of the substance out of the line with saline, the light swirling around Mrs. Weber had become blinding. She suddenly sat up on her thin mattress, her face still formed into a silent scream. Her fingers began to twitch. Her arms jerked. Then her face smoothed into a placid, statuessque expression. Her head slowly turned until she was staring directly at me with those blood-red, sickly eyes. Whatever you do, don't touch her, a voice said from behind me, sounding like it came from far away.

I felt like I was drifting off as I stared into her eyes. I realized I was becoming hypnotized. A hand on my shoulder ripped me back to reality. I spun, backing up into the metal wall. And don't stare into her eyes. I looked and saw Casey standing there, a look of empathy on her young face. Mrs. Weber, I'm going to ask you a few questions, okay. Dr. Lander said in a falsely cheerful voice.

Mrs. Vaber's mannequin-like face turned to stare at Dr. Lander blankly, but Dr. Lander didn't return her stare. What is your full name? I didn't think she would answer. but after a moment, she did. Mary Louise Weber, she whispered in a blank, robotic voice. Okay, good, she said, writing something on a clipboard. And do you have knowledge of things happening outside this cell at this moment?

Yes, Mrs. Weber said simply. I can see all of it. Give me an example, Dr. Lander pressed. I know you haven't changed your underwear in two days, Mrs. Weber said. Does that suffice? Dr. Lander scratched something down on a clipboard. That's technically something inside this room, Dr. Lander said, unperturbed. Can you tell me something happening in China right now?

Xi Jinping is discussing three potential Taiwan invasion strategies with his staff, Mrs. Weber said. They want the invasion to start by 2025 at the latest. Does that count? Dr. Lander scribbled something, frantically writing out a much longer response on her clipboard, than any of the other answers elicited. And Mrs. Weber, do you know why you're here? Because I killed a school full of children, she droned. They told me 70 of them died.

Dr. Lander made a few quick scratches on her clipboard. And do you know how you killed them? Dr. Lander asked. The floor vibrated, as if an aftershock had passed underneath our feet. I looked worriedly at Dr. Lander, but she didn't respond. Mrs. Weber's face formed into a wide smile. It reminded me of the death mask of a tetanus patient and insane, Rickus grinned that showed no compassion.

Slowly, she said, drawing the word out, like I'm about to do to you. As she finished speaking, the light around her body expanded into a blinding flash. I backed up towards the door instinctively. I saw Casey doing the same. Once the light had cleared, Dr. Lander still stood there, but she wasn't alone with Mrs. Vaber anymore. Thousands of writhing black spiders began appearing and falling off her body, like a bubbling stream overflowing its banks. Dr. Lander looked down in astonishment for a fraction of a second before turning to run.

The stream of crawling predators swarmed around her, however, running up her sneakers and legs. I saw large brown recluses covering her chest and count. countless tiny black widows sneaking into her clothing. She began to shriek in horror and pain. Close the goddamn door. I screamed. Casey and I both started pushing on the sliding glass door as the spiders swarmed towards us. A few crossed the threshold, and a rising sense of panic began to overtake me.

Then, with a bang, it flew shut, slicing some of the larger brown recluses in half. A small stream of a few black widows skittered towards my shoes, but I began stomping them, seeing their tiny bodies squashed onto the concrete floor below. Next to me, I heard Casey breathing hard, muttering some incomprehensible prayer. I looked back in the cell and saw Dr. Lander stumbling around, a sprinting human pillar of spiders. They swarmed in her mouth, in her ears and eyes and nose, biting, skittering and jumping all over her body. She shrieked over and over, trying to pull them out of her mouth and nose, trying to smash her body against the wall to kill them, but after a few more seconds of countless bites,

her voice began to give out. She tried to walk towards the door, putting her arms out towards us, then stumbled and fell. Her arms and legs still twitched as she died on the cold floor below us. We'd better go call a code black for this, Casey said regretfully. Yeah, yeah, you're right. right, I said. I'm sure the guards will love this one. Casey shrugged. They're used to it, she said. This project is going to need a lot of work, I said, turning to face Casey. Do you still want to be a part of Operation Raven after all this? As long as you're in charge, she said,

smiling, always. Back when I was a teenager, I met this dude named Doug. We clicked fast, same humor, same chill vibes, and before long we were hanging out pretty much every day. Doug had some buddies who lived in this tiny little apartment complex, just four units total. Everyone there knew each other. It kind of felt like this mini-community where parties were low-key, music floated out of every open window, and nobody was calling the cops unless something really serious went down. A lot of the guys were older than us, a few already over 21, so we never really had issues getting beer or cheap bottles of vodka. That place became our weekend zone. We hang out, drink, sometimes smoke, and laugh until the sun came up. Life was simple back

then. No real responsibilities, no stress, just youth and freedom. One day, a new neighbor moved into the complex. He called himself blue. Yeah, just blue. We never found out if that was a nickname or his real name, but it suited him. This guy was huge, man. Built like an NFL linebacker. Towered over everybody. Muscles on muscles. He looked like he could lift a car without breaking a sweat. But the crazy part, he was nice. Like, super chill. He always had weed, always had booze, and never asked for anything in return. Naturally, we started hanging out with him. We asked him one night if he was into weightlifting or something because we were curious how the hell he got so jacked.

He chuckled and told us, real casual like, that he spent a few years in a state pen for manslaughter. No big deal, right? Just dropped it like he was talking about a summer vacation. Doug and I just kind of nodded, laughed nervously, and didn't press it. Something about the way he said it, like he was at peace with it, made us keep our mouths shut. Probably for the best. So time passes, and one night Blue invites us over for some drinks.

We walk into his apartment and notice two new faces, two dudes we'd never seen before. These guys weren't like the regular crew. They had this intense energy, like something was simmering just beneath the surface. And they were big, too, like Blue, but without the warm personality. These guys looked like they ate nails for breakfast. We sit down, start drinking, trying to keep it cool, but then they drop this question on us. Hey, you guys want to buy a kilo of weed? Doug and I look at each other like, is this for real?

We tell them straight up, we don't have that kind of money and we're not interested. But they keep pushing. Telling us to make calls, borrow from friends, whatever. Just real aggressive. It started feeling less like a friendly hangout and more like a trap. We were getting ready to bolt when Blue steps in, tells them to chill out. Says we're friends and they need to drop it. The tension broke a little, and we took that as our cue to leave, fast.

The next day, we find out those two guys had just gotten out of prison. Apparently, they knew Blue from inside. And get this, right after we left, they decided they were going to come after us. Thought they could shake us down, maybe rough us up, take what cash we might have had. Lucky for us, Blue wasn't having it. Caught them on the stairs and beat the living hell out of them. And I mean badly. Blue laid them out, told them they weren't welcome there ever again. From that moment on, Blue was kind of a legend to us. Our hero. Also, our weed guy. Yeah, he kept us supplied. But he wasn't just dealing. He had this

creative side too. Made pipes out of deer antlers. Sold them on the street by the beach. He even set up this little handmade wooden stand where he displayed his stuff. Really artistic dude, actually. Every time we'd past him working, we'd wave and shout hey. He'd always smile and wave back. So for about a year or so, that was life. Partying, getting high, dodging weird ex-cons, and hanging with Blue, who we thought was just a misunderstood giant with a rough past but a good heart. Then one day, completely unrelated, I ended up at the sheriff's office in Santa Cruz. Long story, but I was tagging along with a neighbor who, wild coincidence, happened to be the police chief. We walk into his office and I noticed this crime board thing, you know, like from the

movies. Photos, strings connecting people, scribbled notes. Dead center of it all. A giant picture of blue. My stomach dropped. I played it cool and asked, Hey, who's that guy, like I didn't know. Inside I was freaking out. Praying they didn't have surveillance of me or Doug buying weed from him.

The chief doesn't even look up from his desk and just says, that's Richard Summerholder. We just arrested him for killing two women inaptis. I felt like I got punched in the gut. A few days later, it hit the news. And it was everywhere. Turns out, there was a party up in the Santa Cruz Mountains. Blue offered two girls a ride up there.

At some point during the drive, he made a move, asking for, uh, favors. They said no. And just like that, he snapped. He killed them. Both. According to the news reports, it was brutal. When they finally arrested him and brought him to trial, he was so damn big they had to shackle both his hands and feet.

Like some medieval beast. The image still haunts me. The Santa Cruz Sentinel covered it all. You can still find the article if you dig through their archives. I couldn't wrap my head around it. This was blue, man. The guy who saved us. The guy who shared his weed, his drinks, who made antler pipes and smithes.

smiled at us every time we passed. A murderer. A monster hiding behind a friendly face. After the shock settled, I started replaying every interaction in my head. The time he told us about manslaughter. The night with the two ex-cons. The chill vibe that always felt slightly, off. It all made sense in the worst possible way.

He was always capable of violence. We just never saw it turned on us. Doug and I didn't talk about it much after. What was there to say? We got lucky. Really lucky. If we had stayed longer that night, if Blue hadn't stepped in, who knows what would have happened. We were just two dumb kids trying to have a good time, completely unaware we were partying with a killer.

And maybe that's the scariest part. You never really know someone. They could be the guy sharing a joint with you one night and making headlines. as a murderer the next. Life's funny like that. Or maybe just terrifying. So yeah, that was my teenage friendship with a killer named Blue. Real name Richard Summerholder.

Killer of two, savior of two, and one hell of a dark story I'll never forget. The end, or at least, the end of that chapter. For a while now, years, actually, we fantasized about having an extra man in bed for an erotic adventure, a threesome, that is. Well, maybe initially only in my imagination. But because of this, Jesse may have also started thinking about it in the following years, and the idea started to appeal to her more and more. The threesome should be completely focused on her, that should be the most, most important thing for me. But how do you approach that? Below you can read how our erotic adventure came about. A long story, written from the heart as they say, so take your time. As mentioned,

we talked about it regularly but never actually organized it. We've placed calls before but didn't follow through for various reasons. Or perhaps we ourselves saw too many reasons because we weren't really ready for it yet, unconsciously. We had enough excuses, no, first lose some weight, or when the kids are a few years older, to name a few. Meanwhile, life just went on and serious things also came along that made our mind simply not up to it. From the death of our last parent to a serious car accident for Jesse or the discovery of

lump in her breast, which fortunately turned out to be nothing. Why are we ready for it now? Yes, a very good question indeed, to which we don't have a clear answer. H? After all, we're heading towards 50, gulp face screaming in fear. The need to add excitement to our intimate life? Your guess is as good as mine, as the Americans say. So where do you start something like this? Just Google it and you'll quickly end up on sites or apps like SDC, Field, or other well-known apps. Field. We already had a free account there, didn't we? Oh yes, that's right. First download again, log in and request a password, because yes,

forgotten, huh? Refresh the profile a bit and then sit there twiddling your thumbs. Ping, he a response, ping, ping, wow, that's going well. After clicking on a few messages, the message, maximum free messages slash likes viewed reached, click here to purchase a paid subscription to see the rest. S.H. asterisk. T, that wasn't the intention. Let's see what a subscription costs then, Gulp Euro 29 per month. That's quite pricey. Let's read some reviews then, well, they're not good. So what now? In all those years, that app hasn't really delivered anything either,

so we decide not to do anything with it. Adjust the profile there again and we mention our email address in the profile. Well, then let's Google further. FetLife. Never heard of it. Let's try that then. When creating the profile, we are overwhelmed by the many kinks of which we didn't even know the existence of 85%. We mention a few that we do know and start researching. Oh, exciting, here we can also put our exciting. Okay, let's just say horny photos. We post a few because yes, we also find it fun to read reactions to them. Meanwhile, men also respond with private messages before we place a call. Apparently, our profile info also invites them. It seems to click with a few and the longer contact with messages back and forth seems to be getting more serious. In fact, we exchange some photos and those seem to be appreciated based on the reactions on both sides. We do find out that we are quite critical, my goodness, what a lot of things we find important and want.

But okay, as long as a possible, candidate doesn't mind that. With one person it seems to click particularly well and Jesse is becoming increasingly curious about him. It might be useful to mention, I post and respond on FetLife, but I discuss literally every word I respond or post with Jesse. But okay, this one person, let's call him Rick, finds the things important that we also find important and it seems to click exceptionally well. In fact, we are considering proposing an introductory meeting to him to see if that is also the case in real life. The little devil in our head whispers in the meantime, but what if someone doesn't show up, drops out, or is different in real life? that's true maybe it's useful to look a little further and have one or two people on hand as a backup plan so to speak of course we have to be transparent with the candidates about that we see that there are also groups and search for threesomes and threesomes and start clicking quietly we are referred to a group contacts and calls netherlands great that's handy let's place a call maybe we'll get a response we post a call that goes as follows copied and pasted for my convenience beaming face with smiling eyes.

Asterisk, making fantasy reality, first threesome. Nice that you are reading this call. So we are looking for a nice extra man to realize our first threesome. Since it is one of the most intimate things to share, we have a pretty demanding package. Keywords that we find important. 35 to 50 years. Non-smoking. Respectful.

Honest. Hygienic. Not a gym type. No, alpha male. Don't expect a quickie either. We want to make a well-consider choice and we'll first see if it clicks via email. So we are Sander, 54, and Jesse 52, married for some years and cannot receive guests at home. We are not gym types, enjoy life and therefore perhaps a few pounds too many, no problem for me, but sometimes difficult for Jesse's female insecurity, winking face with tongue.

Send a respectful message if you think you can experience this erotic adventure with us after our post. Greetings, Sander and Jesse. We press, post message, and leave the app alone. A few days later it's the weekend and suddenly we think of the app. Still take a look to see if there might already be a response. You don't mean it? So many. Dozens of reactions.

Okay, we didn't see that coming. What strikes us is that we get compliments from members who are not interested but only want to give their compliments on our honest and clear call. Nice to hear, of course, we haven't done anything special, for us. just place to call the way we are and the way we like to be treated, respectfully, sincerely and yes, also directly. We can immediately respond to quite a few messages that we don't have the impression that we are on the same page with us. A number of guys that are younger than 20 who respond that they want to help us, a number that can completely identify with the call but then also have in the profile, loves to dominate, loves lust and pain, has sadistic traits

or men who indicate that they cannot receive guests at home because their wife knows nothing about it and absolutely must not find out. Uh, miss that we value honesty. We, a, don't feel like drama afterwards, if the partner did find out after all and yes, that's just not how we are and it would simply feel very wrong for us since we ourselves are not like that. He, we got a message from Rick, cool. Maybe we can indicate that we want to meet to.

What? What? Okay, not the reaction we expected from him. In short lines, Rick indicates that he also has a very good feeling. about us, he has seen our call and suspects that we will be overwhelmed with responses. He has therefore decided to withdraw to make it easier for us and to protect us from having to make a difficult choice. WTF. With amazement we read it again, does it really say, to protect you I withdraw? Excuse me? We think we are capable and mature enough to make that

choice ourselves. What a strange reaction, where does this come from out of the blue? We would like an explanation about this and we want to respond, but if we want to respond we get the message. that that is not possible because Rick has blocked us. Well, that's completely beautiful. Quite a bit of time and energy invested in this contact, saw it coming and now we are cut off without a proper explanation. Meanwhile, the little devil in our head is jumping and screaming happily, Nana-na-na-na-na-a-na-ta-ha-ha-na-na.

But quickly we adopted a different mindset, with so many responses there will surely also be another suitable man. Eventually we reduced the number to three-quarters people with whom it really seems to click. Further contact via email and perhaps an introductory meeting will show whether that person also suits us. After all, it is not nothing to share such an intimate part of your life with someone. We want, as whiners as we are, to exclude as many risks as possible and hope to have a really nice, cozy and horny experience. We have fantasized for a long time so we can take our time and are not in a hurry. Sometimes uncertainty also strikes, should we do this? Our sex life is good now too.

Is he the right person? Etcetera. When we talk about it, it also turns out that we missed the spontaneity to just do something instead of just finding reasons not to do it. I know it, I know it. Spontaneity, I also read it, meanwhile we have a set of requirements going to the moon and back winking face with tongue. Meanwhile, a few more people are dropping off our list, a few more are falling off our list.

We've decided that if we have doubts, we won't continue with someone, even if it means losing a few really nice contacts. Of course, we'll communicate that to them as well. With an English-speaking man, it simply means that Jesse doesn't have enough confidence in her English for everything to be clear during the threesome. Too bad, but that's the way it is. Then we check our regular mailbox,

a message from someone who read our ad on field. In his email he describes that he wasn't even looking for a threesome and actually doesn't know why he feels he has to respond when he saw our ad and profile. In a fairly long email he explains who he is and what kind of person he is. There are many similarities between what we are looking for and what we find important, and he mentions a lot of that in his email. It's striking that he can't know about our requirements without previous email contact

and yet he ticks a lot of boxes. In his email he also attached a photo, with his face, of himself directly and Jesse finds his open expression very pleasant. Shit, what now? We had planned to stick to the list we had and choose. from that, but this sounds and clicks immediately too. We'll sleep on it. Actually, we know it too, let's keep this last person in mind as well, everything in his email clicks and it would have to go wrong for this to suddenly change in the coming time. So messages go back and forth

to two-thirds men and the contacts remain particularly nice and horny due to the photos we send each other. For example, someone suggests that he would like to try a double vaginal penetration and if we see that too. Jesse indicates that she hasn't thought about it before, but it seems exciting to her to try. Someone else asks if Jesse has ever squirted and if she would like to. She has never squirted before and it seems to her, but to me too, a particularly horny experience if it were to happen and succeed. We also involve this foreplay in our sex life and even come up with ideas that we could implement during a possible encounter. For example, we also try a double vaginal penetration, with a toy now, she already finds it

very nice so with a real penis it should definitely be even better. A sandwich where she is penetrated both vaginally and anally was already on the wish list. But well, that's for later, but the anticipation is definitely there. We also realize that we can't keep emailing back and forth and will have to take the plunge once if we want to experience this erotic adventure and we decide to meet the person who responded last, the feeling is the greatest with Jesse and everything fits. We email him and ask if he is interested in an introductory meeting and give our mobile number. A little later we get a WhatsApp message, just tell me when and where then I'll be there. We decide not to go to a pub or anything like that. We want to be able to talk freely

without people around us hearing what we're discussing. We choose a location halfway between our addresses and make an appointment a few days later at the entrance of a forest. Of course, we are too early, as the time approaches the little devil starts jumping up and down again with, you see, he won't show up. Ping, a message, I'll be there in 10 minutes, stuck in traffic. Okay, that's fine then. We walk nervously back and forth and keep an eye on the road he will be coming from. In the distance we see a car approaching slowly. Jesse's heart rate, I confess, mine too, rises to 300 BPM. The car parks and the man from the photo gets out. Walks towards us and gives Jesse three kisses and me a handshake. Few, are you both as nervous?

He asks and we nod. We start walking and start with cautious questions like, So, how were the holidays, or nice walk here, isn't it? A short time later the ice is broken as we talk about who we are and how we came to want to have such an intimate, sexual adventure. Just like the pleasant email contact it also continued, fortunately, like that during the walk, occasionally he puts an arm around her, I see that she still finds it a bit awkward, and after 1.5 hours we realized that it is actually also cozy. We don't talk about the details for the real encounter, as we have already discussed a lot

during email contact and we don't expect the final details to be a problem. When asked if it is for a one-time appointment for him or if it will be repeated, he says, No, I'm not looking for something just once, and we say we don't know if it will be a one-time thing for us. After all, it's our first time and if we don't like it afterwards, it will naturally stop for us. Fortunately, he understands that too. We walk towards the cars and with a, wow, what beautiful green eyes you have Jesse, and I think I'll like this, we say goodbye and agree to stay in touch. The drive home we evaluate the conversation and the person and agree that he is a person we are looking for. Now we just have to make an appointment which won't be very

quick or easy due to his work schedule which changes quite often. When we get home we app him and say that we like him and that we should meet up. He replies that he had a great time despite the tension and would like to meet up. The first few weeks we try to make an appointment but his schedule doesn't work. What's handy to know is that we don't want to meet at his place or hours, but rather at a neutral location like a hotel or holiday home, where facilities like a bath slash shower are available, just nice and practical. Meeting at home in a small village and with our children still living at home simply isn't an option. Over the next few weeks, the app contact is relatively quiet, we send each other horny photos or short videos, and of course, he comes up during our sex.

Once, during our sex, we sent him live on WhatsApp how my tongue was going through her delicious pussy and asked if he was excited about that too. That also doesn't leave Jesse unaffected, and I feel and taste that her pussy is wetter than ever before. Of course, we also find it super exciting and all kinds of scenarios go through our heads. Positive but also negative, I try to prepare myself as much as possible and scour FetLife and the internet for information about threesomes. It would probably be so much easier to be spontaneous, but we just aren't anymore, I think

it's also an age thing, we want to minimize risks as much as possible. On FedLife, I found a really long post about a threesome, how to approach it, what to think about, the do's and don'ts, etc. A really helpful article for me slash us. For example, I also read that as a man you shouldn't be surprised if your woman moans louder with him, is hornier with him, or even spontaneously orgasm with him. She will most likely react more horny to everything he does or does to her. For the simple reason that he is new, has a different dick, will touch her differently than

the one who has known and touched all her spots for so many years. But well, it's smart to keep in mind that when she's now moaning or howling at the moon, it doesn't mean she hasn't enjoyed herself in the past years or that you're not good enough for her. There were many more useful tips in there, if I remember I'll share the post below in a comment, otherwise just remind me. Meanwhile, Jesse and I also talk a lot about expectations and any boundaries we want to set. For example, she asks what I would think if she were to tongue the other.

Initially, I indicate that that might indeed be too intimate for me to see. A moment later I realized that she always enjoys doing it, when she's so in her zone, and relaxed enough to tongue him, who am I to make a problem out of that? It's also not inevitable that she will automatically stick her tongue in his mouth out of habit slash horniness. To make a problem out of that because we had agreed on it makes no sense either, she will feel guilty and will probably also think that I am angry with her and the experience is ruined by something as simple as a tongue kiss.

Of course, there will be moments when I have to swallow, the things that I find very horny to see also seem to me the difficult, short, moments. His tongue going through her pussy for the first time, his dick filling her for the first time. Her body reacting to his touches, etc. However, I also want her to enjoy herself as much as possible and sincerely hope that she can let herself go completely. At the end of the day, she'll just go home with me again. We are a great team and nothing like that can ever come between us.

Don't get me wrong, we're doing this together, and it's an experience for both of us. If she were to cheat, for example, that would be the end, we are always honest and sincere with each other, and if something like cheating were to happen secretly, that would be unacceptable. Where were we? Oh yes, with trying to plan an appointment. That has actually succeeded in the meantime, and is scheduled for mid-February. New lingerie sets have already been shopped, of course, and also practical things like lubricant and a splash blanket. It. Where are the condoms? I hear you think. Well, we're not going to use them. The condition that

came with it was that we would all have an STD test. Nobody wants unpleasant surprises afterwards, right? But the big weight has now begun, and it is, for us, really, really super exciting. We hope that this will be such a success that it can be repeated, preferably with the same person, I can imagine that it will become more and more relaxed. But for all we know, we won't like it and it will stay with this one encounter. We'll see. If you've managed to read this far, we hope we've taken you a bit on our adventure and thoughts towards our first threesome. Hopefully you enjoyed reading it. If you want to read the follow-up and about the actual encounter, feel free to respond below. Greetings, Sander and Jesse. Very special thanks to the Fetlifers who advised us and responded

to our questions. Oxygen that kills. Oxygen is the most crucial source for survival on the planet and a necessity for every human being, or I could say, every organism on Earth. But what if there's a place where oxygen, rather than being a source of survival, becomes a source of destruction? The story begins in a normal village where everything seems to be fine. One day, few people got infected some random disease, such as cough and trouble breathing, which they thought was caused by the newly built industries around the village. Since these diseases were not that serious, they just ignored it. But after some time, the same thing happened to other people, and the disease started spreading exponentially

and became more lethal. Before the people of the village could figure out what precautions to take or how to cure the disease, the entire village was eventually wiped out. The biggest mistake they made was ignoring the symptoms, as they seemed minor. Now, is there any poisonous oxygen present around us? The answer is, yes, and if you ask me what it is, I would say it is education. Education, being the most crucial thing a human can acquire, has the problem. power both to create and to destroy an individual and their surroundings. It is what shapes one's

behavior, character, personality, thoughts, morals, and many other factors, all of which combine to make them a social creature who can invent, construct, and destroy the surrounding according to themselves with the knowledge they possess. And, if you ask about the effect of this on other organisms, it is that humans, both directly and indirectly, influence the natural world, impacting its activities in either a positive or negative way, which, in turn, affects other living beings. But what about today's world? In today's world, education is just a tool, a medium to achieve something, rather than a goal that needs to be achieved. Being one of the most powerful tool a human can have, it has somehow become one of the most ignored subject in the

society because, as in the story, the symptoms seem minor. But what are the symptoms? The symptoms are the arrogance within oneself, the malfunctioning of the system, being self-centered, rising crime rates, the decline of moral values, selfishness, the diminishing of humanity, and many more. Anything that's wrong in society can be fixed through education, if not fully, then to an extent that will be much better than the current situation. Now, it's our choice, either we plant new trees, implement changes, or reform the system, or we wait until the entire village, or nation, eventually collapses. I met my ex-erick, her real name is a boy's name, in grad school. I was doing my PhD,

She was at law school, we met at a Habod Hanukkah party. She was my first relationship and I was head over heels in love with her. She was smart, she was passionate, she was funny, she was beautiful, with medium brown hair, amazing hazel eyes, skin on the darker end of incredibly white and had amazing curves. Not too surprisingly considering the location and context, she dressed very east coast slash classy slash preppy slash I don't know what to call it I'm from Boulder God help me I promise that these details about her appearance are important. Looking back, I think she may have been less into me than I was into her, but she was more than loving and affectionate enough in return. Considering that most of my retrospection occurred after being dumped,

I'm not sure that I can trust my analysis of the situation anyway. I digress. After a year and a half, she graduated and took a position on the opposite side of the country, our school was in the northeast, her job was in L.A. I asked if there weren't any closer positions, I mean, we were in the northeast, there's no lack of law firms or whatever, and she said that she wanted this particular position with this particular mentor as part of a career trajectory that she'd been planning out for years. I asked if we could be long distance for the two years until I graduated, she said that she didn't think that long distance ever worked. I begged and pleaded, I would visit her every break, I would work my ass off

to graduate early, I would ask my advisor if I could be remote when I wrote my dissertation, anything and everything I could think of. She turned it all down, and the most she would allow was that after I graduated, if I wanted I could move to L.A. and if we were both single we could revisit. Screw that, even if I didn't hate L.A., but I would have moved there for Eric. I was in love, but I had some self-respect. I would love to say that after that I hit the gym, got a glow up and started having threesomes with models every weekend, but what actually happened was that I got super depressed and lost myself in my work.

I didn't date again for three years. After graduating, I got a postdoc at a national lab in Colorado. I'm actually from Colorado, and even though I moved there for the job specifically, it was really nice to be near my family. The love, the sunshine, and being around people who weren't all assholes all of the time really helped me recover, and I was just getting ready to dip my toes back into the dating pool. I reconnected with some friends from high school and ended up going to a punk show where a friend of a friend was playing, fun fact, it turns out that folk punk is a thing.

In between sets, we're standing in line for drinks and this girl comes up to us and says to me, my friend Lisa thinks you're hot. The friend in question was razor thin, like, drug problem, eating disorder, or both, skinny, it turned out to be both, of course, had super short bleached blonde hair. When I tell story of how we met in real life, I usually say that her hair looked like M&Ms, and was dressed a little over-the-top punky. Tight black jeans with strategic rips, a T-shirt that said, Nazi punks F, off, a leather jacket covered in patches and pins, and army boots, and had a bunch of piercings,

again, general details of her appearance and dress are important. She kind of looked a little like she was cosplaying a punk, more than an actual punk, if that makes sense. Especially because her look was somewhat countered by the fact that she looked like she wanted to sink into the floor from embarrassment. To be honest, I was not particularly inclined to go along with it, but earlier that day my friend John had made me promise to say yes to any girl who showed interest in me. She wasn't smoking and didn't look gross, the two exceptions I was able to squeeze out of John, so why not?

I went over, we chatted a little. Our two groups ended up staying together when the next band came on so that the two of U.S. could hang. After the show, she invited me back to her place. I told her that I wasn't that kind of gal, but that I'd love to see her again and ask to exchange phone numbers. She told me that she didn't have a phone, so I just told her the name of a nice coffee shop and 5 p.m. tomorrow. She said she was working then, but could I do 10 a.m. the next day? I said sure, fully expecting her not to show. But she did. She was even early. We ended up talking for the entirety of the day, transitioning from coffee to lunch to more coffee to a museum to dinner to a

park. I didn't mean to, but I ended up telling her about Eric, and she gave me the details of her recent past, she was raised upper middle class in a well-to-do New York suburb, the oldest daughter of two very high-performing individuals who pushed her really hard as a kid. She went to an Ivy League school for undergrad, then another for med school, before having a nervous breakdown second year. She dropped out, cut off contact with her family, and moved away. She was homeless for a while, had some drug problems, and eventually drifted to Denver where she decided to get her shit together and went to paramedic school. It was weirdly personal for a first date, but by that point we'd been together for like eight straight hours, and I didn't mind it.

At 9 p.m., she told me she had to go because she had an early shift the next day, and she had tears in her eyes because she said she so wanted to see me again but didn't know how we'd stay in touch. I pulled out a burner phone I'd gotten her, pre-programmed with my phone number and the numbers of two good Korean places. She'd mentioned at the concert missing Korean food. She started full-on ugly crying and I kissed her. Anyway, after that we started dating and she moved in with me faster than she should have, but I was living alone and her living situation was, less than ideal. John, who had made me agree to talk to Lisa in the first place, told me half joking, half serious that he was. was kind of pissed that I found a girlfriend immediately instead of having some fun, and that this was not what he had intended. Screw John. As she started to get more comfortable with our relationship and in herself, she started getting less punky, growing her hair out, no longer bleaching it, wearing less makeup,

taking out some piercings, etc. I want to emphasize that at no time did I tell her to do any of these things, though I'll admit that I did find her more attractive that way and maybe she picked up on it. I think that a big moment happened when I brought her home to Passover Seder and she saw how completely no one cared about her look. I grew up in Boulder, one of six children born to a pair of old hippies. Lisa spent an enormous amount of time trying to get ready for Sater, not knowing how to dress, wanting to go full punk, then wanting to go wearing formal evening wear, vacillating in driving me crazy. She kept asking me if this or that outfit was appropriate, and I told her that my parents were hippies. from Boulder and that they wouldn't blink if she turned up naked and covered in menstrual blood

as a piece of performance art, it's a sign of how stressed she was that she didn't laugh. She ended up wearing a simple black dress and no makeup, but left all of her facial piercings in and wore combat boots. I guess as a sort of compromise between her internal feeling that she needed to dress up for the holiday dinner and a sort of belligerence that she wasn't going to compromise her identity for my, read, projections of her, family. Anyway, no one cared. When we walked in, my mom greeted her with a hug and told her how lovely she looked. In my slacks and polo shirt, I was the second most dressed up after my dad, with most of my siblings, in-laws, and nieces and nephews wearing jeans and a t-shirt.

One sister-in-law was wearing an unzipped fleece over a bikini as she'd just come from the pool and her husband was running late with clothes for her to change into. One sister was wearing a bathrobe. When my brother came in wearing a suit, Lisa started freaking out a little until he immediately threw off his coat and pulled his shirt tails out of his pants, complaining about having to dress up to go to district court. Somehow, the absolute level of acceptance made her feel less of a need to dress to distinguish herself, I guess. I don't get it, but I'm told it's not uncommon. I'm getting to a point, which is, within about a year of us dating, Lisa had gone back to med school, gained some weight, grown out her hair and brought it back to its natural brown color,

removed most of her piercings, and started dressing, normally, honestly, overdressing a little since she kept her East Coast style, though she still wore her leather jacket out most of the time. Her skin also darkened a little after she stopped pulling night shifts and started going on some more hikes, she still has naturally pale skin, but she stopped looking like a leukemia a patient and even developed a bit of a tan. This description may sound a little familiar to those reading along, but I didn't really notice it at the time. Anyway, we've been dating for about two years and right now we're back east for the wedding of a good friend of mine from grad school. Lisa came along as my plus one, but after a lot of discussion she decided

that this was a good opportunity to re-establish contact with her family, since I'd be there to support her and she'd have a rock-solid excuse to leave after a couple days. This is the first time she's been back since leaving, and her only contact with her family for four years has been postcards and a little bit of texting to coordinate this visit. There was a lot of crying, a lot of reconciliation, and her parents took me aside and told me, thank you for bringing our daughter back. When I had to push on to some pre-wedding stuff, the friend getting married is Indian, so there's a lot, she stayed behind for a few extra days but promised she be along before the

ceremony. Anyway, a couple days ago I was at one of the pre-wedding things, and I'm outside chatting with some friends, more than a little tipsy, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turn and see Lisa, who I guess decided to surprise me. I pulled her in for a big kiss and she was a little stiff for a moment before relaxing into it. I pulled back and asked her how things went with her parents. She looked at me in a state of shock and said, after all this time, after that kiss, that's your question. And she said it with a long island accent. My drunk ass started to realize that this is Eric.

I guess in the dim lighting, in my inebriated state, and seeing her out of my peripheral vision, I figured she was Lisa. I explained the mistake and she brushed it off. We chatted about nothing in particular for a while. She seemed to really want to talk to me, but I was freaking out because I was way too drunk to handle a situation. situation in which I kissed my ex-girlfriend. I was double freaking out because I know how hard it was for Lisa to open up to me, and I know how fraught her emotional situation was right

then, and I was afraid that this betrayal would ruin everything. I excused myself fairly quickly, got back to my room, and called Lisa. I word vomited the situation out to her, and to my enormous relief she laughed it off and gently recommended that I be a little more sparing at the bar, in fact, that was the last alcohol I've touched on this trip aside from a little champagne at the wedding proper. In retrospect, I don't know why I didn't expect Eric to be there since she was a pretty good friend of the bride. We were all in grad school together, including the groom and a bunch of the guests. Bride was also a lawyer like Eric had been and that was how they knew each other, though we also had PhDs, MDs, an architect, an MPP, a nurse practitioner,

TLDR, we're a bunch of dorks. Anyway, Eric has spent the last couple of days trying to talk to me as much as she can. As far as I can tell, life is proceeding according to plan, but she's not very happy. Men in L.A. are selfish and superficial, she hates being so far from her family, her amazing mentor is amazing, but also an asshole, she hates having to drive everywhere. I've been dodging her when I can, making non-committal noises when I can't. The day of the wedding, today, Lisa finally arrived just a couple hours before the ceremony. I've been keeping her apprised of the situation and her interpretation is that for Eric,

I'm the one that got away and if she just stayed with me literally everything in her life would be better. Which is obviously bullshit, but even smart people can believe bullshit when they want to. For the ceremony, Lisa decided to wear a sari, as did most of the women attending, the bride recommended a particular shop that had a lot of experience clothing white women in saris and gave everyone a bulk discount for the wedding, and she got one in an amazing green that really brought out the green in her eyes. The ceremony was great, and in the mingling afterwards there was a moment when I came back from the bathroom and spotted Lisa from behind. I came up and slipped my arm around her waist. But then Lisa came up in front of us, and she dropped her glass of

champagne in shock. I looked at the woman I've got my arm around, and it was also Lisa, except that Lisa had helix piercings in while this woman only had rings in her earlobes, or at least in her left earlobe, which was the only one I could see. Immensely confused, I withdrew my arm and then looked at Eric. And then back at Lisa. I took a few steps back. I swear to God, they looked like the same person. Normally, they probably would have looked like sisters, it was hard for me to tell when I wasn't seeing them side by side, but with identical makeup and wearing identical dresses in an identical color, they looked the exact same. I love Lisa more than life itself, but if it wasn't for the earrings, I really don't think

I would have been able to tell the difference. At this point we've attracted an audience, probably drawn by the breaking glass. I wasn't the only person who was weirded out, and a lot of phones came out. After I don't know how long, probably like 20 seconds, though it felt like approximately three hours, the actual wedding photographer came over, no doubt drawn like a shark to the blood of good pictures. I quickly went over to Lisa and suggested that we had somewhere quiet for a moment. Which we did. I started apologizing for touching my ex so closely again, but Lisa cut me off and told me that if she wasn't herself, she would have believed that I was standing there with her. She said that she had a weird surreal moment

where she felt like she was out of her body, or maybe she was dreaming. But then she snorted and kissed me and told me to be careful not to get any goatee hairs in my mouth. When I protested that she was obviously the good twin, she gave me a wicked grin and told me that she'd have to work on convincing me otherwise. We went back to the main area, and I resolved not to break physical contact with Lisa for the rest of the trip. I haven't seen Eric again since. that was a few hours ago we're back in our room and lisa put in the effort to make sure i understand how thoroughly evil she is but i can't sleep and just had to write this all down to try and order things out in my own head i'm sorry if all the background i gave about lisa was unnecessary i guess i was just trying to explain that when i started seeing her she looked nothing like eric and that the change was so gradual that i didn't notice i'm also really nervous that lisa actually was hurt by

me being with Eric and is just putting on a good face. Anyway, we're here for two more full days, and I've decided that I'm going to continue the whole, don't leave physical contact with Lisa thing until we're on the plane. Back in the early 90s, in the bustling city of Madrid, a married couple named Angela and Noel decided to embark on a new venture. They opened an antique shop in the front part of their property, while the back was transformed into a restoration workshop where private classes were held. Business was booming in the beginning. The shop was profitable, the workshop attracted eager students, and customers raved about Angela and Noel's warm and generous personalities. Everything seemed to be going perfectly, until 1998, when something inexplicably strange began to happen.

From one day to the next, their idyllic life turned into a waking nightmare. Angela and Noel were, by all accounts, the kind of couple everyone liked. Friendly, kind, and generous, they were well-loved in their neighborhood. When they announced their plan to open an antique shop, their friends and neighbors were thrilled and supportive. The shop was located at No. 10, Marquez de Monasterio Street, and they gave it a charming name, the monk's chest, inspired by one of the unique items they sold.

For years, things couldn't have gone better. The shop had regular customers, the restoration classes were thriving, and Angela and Noel's dedication to their craft was admired by everyone. But in 1998, something changed. The unexplained begins. One day, out of nowhere, Angela and Noel started hearing knocking sounds. Not just from one place, but everywhere, on walls, ceilings, floors, and even furniture. The strange thing was that the sound seemed to have no clear origin. At first, they chalked it up to ordinary explanations, maybe a neighbor was renovating, hammering nails, or hanging pictures.

Yet as days passed, they realized this was no home improvement project. Then came the next strange incident. Angela and Noel were in the shop attending to a customer when they heard the unmistakable crash of a large glass object shattering. The sound echoed through the store, but when they rushed over to investigate, everything was in perfect order. Nothing was broken. As the days went by, the mysterious sounds grew worse, now they were accompanied by the noises of furniture scraping against the floor as if being moved by unseen hands. Soon, it wasn't just noises. Every morning, when they opened the shop, they found that the hands of all the clocks had gone haywire. They spun wildly, pointing at random times without stopping, as though something, or someone, was playing with them.

At first, Angela and Noelle suspected their workshop students were playing pranks. Maybe the kids thought it'd be funny to make it seem like the place was haunted. But when they confronted their students, they were met with confusion and denial. As weeks turned into months, the eerie events escalated. Objects began disappearing from the shelves, only to reappear days later in the exact spot where they were supposed to be. Unexplained chills swept through the shop, and foul odors, so pungent they were almost unbearable, would suddenly fill the air. And just as suddenly, the stench would be replaced by the scent of fresh roses, as if the air itself was mocking them. Things take a darker turn.

One day, Noel was standing at the shop's entrance when something peculiar happened, a piece of charred wood fell from the ceiling and landed at his feet. Startled, he looked up to see where it had come from, but the ceiling was intact. There was no hole, no burnt patches, nothing to explain why a scorched piece of wood would have fallen. And this wasn't the last time something like this occurred. On another occasion, small flakes of ash began to drift down from the ceiling while Noelle was speaking to a customer. Everyone looked up, expecting to see evidence of a fire, but again, nothing was there. Perhaps the most unnerving of all was the strange behavior of a particular item, a terracotta ram's head. No matter where Angela and Noel placed it, the next day

it would be somewhere else. Convinced it was cursed, they decided to get rid of it. They threw it into a trash bin outside the shop, relieved to finally be rid of the creepy thing. But the very next morning, it was back inside the shop, sitting in its usual spot. A paranormal investigation, by February 1999, Angela and Noel had had enough. Desperate for answers, they reached out to the Grupo Epta, a well-known paranormal investigation team. Formed in 1987 by Jesuit priest José Maria Pilon, the team consisted of professionals from various backgrounds, psychologists, journalists, and pharmacists, who shared a common interest in the paranormal. They took on some of the most chilling cases in Spain, and the monk's chest was about to

become one of their most infamous investigations. When the investigators arrived, the shop wasted no time in revealing its sinister secrets. Fawcets in the bathroom turned on by themselves. themselves. Loud knocks emanated from furniture. A large wardrobe moved on its own. Chess pieces slid across the board without human intervention. And, in a particularly spine-chilling moment, a chandelier began to sway gently, as though being pushed by invisible hands. One of the most compelling pieces of evidence came from investigator Paloma Navarret. While filming in the shop, she walked through a hallway she had just passed minutes earlier, only to find a massive bed frame blocking her path. Confused, she really was. She reached, she really

wound the footage to confirm that the hallway had been clear moments before. Even more unsettling, a cigar cutter suddenly fell from the ceiling and landed in front of her, despite there being no explanation for how it could have appeared there. Possible explanations. After conducting their investigation, the Grupo Epta proposed three possible explanations for the strange activity. The cursed object theory. One possibility was that one of the antiques in the shop was cursed, and its dark energy was responsible for the paranormal events. This was the least favored theory, as no specific item seemed to carry enough significance to explain the phenomena. The Restless Spirit Theory, another hypothesis was that the shop was haunted by a disturbed spirit.

Historical records revealed that a previous tenant of the property had died in a fire caused by a cigarette. This could explain the recurring appearances of burnt wood, ashes, and the charred doll's head. The psychokinesis theory, the most unsettling theory, was that Noel himself was the source of the activity. The investigators speculated that he might unknowingly possess psychokinetic abilities, causing objects to move and strange events to occur through subconscious mental energy. This wasn't the first time Noel had experienced such phenomena, similar events had plagued him in other properties he had owned. The aftermath, despite their best efforts, the paranormal investigators were unable to put an end

to the activity at the monk's chest. Over time, the events grew less frequent but never fully stopped. Customers, frightened by the shop's eerie reputation, began to stay away, and eventually, Angela and Noelle were forced to close the business. Even today, the story of the monk's chest remains a chilling mystery. What caused the strange events? Was it a curse, a ghost, or something even more inexplicable? That's for you to decide.

So, what do you think? Do you believe the shop was haunted? Or was Noelle unknowingly conjuring these events with his mind? Whatever the truth, one thing's for sure, the story of the monk's chest is one that won't be forgotten any time soon. What I'm about to share happened during the Christmas season of 2001, when Samantha was just nine years old. Her family had a tradition of gathering together for Christmas, traveling to different places to celebrate. They would rent a house or a bungalow and spend New Year's Eve and Three Kings Day there. Samantha's family was large, her paternal

grandparents had ten children, all of whom, except for the two youngest, also had family. of their own. Renting a house together was always affordable, but after two or three days of spending time together, the costs added up. They'd rent another house, get together again, and fight once more. What was interesting was that, according to Samantha, her uncles didn't get along, her cousins hated each other, but they all had one thing in common, they all loved their grandparents. And for their grandparents, they would repeat the same tradition every year. However, in the middle of 1999, the grandfather passed away, and at the beginning of 2000, the grandmother also passed.

The tradition ended forever. The children stopped calling each other, stopped gathering together, and acted as if they didn't even know each other anymore. Still, Samantha's parents loved Christmas, so they decided to continue the tradition in their own way. In 2001, her parents rented a house in a remote location, and they traveled there on December 24th with her older brothers, Fran and Eric. The idea of her parents was simple,

unpack the bags and decorate the house with various ornaments. Samantha remembered bringing a Christmas tree, and she and her mother set it up. Fran and Eric decorated the stairs, and her father placed lights outside the house. The rented house was a two-story building, with three bedrooms, two bathrooms, an open kitchen, a small living room, a fireplace, and a backyard.

It had everything they were looking for to make it the perfect Christmas, and the kids were delighted. However, it didn't take long for strange events to begin. One night, while watching TV together, the lights on the Christmas tree started to flicker. These were the kind of lights that worked with batteries and had several combinations, first they flickered, then they stayed on, then they would go off and slowly light up again. But for no reason, the lights got stuck on the flickering mode. The flicker became constant, unlike the one they had seen just moments before.

Samantha's father stood up, walked over to the tree, grabbed the battery pack, and, at that exact moment, the house's circuit breakers tripped, plunging the house into darkness. They went to the nearby forest, gathered branches, cut some wood, and tried to start a fire in the fireplace. But the wood just wouldn't catch. They spent hours trying to light the fire, but it was impossible. They used fire starters, newspaper, everything, but nothing worked. There were more odd things happening as well, her mother would put something on the stove to cook,

and when she came back, the fire would be out. She'd leave the light on in a room, and as soon as she left, it would turn off by itself. The house wasn't modern, so it didn't have motion sensors. There was no explanation for these strange occurrences. One night, while everyone was sleeping, Samantha's brothers ran out of their room, screaming. They made so much noise that the whole family woke up. When their parents rushed out of bed and turned on the lights, they didn't work. Samantha didn't know anything about this at the time, but when she got older, her brothers

told her what had happened. They said that at night, the floor of their room, which was made of tiles, would creak as if someone was walking on it. They joked that they shared the room with a ghost. That night, Fran, who was 16, made jokes about it. He was sleeping in the top bunk, while Iker, 14, slept in the bottom. As the floor creaked, Fran made the usual, is someone. there, joke." The creaking stopped immediately.

Fran then continued asking, What's your name, and the floor creaked again, but this time, it moved toward the bottom bunk. Iker got nervous and begged Fran to stop, to stop playing the game, but Fran was the type of person who wouldn't know when to stop. He kept asking, Who are you? Why are you here? Suddenly, Iker jumped out of bed and ran out of the room, making a lot of noise. Fran couldn't stop laughing long enough to call out to Iker.

And then, he felt someone pushing his mattress from below, as though someone had gotten into Iker's bed and was pushing the mattress from there. It started at the foot of the bed and moved slowly. Fran thought he was imagining it, but then he heard a voice saying, Here I am, a king. Samantha's parents didn't want to believe the story. They were sure that the boys had played around so much with the idea of a ghost that they started imagining things that didn't make sense. They refused to leave the house, they had paid for the whole holiday and weren't about to leave

because of some silly superstition. However, soon, things would become too obvious for everyone to ignore. On the afternoon of January 5, 2002, Samantha placed cookies, milk, and water under the tree for the Three Kings. Normally, people leave these items before going to bed, but Samantha was very nervous. So, before heading out to see the parade, she set up the cookies and milk and then went upstairs to change. The family then went to the parade, collected candy, and returned to the house.

As soon as Samantha crossed the threshold, she went straight to check the cookies, milk, and water. Once again, the glass of water was empty. The entire family was baffled and couldn't understand how it was possible. As a game, to make the last night in the house a little more fun, Samantha's parents made the kids sleep in their room. They moved the mattresses onto the floor, brought blankets, and made it a cozy night. The next morning, they had to leave the house by noon, but they were up at 7 a.m. and out the door by 9.30. Since then, they never returned. Samantha had always been a huge fan of Christmas.

As a child, she watched the movie, The Grinch who stole Christmas, and fell in love with the story, the settings, and the characters. Her favorite character was Cindy Lou Who, and every Christmas she asked the three kings for her doll. She always asked for the same doll, but it never arrived. She understood that it was difficult to find such a doll because she never found anything like it in the stores, and she suspected the kings couldn't find it either. Eventually, one of the three kings had a brilliant idea. Samantha's grandmother, Amalia, lived in Mexico and would travel to Spain once a year to visit the family. Whenever she traveled, she would bring tons of gifts, clothes, toys, and even Mexican

handicrafts. She was a very generous woman. Another thing that made her stand out was her obsession with porcelain dolls. She had an entire room filled with them, shelves, tables, the floor, everywhere. One year, Amalia had the idea of creating the Cindy Lou who doll herself. She spent several months searching different markets for the perfect doll. It had to be blonde, with blue eyes, long hair, thick lashes, and large, expressive eyes. Eventually, she found it.

She also made a red jacket, gloves, earmuffs, and found other accessories for the doll. She even styled the hair into Cindy Lou's signature look, braided, with lots of hairspray. After packing the doll in a box, Amalia traveled to Spain with it. When Samantha received the doll, she was the happiest girl alive. The terrifying experiences of three friends reached their peak when one of them crouched to peer under the door. They saw the shadow of footsteps pacing on the other side. This is the story of a girl will call Meal.

Her origins remain unknown, no one knows where she was born, who her parents are, or even where she lives. But today, her background doesn't matter. It's important is what Meal experienced during her second year at university. The college she chose was far from her home. Coincidentally, her boyfriend, Gill, and a friend, Alvaro, faced the same issue. They all decided to move in together to share living expenses. It was a great arrangement until the following year when Alvaro got a girlfriend and moved

out to live with her. This left Meal and Gil with higher rent, so they decided to bring in another roommate. Hill suggested Feed, describing him as someone quiet, punctual with payments, and reliable. Meal agreed, and Feed moved in. At first, everything seemed fine. But soon, Meal noticed unsettling behavior. Feed had peculiar beliefs that made her uneasy. While she tried to respect his practices, they unnerved her.

He set up a strange altar in his room and explicitly forbade anyone from touching it. Over time, Meal began to feel uncomfortable in her own home. She sensed they were not alone. It felt like there was a presence in the apartment, or perhaps multiple. Shadows flickered in her peripheral vision, darting down the hall when no one was around. The atmosphere became oppressive, and she started to feel chronically tired, often sleeping excessively without feeling rested. Gill, however, dismissed her fears.

To him, the apartment felt normal. For a while, it seemed like Meal's discomfort might be psychological. Eventually, Feed moved out to live with his parents, taking his altar with him. Meal and Gill, now struggling with rent again, decided to take on two more roommates, David, a mystical guy, and Tony, a devout Catholic. With Feed gone, one might think the unsettling energy would dissipate. But things only worsened for meal. Her fatigue escalated until she spent entire days in bed, rising only to eat or use the

bathroom. She felt drained, yet no one else in the house experienced the same. Then, one night, everything changed. Meal always insisted on sleeping with her closet doors fully shut. That night, she closed the doors, turned off the lights, and went to bed. But in the middle of the night, her eyes snapped open. She felt compelled to sit up and look toward the foot of her bed. Her closet doors were open, and from the darkness emerged a humanoid figure.

Meal described it as resembling Gollum from the Lord of the Rings, gaunt, pale, and disturbingly grotesque. In typical sleep paralysis accounts, Meal could move and speak. She shook Gil, desperately trying to wake him. Finally, he stirred and turned on the light, but the creature had vanished. Yet, the closet remained open. The next morning, Meal realized her two red bracelets, which had immense sentimental value, were missing from her wrist. Despite searching everywhere, they were gone.

When Meal confided in the others, she discovered David's girlfriend had also experienced strange phenomena in the apartment. The girlfriend frequently had sleep paralysis while staying there and claimed to see objects moving on their own. The situation escalated one evening when all four roommates gathered to play a board game. As they played, a child-sized handprint began to form on the outside of their fourth floor apartment window. Given the height, it was impossible for a child to have reached the glass. This was the final straw. The group contacted a professional to cleanse the apartment. The expert confirmed their fears, Feeds' altar had served as a portal.

He had engaged in dark rituals, offering his blood to entities in exchange for favors. Though the altar was gone, the portal remained open, allowing malevolent spirits to linger and feed off the energy of vulnerable individuals like Meal and David's girlfriend. After a thorough cleansing, the disturbances stopped, and Meil gradually regained her energy. In August 2018, Lees, a 17-year-old, found herself home alone for 15 days while her parents vacationed in Mexico. She seized the opportunity to throw a massive party. The night started well, but midway through, Lees felt unwell and retreated to her parents' bedroom to rest. Around 3 a.m., she woke up and decided to move to her room. As she opened the door,

she found a group of guests playing with a Ouija board. Furious, she interrupted the game and ordered them to stop. The following day, the house was quiet, with only Lease and two friends, Marta and Olivia, staying over. That night, as they chatted, the power suddenly went out. Lees heard a loud bang from the living room. Investigating, she found the fuse box cover inexplicably lying in the hallway, as if thrown. Unsettled, she reset the power and returned to her room. Thirty minutes later, the power cut out again, and her dogs began howling.

This time, the fuse box cover was in the middle of the living room. Overcome with fear, Lease reset the power and locked her. herself and her friends in her room. Minutes later, they heard loud, repetitive banging from the garage. Lees checked but found nothing out of place. As she climbed the stairs back to her room, she felt someone following her. Turning, she saw no one, but the sensation was so intense she sprinted the rest of the way. Once back in her room, the girls heard heavy footsteps pacing outside the door.

Peering underneath, they saw shadows moving. Terrified, they called a friend knowledgeable about the paranormal. He arrived quickly, and as they gathered in the living room, the power failed again. This time, the group watched as the fuse box cover slid across the hallway floor by itself. Determined to take action, Lees burned Palo Santo, a ritual her mother often used for protection. After that, the disturbances stopped, but Lees remained uneasy. The next day, she noticed a large bruise on her shoulder, resembling a handprint, though she couldn't recall any incident that could have caused it. Coral's story begins at the age of four or five, when she started experiencing bizarre occurrences.

Sometimes she woke up covered in scratches, which her family attributed to her playful nature. However, Coral's aunt practiced witchcraft and believed these events were significant. One day, a stranger advised Coral to bathe with rose petals for two months. Her skeptical mother followed the instructions, and the scratches stopped. Despite her disbelief, Coral's mother respected her sister-in-law's practices. This respect deepened after a cousin, mocking the supernatural during a family gathering, exhibited disturbing behavior and required an exorcism. At eight, Coral and her mother moved into a new apartment.

Coral enjoyed her spacious room but disliked sleeping with the door open, a rule imposed by her mother. One night, she woke to see her mother sweeping the hallway in the dark. Confused, she asked why, but received no response. The next day, her mother denied being awake. When the incident repeated, Coral approached her mother, only for the figure to vanish upon touch. The following week, Coral awoke to see her favorite cousin smiling at her from across the room. Initially comforted, she realized the figure was too small to be her cousin and froze in terror.

From that moment, Coral's life was marked by eerie encounters, forever blurring the line between the ordinary and the inexplicable. This collection of spine-chilling tales serves as a reminder of how the unexplainable can intrude on our lives, whether through unexplored energies, reckless rituals, or residual presences left behind by others. The character's brushes with the paranormal reflect a mix of disbelief, fear, and resilience in the face of the unknown. Anna's experiences with strange occurrences began long ago, and over time, they escalated

into unsettling encounters she could no longer ignore. She had always moved frequently as a child, living in various cities every few years, but there was a common thread, these eerie events. Even as a young girl, Anna experienced sleep paralysis, and each time, she saw the same thing. It wasn't monsters, shadows, or figures, but a woman with long black hair who would watch her from the foot of her bed. At one point, Anna lived in a small two-story house in Las Palmas, Grand Canaria. She was never comfortable going up to the second floor alone, always feeling as if something

was there, watching her from the darkness. If she was accompanied, she didn't feel as afraid, but being alone made her uneasy. Over the years, Anna had countless strange experiences. She often rationalized them, blaming them on things like pipes, drafts, or optical illusions. But some events remained inexplicable. After some time, Anna moved to Edinburgh, Scotland, specifically to a small street near Holyrood Palace. She always felt like there were eyes watching her, even when she was out walking through the Royal Mile and Cannon Gate.

At night, she'd wake up feeling like someone was in the room with her. Despite this, she had never felt more at home than she did in Scotland. The history, the surroundings, everything felt right. Anna's story truly begins when she moved in with her boyfriend. He had previously shared the apartment with his best friend, and when she moved in, the friend left with her partner. Initially, everything seemed perfect. The apartment was spacious and had three bedrooms, two of which were in use.

But something was off. Every once in a while, the bathroom down the hall would smell rancid, like something was rotting in the pipes. At first, they thought it was just the parties downstairs at the Casals Fallers, but the smell persisted, even though no one downstairs ever complained. The couple had been living together for a while, and things were going well. They decided to make use of the spare bedroom, which had been their friends. They turned it into a library, which felt like Anna's dream come true. They painted the walls, installed bookshelves, and even set up a fake fireplace. But after that, Anna began to feel uneasy.

about the room. It wasn't just the room itself, it was the corner where the library met the hallway, the door connecting it to the office. Whenever Anna tried to ignore the feeling, she couldn't help but look in that direction, knowing something was there. She didn't want to tell her boyfriend about it because she didn't think he'd believe her, so she kept her feelings to herself. However, the unease grew stronger, and she began to revert to some of her childhood habits, like sleeping with an eye open and asking her boyfriend to close the door while they slept. One night, after he did so, something strange happened. Someone knocked on their door from the other side of the apartment. At first, it sounded like

someone was at the far end of the hall, and then it moved closer and closer until it reached their bedroom door. Anna was terrified. Her boyfriend had also heard it on another night, and they both agreed that it seemed to always come from the same corner of the apartment, the spot where the library and the office met. The knocks, the stairs, the strange presence, it was all coming from there. Despite the terror, Anna didn't want to avoid the library, which had been created to be her space. She pushed herself to spend time there, but it only became more uncomfortable. One Saturday, while they were home, Anna's boyfriend was in the office playing video games, and Anna was in the living room watching Netflix. She had the windows and doors

open, and everything was calm. Suddenly, the living room doors slammed shut by themselves. Anna thought it was just a draft, but then she heard the sound of knocking. The doors began to slowly open, only to slam shut again. That was when everything became undeniable. She called her friend Alba to tell her what had been happening, and Alba immediately believed her. When Anna invited her over, Alba told her there was definitely something in the apartment that didn't make it feel completely comfortable. Anna started calling the entity the, peeping Tom, since it always seemed to be watching her from

the same corner. One evening, several friends came over to play Caden, and everything seemed fine. But then one of Anna's friends turned around and said he saw something strange. The umbrella by the door had turned completely on its own. There was no wind, no drafts, and no one around, but the umbrella had moved. Anna's friends had no idea what was going on, but this event made Anna more certain that something was wrong with the apartment. The tension continued to grow, with more unsettling incidents.

One night, Anna and her boyfriend had a busy day and forgot to close the door to their bedroom before going to sleep. Some time later, Anna woke up and saw a tall, dark figure standing at the foot of her bed. It circled around the bed, and then it seemed to lean over her, staring at her with its head tilted. She froze in terror, unsure whether her eyes were open or closed, and when she finally dared to wake up her boyfriend, he turned on the lights and found the room empty. But Anna was certain she had seen the figure. They spent the rest of the night with the lights on, and though Anna felt a little safer,

the strange presences never went away. In fact, they grew worse. Anna's discomfort grew, and she started enjoying her time outside more than ever, wanting to escape the unease in her home. One afternoon, Anna and her friend Alba were walking through the city center, and they noticed how peaceful and quiet everything was. They made their way to a narrow, old alleyway lined with lanterns. As they walked and chatted, they began joking. about the peeping Tom, laughing at the idea of a ghost watching Anna all the time.

But suddenly, without warning, the lantern above their heads flickered out. The laughter died, and they both ran out of the alley in a panic. Back at home, Anna and her boyfriend were lying in bed when they heard someone running down the hallway and slamming into the wall. They looked out into the hallway, but no one was there. Their fear grew as more strange events continued to unfold. open and closed by themselves, things moved on their own, and the tension in the house mounted.

Amid all the chaos, Anna and her boyfriend decided to get a dog. The quarantine period meant they both worked from home, and they figured it was the perfect time to take care of a puppy. At first, everything was fine. The puppy was playful and mischievous, but as it grew older, it began barking and growling at the same spot in the hall. The dog wasn't reacting to sounds or insects, it was always staring at the same point, confirming Anna's worst fears, something was still in the house. Around this time, Anna bought a Polaroid

camera not to investigate ghosts, but out of personal interest. She soon noticed that the pictures it took were often too bright or too dark. One morning, she decided to test it by taking a picture of the dark hallway. She left the camera under the rug for a while before checking it. When she looked at the photo, she was shocked to see something unexpected, she couldn't explain it, and it made her even more convinced that something was in the apartment with them. Anna's experiences weren't over. Her story was a chilling reminder that some things can't be explained away by logic or reason. The house was never the same, and whatever had taken root there continued to haunt her and her boyfriend.

The first night Sarah and Dianra spent in their new apartment, around 1 a.m., they were suddenly woken up by loud, deafening screams coming from the staircase. The cries sounded like an adult man, so the girls jumped out of bed, grabbed their keys, and opened the front door. However, just as they did, the screams suddenly stopped. They waited for a while, hoping the noise would return, but after hearing nothing more, they cautiously went back to their beds. Two nights later, the same thing happened again.

The girls had just fallen asleep when they were jolted awake by the same unsettling screams. They immediately leapt out of bed, opened the door, and the noise vanished again. This time, they began to think maybe it was a neighbor with some personal issues, and they didn't let it bother them too much. They shrugged it off as nothing serious. A month into living there, they decided to spend a whole Sunday relaxing. They stayed in their pajamas all day, watching movies and eating popcorn. It was a perfect day of rest.

Dianra, however, decided she wanted to smoke a cigarette on the balcony. Sarah, who hated the smell of tobacco and didn't want her clothes to reek of it, tried to convince her not to go out. Dianna, however, wasn't backing down and said that one's cigarette wouldn't make the house stink. Diandra grabbed her lighter in her cigarettes, sat back on the sofa, and lit one. But something strange happened. She couldn't light the cigarette no matter how much she tried.

It was bizarre. Finally, after several attempts, she managed to light it, but not in the way she expected. The cigarette caught fire instantly and burned down completely in a matter of seconds. It was so sudden and intense that the flame nearly scorched her face. quickly threw the cigarette away and jumped up on the couch in shock. They managed to put out the small fire as quietly as they could, trying not to make any noise and disturb the neighbors. Just after cleaning up the mess, they heard it again, the same terrifying screams.

But this time, it was broad daylight. They were completely stunned. They rushed to the door, opened it, and this time the screams continued. They grabbed their keys and ran down to the neighbor's apartment to see what was going on. They rang the doorbell a couple of times, but no one answered. The screams continued, and Dianra, growing more anxious by the second, started knocking on the door, desperate to figure out what was happening. The cries sounded like they were coming from an elderly person.

In a panic, the girls feared the worst, perhaps the man had fallen and hurt himself. A few other neighbors came out to see what was going on. But then something very strange happened. The people who arrived didn't seem at all concerned. They acted like the screams were normal, as if it was something that happened regularly. One of the neighbors calmly told them not to worry, saying the old man who was screaming suffered from dementia and had occasional outbursts like this. The man didn't live alone, his children visited him every week, and he had two caregivers

to look after him. This explanation helped calm the girls down. They apologized to the neighbors and made their way back upstairs. However, as they were returning to their apartment, the neighbor from the second floor stopped them and gave them a piece of advice. Listen, he said, you should worry more about yourselves than about strangers. Do yourselves a favor and don't play with fire inside the house. Sarah and Dianra exchanged glances, unsure of what he meant, but his words left them

unsettled. Still, they tried to move on from the strange events and focus on their new life. This was only the beginning of a series of unsettling events that would follow them in their new apartment. Each odd occurrence seemed to deepen the mystery, leaving Sarah and Dianna more and more unnerved. But they couldn't shake the feeling that something strange and perhaps dangerous was happening around them. Meanwhile, another story unfolded in a distant part of the country. This one was about Jose Miguel, the grandfather of someone very close to the girls.

Jose Miguel's story began when he was just a young boy, living in a small village deep in the heart of Andalusia. As the eldest of three siblings, Jose Miguel's life seemed set in stone. He would live and die on the land, just like his father and his grandfather before he was. him. From the age of seven, he would wake up before dawn to work the fields with his father and uncle. The days were long and exhausting, but that was the life they led. One particular day, a storm unlike any he had ever seen hit the village. The wind held fiercely, lightning lit up the sky, and the thunder crashed with a terrifying force. It was so intense that some rooftops were ripped off, animals were injured, and many of the villagers lost

their crops. But the worst part was that Jose Miguel's five-year-old sister, Francisco, fell seriously ill after walking back to their home in the storm. Their mother had taken Francisco to visit a neighboring village, and they had walked through the pouring rain for half an hour. While their mother barely fell ill, the young girl caught a terrible cold, and the illness worsened over the following days. At the time, catching a cold could be deadly, and with no modern medicine, people often succumbed to even minor illnesses. Given the severity of the situation, Jose Miguel's parents decided to send Francisco to a local healer's house to recover. The healer was rumored to be very skilled, though some of the local children whispered

that she might be a witch. But Jose Miguel's parents, skeptical though they were, reluctantly sent their daughter to stay with her. Before leaving, his mother told him, don't leave her alone for a second, Jose Miguel. Please. I'll feel better knowing you're there. The healer's home was warm and comforting. She cared for Francisco with herbal remedies and hot broths.

The healer had strict rules, no noise, no running, no talking loudly. The children were told that once the door to their room was closed, they were not to get out, not even to go to the bathroom. But there was one rule that was even stranger. They were told never to touch the large clock in the hallway. It was an imposing pendulum clock that made a constant ticking sound, echoing throughout the house. However, at midnight, the clock would stop making its usual chimes.

The children were forbidden from touching it, and Jose Miguel couldn't help but feel uneasy around the clock. The clock was rumored to have a strange power. The villagers said that when it rang at midnight, it signaled the death of someone close. If it didn't ring, no one would die. But if it did, it was a death sentence for someone in the family. Jose Miguel tried his best to avoid the clock. He would duck his head and cover his ears as he walked past it, terrified of what might happen

if it started to ring. After a few days, Francisco began to recover. She was able to walk around and eat again, so the healer decided to leave them alone for a few hours to run an errand. During her absence, the children began playing. They found a ball and started tossing it back and forth. The game got more energetic, and they ended up throwing the ball down the hallway. The sound of it bouncing echoed throughout the house. Jose Miguel froze, remembering the clock. His heart raced as the ball continued to bounce, and then, just as he feared, he heard a loud crash. He rushed to the hallway, expecting to find the clock shattered, but fortunately, it hadn't

been touched. Just as he turned to walk back, the clock suddenly began to ring. It wasn't midnight, it was 9.25 in the morning. The clock never rang at that time. The sound was ominous and unsettling, and Jose Miguel felt the weight of the prophecy weighing on him. In a panic, he grabbed his sister's hand, and they locked themselves in a room. They didn't tell the healer what had happened when she returned, but the next day, something

truly terrible happened. Their mother passed away unexpectedly, between 9 and 10 a.m. Jose Miguel could never shake the feeling that the clock had foretold his mother's death. He believed that the time the clock rang was no coincidence, and that somehow, he was responsible for what happened. Even now, at the age of 85, he can't forget that chilling moment. It felt like something had fallen on her head, straight to the floor. She looked up at the ceiling, everything seemed fine, but when she looked down, she could

have sworn she saw something on the floor, a tooth. For a long moment, she convinced herself it was just her imagination. But it looked so real. It looked like a human tooth, a child's tooth. A few days ago, she wrote to me about a strange experience she had. It wasn't the typical ghost story, which was exactly what caught my attention. When she was younger, she lived in the U.S., but after her father passed away, she and her mother packed up and moved to her grandparents' house in Leon, Guanoado.

The house was really old, but everything inside seemed normal. There were strange noises, creaking wood, marbles rolling, footsteps, but it was an old house, so no one thought much of it. However, there was one thing that really bothered her mother, a painting of a crying child. These kinds of paintings were common in old houses, especially in grandparents' homes. They were beautiful but also quite eerie, and it didn't take long for her mom to decide to take it down, cover it with a towel, and hide it deep in a closet. For ten years, the painting remained hidden, and during that time, there were still some strange

things happening in the house. The family ignored the noises and footsteps, but there was one incident that stood out. One of her cousins began having recurring dreams about an old man. In these dreams, he would show her a spot in the yard and tell her that's where his body was buried. It was a pit in the backyard. Every time the girl stayed over, she dreamed the same thing. But no one investigated.

There was indeed a pit in the yard, and it seemed unusual, but the family decided to ignore it. The story picks up when I was about 17 or 18 years old. I had just landed my first real job, and that summer, my family went on a beach vacation. Since I was so new at work, I couldn't ask for time off, so I stayed home alone. were fine, and to keep myself from feeling lonely, I invited a few friends over from work and school to stay with me overnight. One night, some of my friends played with a Ouija board. I wasn't really involved, just observing.

The next day, I found myself alone again. We had been to a party, and most of my friends stayed behind, but I decided to head home early. When I got back, I didn't think much about it. I went straight to my room, brushed my teeth, turned off the lights, and was ready to sleep. But just as I was about to crawl into bed, I heard a noise coming from the bathroom. I figured maybe I had left something out of place, like my toothbrush or a comb, so I opened the door and checked the hallway. That's when I noticed that the bathroom light was on.

I was sure I had turned it off. But I didn't think much of it. I walked over, turned off the light and turned around to head back to my room. But as soon as I did, I heard a loud click. The light in my room had gone out, leaving me in complete darkness. I was immediately freaked out. Maybe it was the electrical system, the house was really old, and weird things like this could happen. I tried the door to my room, but it was locked.

There was no draft, and I hadn't heard it close. It made no sense. I yanked the door three times with no luck. When I finally got it open, I rushed in and flipped on the light. Everything was as it should be. I took a deep breath and felt like I could finally relax. But then I heard another loud bang, coming from either the bathroom or the hallway. I quickly stuck my head out, and that's when things got really creepy.

After the bang, there was silence. And then the bathroom light turned on again, but this time there was no click of the switch. It just lit up. That's when I backed away in terror, and I felt something, or someone, behind me. I wasn't supposed to be bumping into anything. There was nothing there, just empty space. something was there. Panicking, I turned around, punched the air, and sprinted out the door. I ran toward the front door and could hear a child crying behind me. I didn't know what was

happening. Was it a person? A thief? My imagination running wild. I didn't care. I grabbed my keys, bolted out of the house, and went back to the party. When I got there, my friends joked about me showing up in my pajamas. A few of them asked why my right hand was covered in blood. I told them a thief had broken into my house, and I had punched him. I tried to play it cool, but the truth was I was terrified. Later, a friend's older sister, who was studying medicine, examined my hand. She told me that my ring finger and pinky were both broken. I didn't remember hitting anything hard enough for that.

I tried to convince myself that I had hit the wall in my room, but nothing explained the child's cry or the lights flickering on and off. When my family returned from vacation, things seemed calmer. The footsteps and noises were still there, but they didn't feel as strong. Still, some of my aunts started having the same dream. They never talked about it, but the dreams were so disturbing that they called in a priest. That's when my mom decided to get rid of the cursed painting. She took it out of the closet, uncovered it, and tossed it straight into the trash.

After that, nothing strange happened in the house anymore. I decided to do some research on the painting, thinking it might have something. to do with the eerie events. A while ago, I made a video about cursed paintings, especially the Crying Children series. For anyone who missed it, let me summarize. The artist behind these paintings was an Italian named Bruno Amadio, who went by the name Giovanni Bragolan. He was a soldier during World War II and saw the horrors of war, including crying children. That's what inspired his series of paintings. Everything seemed pretty normal until the dark legends surrounding them took over. People started saying that Braggolan had made a deal with the devil to make his

paintings famous. Then in the 1980s, a strange phenomenon began. It was reported that during fires, the crying children paintings would survive the flames while everything else would burn. Stories of cursed paintings spread, and by the end of 1985, newspapers were holding public bonfires, encouraging people to send in their paintings to be burned. These paintings weren't just associated with fires, though. There were rumors of strange. occurrences, poltergeist activity, unexplained noises, and bad luck. The question remained, did the painting have something to do with the strange happenings in my family's house? Now, there's something else I need to mention. Ever since that time, something has been following

me. I'm not sure exactly what it is, but I've been convinced for years that it's some sort of angel. But now, I'm starting to wonder if it's something completely different. I know it's there because I hear it speak at night. And unfortunately, it's harmed people on more than one occasion. Take Caroline, for example. She's a mother now, but her pregnancy was complicated. Her partner, Miguel, worked nights, so she often stayed with her parents to avoid being alone. One night, around 10 p.m., Caroline was in the kitchen making a sandwich. As she did, she started to feel like someone was watching her. She thought maybe it was her imagination, but when she bent down to grab something, she felt a small rock hit her head.

Looking down, she saw a tooth. For a minute, she convinced herself it was a human tooth. But when she picked it up, it turned out to be a piece of cheese. Feeling silly, she laughed, but then, something even stranger happened. Under the table, she saw something crawling. It was like a creature with messy brown hair, crawling toward her room. She froze, terrified. It was real, not just her imagination.

The next night, she had nightmares of a figure with long hair and dark intentions. It felt like something was watching her. In her dreams, the figure became more sinister. It tried to touch her belly, and she couldn't stop it. But one night, something even worse appeared, a huge, terrifying creature with a voice that struck pure terror into her heart. The long-haired figure disappeared, but she never felt safe again. So, what do you think?

Do you think this creature could be an angel, or is there something else going on here? It's hard to explain how deeply unsettling it felt when my grandfather started acting strange. I mean, we all expected a bit of confusion after Grandma passed away, but this was different. It wasn't just sadness or the typical signs of old age. Something was off. He had this look in his eyes, something dark, like something inside of him was taking control. I knew it wasn't a phase or dementia, this felt like something far worse. I remember it clearly, my dad wanted me to help out more with Grandpa after Granddad.

grandma's death. The family had come to a decision, Grandpa, Antonio, couldn't live alone. His children worked long hours, had their own families, and couldn't be around enough to care for him. So, they hired a nurse, someone who could check in on him every day. It seemed like a reasonable solution. But that's when things started getting weird. At first, the nurse told us that Grandpa had been behaving strangely at night. He was having convulsions, talking in his sleep, and he even woke up in the strangest positions, like he had been contorting himself in ways that didn't seem possible for someone his age. Of course, we all thought maybe it was some health issue, but the doctors didn't find anything wrong with him. In fact,

they said he was in great shape for a man of his age. Then, one night, the nurse called at around midnight, frantic. Grandpa was walking around the house, mumbling to himself, looking lost. My dad was the first to answer the phone. He tried to talk to grandpa, but Grandpa wasn't making sense. It was as if he was speaking in a language no one understood. It freaked everyone out, but by morning, Grandpa was fine, he seemed like himself again, walking around, even starting to take short walks by himself.

But things didn't stop there. Over time, we all started to notice more odd things. My cousins, especially, started telling us that Grandpa had been acting differently, sometimes frozen in place, other times speaking in a tone that wasn't his. One day, my cousin found him staring blankly into the yard, but when he shook him, Grandpa had no memory of what had happened. By now, we were all starting to worry that maybe there was something wrong with him, something that wasn't just medical.

That's when Aunt Clara, who's extremely religious, started suggesting that maybe Grandpa was possessed. At first, we laughed it off. Aunt Clara was always the one talking about demons and the supernatural. But after hearing more stories, more bizarre things that couldn't be explained by doctors, we started to wonder. I remember one particular day when I decided to stay with Grandpa. The nurse had the day off, and I thought I could help distract him with one of his favorite hobbies, puzzles. Grandpa had always loved them. We sat down to start one, and he went to the bathroom. But after a few minutes, I got up to check on him. He was standing in front of the bathroom mirror,

naked, swaying back and forth to a tune I couldn't hear. I shook him, tried to get his attention, but he didn't respond. I didn't know what to do. do, so I ran to get my phone. But just as I was about to call for help, Grandpa came walking out of the bathroom, completely dressed, as if nothing had happened. I couldn't understand it. When I asked him, he had no recollection of what had just occurred. He simply went about his day as if nothing was wrong. That's when I knew something was off. This wasn't just old age, or stress, or mental decline. This was something else, something we couldn't explain. I called Aunt Clara and told her everything.

She, of course, insisted that Grandpa was possessed, that something dark had taken hold of him. The family was divided. Some believed Grandpa was sick, that it was a medical issue that could be treated. Others, like Clara and me, were convinced it was something supernatural. But no one else in the family would listen. They were sure it was just his mind playing tricks. But it didn't stop there.

More strange things started happening. One day, another cousin found Grandpa sitting frozen, a spoonful of soup in his hand, not moving, not blinking. He stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity before suddenly snapping back to normal, as though nothing had happened. Finally, Aunt Clara decided to take matters into her own hands. One day, while Grandpa was outside watering the plants, she snuck up behind him and sprinkled a bit of holy water on the back of his neck.

The reaction was immediate. dropped the watering can, screamed, and spun around, hitting Clara with such force that she was knocked off her feet and slammed against the wall. Everyone in the house was stunned. This wasn't just a reaction to water, it was something much more intense. That night, after the incident, Aunt Clara placed a crucifix on Grandpa's chest as he slept. The moment she did, he started convulsing violently. We called an ambulance, but it was too late.

passed away that night. But the story doesn't end there. The next part of this strange tale takes us to the small town where my uncle Fernando worked as a grave digger for over 35 years. People think being a grave digger is a boring job, but Fernando always had strange stories to tell, especially about the times when he had to exhume bodies. The stories he told were bizarre, often surreal, and a little too eerie to forget. The creepiest story Fernando shared was about a woman dressed in black. She would visit the cemetery every week. always bringing a bouquet of violets. She was young, too young to be in mourning for anyone close, and her behavior seemed strange.

She would always go to the same spot, leaving the flowers on a specific grave, then leave without saying a word to anyone. One day, Fernando followed her, curious to know who she was and why she came every week. He found the grave she visited. It belonged to a man who had died in the 1800s, a well-known writer. It was a striking monument, one that seemed to attract the woman every week. As Fernando dug deeper into the cemetery's records, he couldn't find any trace of this woman, no family ties, no connection to the man buried there.

Then, one day, he found something strange. Among the flowers, there was a note. It was a strange, cryptic message that sent chills down his spine. The note spoke of longing, of wanting to meet someone who had already passed. It was a plea from someone who seemed trapped in time, desperate to reach beyond death. Fernando couldn't understand it, but he knew something was terribly wrong. Days went by, and the woman continued her visits, always leaving more notes, always acting more strange. Then one day, she didn't leave. Fernando searched the area and found her in the graveyard,

her wrists slashed. She didn't say a word as he tried to help her. And when he asked why she did it, she just shook her head. Her obsession with the dead had consumed her. Fernando's co-workers shook their heads as he recounted the story. They all agreed, the cemetery had claimed another soul, one who had lost herself in the world of the dead. This park never had a reputation for being a normal, peaceful place. Rumors always surrounded it, tales of ghosts, strange presences, and most intriguingly, mischievous spirits like goblins. This last part about the goblins really caught my attention because of how unusual it was. Hashtag hashtag Hannibal's story, a connection to the strange.

Annable's story struck a chord with me because I felt oddly connected to it. She was born with an unusual gift, the ability to see and sense things others couldn't. Unfortunately, her parents were staunch skeptics. Whenever she mentioned seeing or feeling something unexplainable, they dismissed her outright. When she was about three or four years old, she told her parents about a man she saw standing in the corner of her room at night. They didn't want to hear it. That man, though I used the term loosely because I doubt he,

he was ever human, always appeared the same way, long, light-colored hair and striking golden eyes. The rest of his features were blurry. But we'll circle back to him later. At 17, Annable started dating a guy named Felix, who was four years older. Felix was smart, charming, and the kind of guy who made everyone around him feel small. He had this magnetic energy that Anabel admired deeply. It wasn't just love, it was a mix of infatuation and awe. Felix had a way of being the center of attention, the go-to guy for advice and guidance. At one point in their relationship, Felix became fascinated with energy work, specifically Reiki. He got his first-level certification and convinced Anabel to join him in learning it. Given her natural gift, Anabel thought she could

develop her abilities further. But things started to take a dark turn. The energy surge, during Anabel's Reiki initiation, something extraordinary happened. She felt a whirlwind of energy rushed through her, a powerful, almost overwhelming sensation. Even the instructor was taken aback, commenting on how intense Annable's energy was. Everyone there noticed it too, and during practice sessions, people flocked to her, eager to experience her energy. Everyone except Felix. Felix didn't like sharing the spotlight. He started trying to one-up her, claiming he could sense or see things far beyond what she could. If Annable mentioned seeing a shadow, Felix would describe it in vivid detail, right down to hair color and

an eye shape. Over time, Annable realized Felix was toxic. He wasn't supportive or encouraging. So, she ended things. Unfortunately, Felix had a strong influence over their shared friend group. He spun tales about how Annable had wronged him, painting her as cruel and heartless. She had to tolerate his stories to avoid being completely ostracized. The peculiar gift, amidst this drama, Annable's 20th birthday arrived. Unexpectedly, Felix showed of uninvited with a strange gift, a fluorite sphere engraved with a Vegvizor symbol. What made it creepy was that Felix had carved and painted it himself, using a mix of red paint and his own blood. He handed it to her with the cryptic words, so you don't lose your way

in the storms, even if you don't know where you're headed. On the surface, it sounded sweet, but Annable knew better. Felix was implying she'd be lost without him. She accepted the gift but rejected the sentiment. The sphere went on a shelf in her room, and that's when everything started to spiral. The shadow in the room, her room became unbearable, oppressively heavy, dark, and uninviting. She couldn't sleep well and began seeing entities lurking outside her house. Normally, Annable could firmly state her boundaries, this is my house, and no one uninvited can enter, and that would keep them at bay. But one entity was persistent. It was a shadowy figure with masculine energy, longish hair, and a vague presence. Over time, its persistence wore her down.

One night, it crossed her threshold, entering her room and creating one of the most terrifying moments of her life. It was so personal and chilling that Anabel prefers not to share the details. Eventually, the tension at home became unbearable, and Anabel decided to move out temporarily. A haunting stay, she stayed with a friend, Jose Manuel, who had a small room in an apartment block in Madrid. The building, located in a neighborhood with streets named after Saints, had a reputation for paranormal activity.

Jose Manuel warned her about strange occurrences, whispers, moving objects, and presences that unsettled even his dog. At first, Annibal wasn't phased. She was used to the paranormal. However, one night, while alone, things took a sinister turn. At around midnight, she left her room to go to the bathroom. The apartment was old, and her door didn't fit its frame properly, making it hard to close. As she walked past the living room, she froze.

The air felt unnaturally hot in one specific spot, almost like she triggered a tripwire. She hurried to the bathroom, but the same hot spot unnerved her on her way back. Once in her room, she used all her strength to shut the stubborn door. Imagine her horror when it slowly creaked open on its own, completely silent. The hallway should have been dimly lit by streetlights outside, but it was pitch black. Annable felt a malevolent presence staring at her from the darkness. The revelation, terrified, she called José Manuel and described what she saw, an older man with short white hair, a beard, a checkered shirt, and beige pants.

Jose went silent. She had just described his great uncle, a man who had died in that apartment. The darkness vanished after she spoke, but Anabel left the apartment soon after, moving back home with her father. Unexplainable events, even back at home, strange occurrences followed her. One morning in 2017, she woke up to find a frying hand next to her bed. The pan had been stored on the highest shelf in her room, far out of reach, and would have made a loud noise if it had fallen. But no one in the house had heard

anything. Another day, while she was in the bathroom, she sensed something wrong. Moments later, the shelving unit in her sister's room collapsed, despite being securely bolted to the wall. Her parents dismissed these incidents as coincidences, but Annable knew better. The Golden Eye Protector. In 2020, Annable had a terrifying sleep paralysis episode. Unlike previous ones, this felt intensely real. She found herself in the perspective of something outside her home, watching as two dark entities tried to enter. Despite her efforts to assert her boundaries, they entered her home, moved through the kitchen,

down the hallway, and into her room. She woke up paralyzed as a skeletal, gray figure pinned her down. She struggled to scream but couldn't. Just as she felt she might suffocate, the golden-eyed man appeared. He banished the entities, reassured her, and vanished. This is only part of Annable's story, but it's enough to leave you wondering about the unseen forces that surround us. Whether their spirits, shadows, or something else entirely, her experiences suggest that the

line between our world and theirs is thinner than we think. A story that began with scratches, it all started with some weird, creepy sounds. Scratches. Gentle but deliberate, right on the door upstairs. They were faint at first, like a whisper made of nails, but noticeable enough to grab attention. This door led to the second floor of Jackie's family house, a space rarely used but significant in the unfolding events. Whenever someone walked past the door, the scratching intensified, as if something was trying to get out.

Jackie's mother and sister started noticing it too. The sound wasn't just in her head, it was real, unnerving, and constant. It got to the point where no one dared to go up there alone anymore. Jackie, though, wasn't entirely surprised by any of this. She had always known she was different. Sensitive. Special, some might say, though it's debatable whether that's a blessing or a curse. From a very young age, Jackie felt things others didn't. She had what some might call a sixth sense. A journey into the unknown. Jackie's story truly begins when she was 10 years old. Raised in a religious household, she often wrestled with deep questions about life, faith, and the afterlife. She wondered if God was real, if the devil existed, and whether

ghosts were more than just campfire tales. One day, curious and maybe a bit reckless, Jackie and some classmates decided to play with a Ouija board. Well, not a real one, they made their own using cardboard and assault shaker. Inspired by a horror movie, they tried to summon something sinister, Lucifer himself. They set up a up a circle, placed their fingers lightly on the shaker, and Jackie, the ringleader, began calling out. Lucifer, are you there? she whispered, her voice trembling with both fear and excitement. At first, nothing happened.

Then, just as they were about to give up, the salt shaker shattered into pieces. Could it have been fragile? Maybe someone pressed too hard. They never figured it out. But for Jackie, it was enough to plant a seed of curiosity, and dread. the symbols of darkness. As Jackie grew older, her curiosity turned into a full-blown obsession. At 11, she bought a book of witchcraft called San Sopriano, filled with strange rituals, symbols, and drawings. She didn't understand most of it but found the symbols

beautiful. So, she began sketching them in her notebooks. Her teachers, particularly the nuns at her religious school, weren't thrilled. They didn't explain why but firmly told her to stop. Despite their warnings, Jackie's doubts about religion deepened. By age 13, she was openly questioning everything, God, the Bible, and the concept of faith itself. This boldness got her expelled. The ritual that changed everything, fast forward to when Jackie was 16. Her curiosity about the supernatural hadn't waned, in fact, it had intensified. One day, while home alone, she decided to perform a ritual she'd read about online.

She meticulously prepared, drawing a Baphomet symbol, lighting candles, and setting up an altar. The goal? To summon the devil. Jackie followed the instructions to the letter. Alone in the upstairs room, she whispered the words of the incantation. But nothing happened. Disappointed, she cleaned up and went to bed, brushing off the unease she felt.

That unease, however, didn't stay away for long. A house filled with fear, in the days and weeks that followed, the upstairs of Jackie's house became a place of palpable dread. Her mother, sister, and even visitors began avoiding it entirely. Friends who stayed over refused to go near the room where Jackie had conducted the ritual. The energy there was, wrong. Then the scratching began. That relentless sound at the door, like claws on wood.

It got worse over time, and Jackie's family became increasingly uneasy. They didn't know why, but they could feel something was there. Jackie, of course, knew the truth but kept it to herself. As the tension in the house escalated, Jackie's mental health began to deteriorate. Depression took hold, made worse by a series of tragic events. Her two pet hamsters mysteriously vanished, and her beloved cat died in horrifying circumstances. These losses crushed her, and she couldn't help but wonder if they were connected to what she had done. The man who saw the unseen, one night, Jackie and her mother heard footsteps upstairs. These weren't the creaks and groans of an old house settling. They were

distinct, deliberate footsteps. Panicked, they pressed the panic button for their home security system. When the security guard arrived, he inspected the second floor. Moments later, he returned, visibly shaken. Ma'am, he said, his voice trembling, whatever is up there, it's not human. Helen's terrifying encounter. To ease the fear that had consumed their home, Jackie's mother invited a friend named Helen to live with them temporarily. Helen was warm and kind, and she got along well with Jackie. One evening, another friend of the family came to visit. It was late, and he asked if he could stay the night.

Jackie immediately felt uneasy and insisted he leave, but her mother overruled her. Upset, Jackie stormed off to the upstairs room and laid down in the big bed. As she lay there, she saw a familiar figure, her deceased cat, climbing the stairs. The sight chilled her to the bone. and she bolted downstairs to sleep in the living room by the fireplace. Not long after, Helen came running downstairs, pale and sobbing. She hugged Jackie tightly and explained what had happened. Helen had gone upstairs to check on Jackie, only to find her lying in the bed, looking

unwell. She sat beside her, stroking her hair, trying to comfort her. But then, Helen noticed something horrifying, Jackie's hair began to fall out in clumps with each stroke. And when Helen looked closer, she realized the bed was a little. empty. The dark influence spreads, the malevolent presence wasn't confined to Jackie's house. Friends and family began experiencing strange phenomena, from vivid nightmares to encounters with shadowy figures. One particularly harrowing event involved a young woman named Janet, who lived in a nearby boarding house. Janet had been struggling with depression

and was plagued by disturbing dreams involving scorpions, snakes, and a sense of being watched. During a prayer session with a friend, she suddenly began convulsing and speaking in voices that weren't her own. Multiple people had to hold her down as she spewed blasphemies and guttural growls. Conclusion, a lingering darkness, even after leaving the house, Jackie carried the weight of her experiences. The scratches, the shadows, and the overwhelming sense of being watched never truly left her. She often wondered if her curiosity had invited something into her life that would never go away.

The story begins one night at the end of 2018, when suddenly, without warning, Heenia felt like someone was watching her while she slept. Her eyes shot open, and she couldn't tell where the sensation was coming from. Her gaze scanned the dark room, and just as it rested on the door, she saw something, a vague, indistinct figure standing there. At first, Heenia thought it was nothing more than a trick of her eyes, possibly caused by her near-sightedness or the power of suggestion. But as the nights went on, that feeling persisted.

and the figure gradually gained more shape. It became a tall, thin, masculine silhouette. There are a few things I need to point out here. First, this figure never instilled fear in Henia. It didn't seem to want anything more than to observe her, and it never made any move to approach or interact. Second, every time this happened, Henia instinctively gave the figure a name.

She found that naming it helped her relax and kept her from panicking. If it had a name, it was familiar, and it felt more like something she could control. mentally. She decided to call the figure Alfred, and somehow, it felt right. The third point is that Heenia had never seen eyes like the ones Alfred had, sometimes they were a soft blue, and other times they seemed to glow with an almost unnatural light. It was hard to explain, but she couldn't think of anything else that resembled them. What began as a strange but somewhat explainable experience soon turned into a problem. Each time Heenia sensed the

presence at the door, she could no longer sleep. She would spend hours staring at the figure in the dark, and the lack of sleep began to take its toll. She was constantly exhausted and irritable, and her mood worsened. Heenia no longer wanted to interact with anyone. She simply wanted to be alone in her room. It got to the point where she could no longer live normally. So, on the night of January 6, 2019, Hena decided to tell her family everything. Her mother believed in the paranormal, but her father and sister were more skeptical. However, they were open-minded and didn't judge those who did believe. Hena knew they would listen to her, and she was right.

She explained everything she had been experiencing, from the strange, tall, dark figure with the unsettling blue eyes to its nightly appearance at her door. She asked her parents if they had ever known someone who matched that description, and what came next would send chills down her spine. When Hena asked her father if they had any relatives or friends who were tall, thin, and had striking blue eyes, he said no. her mother quickly made the connection and identified the figure. After dinner, her mother pulled out a photo of a relative and said, this is him. This is who you're seeing. And sure

enough, it was. Heenia's mother said nothing more but left the photo on the table, went to the bathroom, and brought back a bottle of holy water. She proceeded to bless the areas of the house where the bedrooms, bathroom, and living room were located. Her mother also recommended Hena attend Mass the next day and offer it for this relative, which Hena did. It turns out that Hena had never met this relative. He had died just weeks before she was born. The man had wanted to meet the newborn Hena but had been too ill to leave his bed. He had asked Hena's mother to bring him a photo of her, but for reasons unknown, Hena's

mother never did. However, she had told him all about Hena's physical features, including the shape of her nose and eyes. This is why, when Heenia described the dark figure to her family, they immediately assumed it was the spirit of this deceased relative. They believed he had passed away with a longing to meet Heenia in person. Since that day when Heenia went to Mass, she never saw the figure again. Now, she prefers to think that perhaps the relative saw her, and knowing that her mother loved him deeply, he is now at peace. This story is about more than just the presence of a spirit, it's about how Hena's connection with this relative from the past seem to transcend time and space,

a connection that brought comfort and peace, even in the face of the unknown. Hena's story is one that invites us to question our beliefs and our perceptions of the world around us. Could this figure have been the ghost of her deceased relative, seeking closure, or was it something else entirely? Next, let's talk about Brena, who also had her own unsettling experiences with the paranormal. She starts by recalling her childhood, a time when she had some very strange encounters. Brina was the type of child who had imaginary friends, but these weren't your ordinary imaginary friends, these were peculiar figures whose descriptions often disturbed those who heard about them.

As Brina grew older, these friends disappeared from her life, but the strange occurrences did not end there. She had two younger siblings, Vincent and Lua, and it was with them that she experienced some of the eeriest events of her life. In 2012, Brina and her family lived in a large house, big enough for the kids to run around and play but also large enough to accommodate other unseen entities. Brina will always remember that house because of what happened there. It all started with strange noises, wooden kitchen chairs scraping across the floor in the

middle of the night. No one was awake to move the chairs, and the family dog, Suli, was often on edge, growling at empty corners of the room or staring intently at objects. The family tried to brush off these occurrences as nothing more than figments of their imagination, but they knew something wasn't right. One particularly disturbing event involved a red chalkboard in Brina's room. It was placed against the wall, at an angle, to prevent it from falling. Yet, in the middle of the night, it would fall forcefully, waking Brina and her siblings from

their sleep. They would pick it up and place it back, but it would fall again and again. Over time, the sounds grew more frequent, and they were joined by other strange experiences. Brena, Vincent, and Lua weren't the only ones who noticed the disturbances. soon, their parents did too. One day, while the kids were outside in the yard, their mother decided to take a bath. The door to the bathroom had a small, frosted window through which she could see the interior of the room but not make out any details.

While washing her hands, she glanced up and saw a tall, dark figure standing outside the bathroom door. It wasn't one of her children, and it certainly wasn't anyone else in the house. Her first instinct was to leave the sink and open the door, but when she did, no one was there. After thinking about it, she realized that none of the kids could have been in the house, they were all outside, and the floor was dry. This realization left her stunned. Something was definitely wrong in that house.

Brina and her siblings shared a bedroom, and as kids often do, they would joke and talk before finally falling asleep. But these late-night conversations often turned into uncomfortable silences, as they began to sense the presence of something unseen. One night, Vincent woke Brina up, telling her to look at Loua's bed. At the end of Lua's bed, beneath the blankets, was a lump, as if someone was sitting there. The strange thing was that Lua was so small, she couldn't have made such a lump by herself, and her legs wouldn't have been long enough to create that shape.

Moreover, Lua always slept curled up, making it impossible for her to be the one causing the bulge. This creepy presence continued to manifest in disturbing ways. One night, Vincent had a nightmare in which he saw a hand emerging from a closet. When he woke up, the children heard knocking from inside the closet, as though someone, or something, was waiting for them to come closer. Another night, Brina felt something tugging at her blankets. At first, she tried to ignore it, but the pulling grew stronger, and when she looked,

she saw a child at the foot of her bed. It looked like any other child, but the moment she looked away, it vanished. The family dog, Suli, was also affected by the strange occurrences. One night, Suli was running through the house, so fast that he slid on the floor. He ran into the children's room and was about to hide under Lua's bed when an invisible force grabbed him by the hind legs and dragged him across the floor. The dog howled in pain, and Brina, terrified, ran to her parents to tell them what had happened. They dismissed it as a nightmare, but Brina could never forget the sight of the dog being dragged

through the room by some unseen force. Brina and her siblings spent many months in that house, experiencing strange, paranormal events. From terrifying nightmares to unsettling experiences with unseen forces, their lives were never the same. These encounters left an indelible mark on them, and even after they moved out, the memories of those strange and eerie occurrences would haunt them for years to come. The last part of this story focuses on Estreya, who recounts her own paranormal experiences. In 2006, Estreya began talking to a guy named Jorge. They knew each other from childhood, but it wasn't until they started texting each other regularly that their connection deepened. They began playing games, trying to guess each other's

thoughts and often getting it right. They developed a spiritual bond, a connection that went beyond the physical realm. In 2017, Jorge moved to the city where Estreya lived, and they began dating. Kiera had just climbed into bed, turned off the lights, and closed her eyes when she suddenly heard it, the sound of her daughter's pacifier. It was almost as if someone had picked it up, and the chain was rattling. It wouldn't have been strange, except for the fact that Kiera knew Jose, her husband, was in the living room, and the pacifier was supposed to be inside the room with Kiera. Quickly, she grabbed her phone, turned on the flashlight, and pointed it toward the place

where she expected to find the pacifier. To understand what happened next, we have to go back to when Kiera was just 15 years old. Back then, she lived with her parents and her grandfather, a man she was extremely close to. According to Kiera, every night, as part of their bedtime routine, this man would open the door to her room, check that everything was in order, say good night, and closed the door behind him before going to bed. This was their nightly ritual. The bottom of the door was opaque, while the upper part was translucent, so every night, Kiera could see the shadow of her grandfather and the motion of his hand on the doorknob. Sadly, one day, this dear man

passed away. For Kiera, it was a devastating loss. She had lost one of the most important people in her life, someone she would never see again. But something inside her made her believe that, somehow, her grandfather was still there. Perhaps one night, she would hear the door open again, and he would be there once more. One night, as Kiera was about to drift off to sleep, she felt something strange that made her look towards the door. Her gaze fixed on the door, and there it was, a shadow as if it were about to open her door. Instinctively, she dropped to the floor and sat with her back to the door. She noticed that the door wouldn't open, and the shadow simply faded away. Kiera couldn't believe it.

Was that really her grandfather's shadow? From that point on, things began to change drastically for her. In the following nights, every time she lay down and closed her eyes, Kiera would see numerous shadows through her closed eyelids. They would walk around the room, float in the air, surround her, and slowly move their faces closer to hers. The anxiety was so overwhelming that she would inevitably open her eyes wide, only to find the shadows still there, more real than her imagination.

Whether her eyes were open or closed, the shadows remained. They would only vanish once she turned on the light. Every time she opened her eyes, the shadows persisted, and only when she turned on the light did they disappear. This continued for years, sometimes for days in a row, sometimes not for months. Six years ago, Kiera's grandmother passed away, and after that, the terrifying experiences that had kept her up at night's east.

Life felt oddly peaceful again. A person who understood the spiritual realm told Kiera that her grandmother had become her protector after death. Her spirit had stayed by her side to prevent anything bad from happening to her. Over time, Kiera managed to live a normal life again, no more shadows, no more unsettling experiences. She began to believe that what the person had told her was true, that her grandmother was her guardian angel. However, two years ago, the shadows returned. This time, it was because Jose's grandmother had passed away. Now, I ask you to pay close attention because some parts of this story might be a little tricky.

Jose's grandparents had lived with his parents, and his grandfather passed away first. His grandmother followed soon after, but her passing was unusual. Apparently, she passed away peacefully, but during her death, one of her granddaughters saw what seemed to be the ghost of her grandfather outside the window. It was as if the soul of the grandfather had descended to collect his wife's soul. This eerie experience, though unsettling, calmed the family, as they believed the grandparents had been reunited in death and were now at peace. But things weren't as simple as they seemed.

During this past holy week, Kiera and Jose decided to visit Jose's parents' house, the same house where his grandmother had passed away. They were alone, just Kiera, Jose, and their daughter, who was 11 months old at the time. That night, something felt off. Their daughter, who usually slept soundly through the night unless she was hungry, started acting strange. She wouldn't settle down. Her eyes were wide open, and she was fidgeting uncontrollably.

After a while, she finally fell asleep out of exhaustion. At that point, Kiera and Jose decided to sleep in separate rooms. Jose had to wake up early, and the last thing he wanted was to disturb them with noise. They agreed to separate, went to bed, and tried to sleep. Around 3 a.m., however, their daughter woke up again, and no matter what Kiera tried, there was no getting her back to sleep. She walked through the house, rocking the baby in her arms, singing to her, and even went into the living room to try and get her to close her eyes. When it became clear that nothing

was working, Kiera called Jose for help. He came in, tried to calm the baby down, and after a while, Kiera went back to her room to rest. She climbed into bed, turned off the light, and closed her eyes. That's when she heard the sound of her daughter's pacifier. It was as though someone had grabbed it, and the chain was rattling. Kiera immediately got up and grabbed her phone to use the flashlight. She shined it on the spot where she had left the pacifier, and to her surprise, it was still there, resting exactly where she had placed it earlier. There was no wind that could have moved it, and there was no one else in the house besides them. Kiera lay back in bed, thinking it might have just been her imagination.

But things didn't stop there. A few moments later, she felt like someone was watching her. She looked towards the door and saw a shadow peeking in, just the head and arm at first. Kiera assumed it was her husband trying to come into the room, but when she looked again, it was just the head. She grabbed her phone and turned on the flashlight, thinking it was still Jose. She stepped out of the room and saw him on the couch, still trying to put the baby back to sleep. There was no way it could have been him, as it would have been impossible for him to come to the door and return to the couch in such a short amount of time. The next morning, Kiera shared what had happened with some of her friends, and they concluded that the shadow

must have belonged to her husband's deceased grandmother. But the question remains, what do you think it was. The following stories are about Uriel, who had his own share of strange paranormal events. He was 20 years old when he experienced something truly terrifying. Throughout his life, Oriole had encountered many paranormal events, especially involving shadow-like figures that lacked physical bodies. Once at school, he saw a shadow in the form of a blanket on the ceiling. Another time, during a wake for a man who had passed away, he saw the shadow of a tall man with a hat, which disappeared after a blink. These events were unsettling, but none of them had the same impact as the one he's about to share. Before we get to that, we need some context.

Oriole had entered a biology program at university but soon began to suffer from depression and anxiety. Life was not as he had expected, and he thought about switching to a humanities program, but he was afraid his parents would refuse to support him. He had few friends and had been hiding his sexual orientation for years, not out of shame, but out of fear of being rejected by his family. All this caused Uriel to feel incredibly alone, and over time, he began to isolate himself from everyone. He stopped talking to people, stayed in his room, and spent his nights crying quietly.

One night, he started having nightmares about something visiting him, waiting on the other side of his bedroom door. This continued for two weeks, and then something strange happened. It was as if he had left his body. He was still lying in bed, but he could see himself. At first, it terrified him, and he would wake up. But then, he started to control the experience, trying not to snap out of it too quickly. He moved towards the ceiling, and then he dropped down to the floor, which felt cold beneath him.

After a while, Oriole became accustomed to these experiences. He started to see shadows in his dreams, shadows that didn't seem to belong to anyone. One night, while writing poems, his form of catharsis, he felt a presence watching him. But no one else was in the room. Oriel ignored it, thinking it was just his mind playing tricks, until something caught his attention. He turned and saw a shadow with triangular purple eyes, darker than the darkness of the room itself. The figure stood at the foot of his bed, and Oriel couldn't move or speak.

It felt like he was trapped in a nightmare. He tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. The shadow then spoke, asking for his body. Terrified, Oriol couldn't do anything except silently refuse. The shadow didn't take kindly to his silence. It moved closer, and Oriol felt paralyzed by fear. He grabbed his Bible from the nightstand and hid under the covers, praying for the thing to go away.

Slowly, the pressure lifted, and the shadow retreated. The experience was so intense that Uriel never spoke of it again. Without anyone saying anything, the woman started to describe the old man. house in great detail and told the couple to go there with a shovel and dig at a specific spot in the garden. That was it. She just said, grab a shovel, go to the house, dig in the garden at this point. Naturally, the couple was shocked, but they decided to follow her instructions. That very day, they went to the old man's house, entered the garden, and began digging. At one point, their shovel hit something hard. They stopped immediately, crouched down, and started to

dig with their hands. That's when they found, to their horror, a handful of bones lying right in front of them. Serena wrote to me to share one of the most chilling experiences she had ever gone through. She introduced herself as a married woman and mother of three who had always had a great respect for the paranormal world, ghosts, paltregeists, possessions, and all sorts of other eerie events. Because of this, she was always cautious, even more so because she was a mother. One of her hobbies was collecting unusual decorative objects. She loved visiting secondhand shops to search for quirky items like old vases, music boxes, and ancient maps. The older and rarer, the better. One day, she was out shopping at a market and came across a stall with a jumble of items, as if someone had taken everything from their house and thrown it into boxes without any order.

Among this mountain of clothes, ladles, spoons, and all sorts of utensils, something caught her eye. It was a carousel, a unique, ancient item made of fragile glass yet as heavy as lead. She couldn't describe it exactly, but what she did mention was that the moment she laid eyes on it, a chill ran down her spine. When she touched it and examined it, she felt an overwhelming thought that she shouldn't buy things that belonged to other people, as they might carry something with them. But she decided to ignore the feeling, thinking it wasn't old enough to be cursed, so she went ahead and bought it.

When Serena got home, she didn't know where to place the carousel. She searched high and low around the living room, the kitchen, but nothing seemed to match the decor. Finally, she decided to leave it on the desk for the time being, planning to discuss it with her husband later. Unfortunately, night came quickly, and the family completely forgot about the carousel, leaving it sitting there for almost a year. We have a shelf with photos on it above the desk. That same night, while everyone was asleep, we heard a loud crash. Something had fallen. We woke up and went to the study, only to find the shelf on the floor, with photographs scattered all over the place.

Serena's husband wanted to fix the shelf right then and there, to clean up and put it back on the wall, but Serena said no, it was too late for that. They turned off the lights and went back to bed. It was then that Serena checked her phone and saw that it was 3.15 a.m. The shelf had probably fallen around 305 a.m. The next day passed without incident, but as night fell, something even more sinister happened. Their eight-year-old daughter started screaming from her bed. Serena and her husband rushed to see what was wrong, thinking it might just be night terrors,

but when they opened the door to the room, they found the little girl fast asleep. They figured she might have just screamed in her sleep, not even aware of it. When they returned to their room and checked the time, it was 3.10 a.m. Two nights in a row. They shrugged it off as a coincidence. But the following night, things took a much darker turn. It was around 10 p.m. when Serena and her husband snuggled in for bed. They turned off the lights and put their phones down.

They always slept with the bedroom door open. Just minutes before Serena was about to fall asleep, she heard her daughter running toward their room, barefoot. She waited for the little girl to come in, thinking she might have had a bad dream and wanted to sleep with them. But she waited, and waited, and nothing happened. No footsteps, no noise. Serena got up and looked around for her daughter, but she wasn't there.

Her husband asked if she'd heard anything, and Serena said yes. The next day, around 8 p.m., as Serena and her husband were lying in bed while the children watched TV in the living room, their daughter screamed again, this time, with all her strength. Everyone was awake now. This wasn't a nightmare. They quickly jumped out of bed and ran to her room. The little girl was trembling in the corner, terrified. They asked her what had happened, why she was so shaken, but she didn't want to speak.

a lot of convincing, she finally opened up. She said that when she entered her room, everything was dark, and the air felt strange. That's when she heard a voice in her right ear. The voice started growling, then screamed, a terrible, terrifying scream. She screamed back, then ran out of the room. When she looked around, there was no one there, but something inside told her that there was something evil hiding in that darkness. It was then that Serena realized the carousel had to go.

She'd never experienced so many strange things so close together, and the last thing she wanted was for her children to be in danger. That very night, she took the carousel and handed it to her brother, who lived next door. She didn't tell him anything about the events at her house or her suspicions. She didn't want to make him paranoid, but she asked him if he wanted the carousel, and he said yes. Serena wasn't entirely sure if the carousel was cursed, but she wanted to see if anything would happen to him.

He passed, and Serena visited her brother again. He told her that at night, the carousel would start making sounds all on its own. He insisted he never wounded up, but when the lights went out, the carousel would start playing, as if someone had set it in motion. Feeling guilty, Serena told him everything, the 3 a.m. events, the footsteps, the screams, and offered to take the carousel back. But her brother simply shook his head and said no. Weeks later, Serena visited him again.

He was redecorating a room where he kept all his collected items. This room was connected to his bedroom by a door. Serena walked in by herself to check on the progress. The lights were off, but she could see well enough from the light coming from the bedroom. She stood in the middle of the room, looking around, when she suddenly heard a noise. She froze in terror, unsure of where to look or what to do. She wanted to run, but before she could, her brother came toward her and turned on the light. He said it was just the carousel, which was the only thing that made sounds when the lights

were off. Serena asked him again if he wanted her to take it, but he refused. He never explained why he was so adamant about keeping the carousel, but at this point, it didn't matter. There had been no more strange events at his house, so the problem was apparently over. Serena was just relieved that the unsettling events had stopped. Now, here's my question, do you think the carousel was truly haunted? And if so, do you think whatever happened to her brother will continue?

The story of Corina goes back to when she was 11 years old. Since she was little, Corina had paranormal experiences. Every night, a shadow would appear at her bedroom door and watch her sleep. It was a tall shadow with a broad-brimmed hat, and its face was never fully clear. For years, this entity simply watched her sleep. It would stare for a while, then disappear. But one night, it went too far. One night, the shadow sat at the foot of her bed and grabbed her legs as if its life depended

on it. Frightened, Corina pulled the covers over her head and screamed, waking up her sister, who was sleeping in the bed next to hers. As soon as they turned on the lights, the entity vanished. The sisters thought it was just a one-time thing, but the next morning, tragedy struck. They learned that Corina's grandfather had suffered a mild heart attack and was rushed to the hospital. Throughout the day, Corina's mother and grandmother visited him, but eventually, someone had to to stay with her grandmother, so Corina was tasked with looking after her.

Her mother gave her the keys to her grandmother's house, as the old woman did some very peculiar things. For example, she would pray for people who were supposedly bewitched, by the evil eye. There was a room in her house where she would perform these long, strange rituals, and sometimes the people would become aggressive, crying, screaming, or even convulsing. Corina didn't like it one bit. One day, while Corina was at her grandmother's house, the woman received. a visit from a small boy. As soon as Corina saw him, she immediately decided to leave and

go play outside with her friends. She grabbed her things and rushed out, but when she checked her pockets, she realized she had the wrong keys, she had her grandmother's keys, not her own. So, she went to her grandmother's house to grab her keys, but when she stepped inside, everything felt unusually cold and dark. A strange sense of unease washed over her, and something told her she shouldn't be there, that she should be outside playing. But being Just a child, Corina went into the room to get the keys anyway. As soon as she walked in, the door slammed behind her, and she heard heavy breathing coming from the dark corner of the room.

Terrified, Corina looked around but couldn't see anything. She felt as though the shadows were alive, and her heart raced faster and faster. When she looked toward the door, the boy she had seen earlier suddenly appeared, but his face had changed completely. His expression was no longer friendly, and his eyes seemed completely empty. her heart pounded in her chest. She realized then that the boy was no longer the person she had seen earlier. Something terrible was happening.

The group of friends were walking down the street, laughing and chatting, completely absorbed in their conversation. They were having a great time until suddenly, they heard scratching sounds coming from the wooden structure nearby. The same sound that had kept them awake at night, causing unease and restlessness. They looked around but found nothing that could explain the sound. The fences around them were made of iron, and the doors were solid, nothing in the area was made of wood.

It was impossible for such a sound to come from anywhere nearby. They decided to keep walking, trying to ignore it, but the sound persisted and only seemed to grow louder. This strange occurrence reminded me of an email I received on April 19th from a woman named Vera. From the very beginning, her story captivated me completely. She didn't introduce herself as someone scared of the dark or someone who had never experienced anything supernatural.

Instead, she described herself as someone sensitive to the unseen world, someone who had inherited this ability through her family. Vera had experienced strange phenomena for as long as she could remember, so when she reached out, she felt it was important to share her story, knowing it would have a lasting impact. Vera explained that her childhood and adolescence had been filled with paranormal encounters, but not the kind of encounters one would hope for. The spirits she encountered were not benevolent, they were often malevolent, showing her visions through dreams. These visions would sometimes reveal things that had happened to family members, things that were about to happen, or things that were going to cause harm. It was never pleasant. One of the most disturbing experiences she shared involved seeing a spirit follow her grandmother

around the house. The spirit was invisible to anyone else, but Vera witnessed it clearly. It followed her grandmother to the kitchen, where it touched her, causing her to fall. When Vera rushed to help, she found herself locked outside on the terrace by the same entity. Her fear was overwhelming, and when she later told her mother about the experience, they received a call from her grandfather saying that Vera's grandmother had fallen and broken her hip in the kitchen. Although Vera had many stories to tell, she wanted to focus on one experience that had deeply

affected her and her brother. Even her father, a man who didn't believe in the supernatural, came to fear what was happening in their home. At the time, Vera was around 15 or 16 years old, living in a small village with her family. She wasn't having a good time, to say the least, as she was being bullied at school. Sometimes, even going outside wasn't a good option, as she might run into someone from her class. To avoid any further escalation, Vera began spending entire days locked in her room, cut off from the outside world.

It's hard to say exactly when it started, but Vera recalls that her room was always cold, no matter the time of year. Anyone who entered her room felt an uncomfortable chill, and the atmosphere made them uneasy. She also noticed that the mood of those who stayed in her room would shift dramatically. A person could go from feeling cheerful to angry or even sad just by being there. On top of this, Vera had a collection of figurines that she kept on a shelf above her desk. One day, while studying, a figurine suddenly fell from its place and landed on the table. Vera thought it must have been misplaced, so she put it back in its spot.

A few minutes later, another figurine fell, this time hitting her on the head. The force of the impact broke the figurine in half, and Vera couldn't help but feel terrified. She began to feel as though some invisible presence was in the room, tossing the figurines around. Being sensitive, Vera knew she needed to take control of the situation. She decided to confront whatever was causing the disturbances. She told the entity to stop, to leave her alone. But her words were met with more objects falling, as if the spirit was mocking her.

After a while, the situation worsened. The figurines were the least of her worries. At night, her wardrobe doors started opening by themselves, and she could hear something, or someone, scratching the walls inside. Vera initially thought it was just the neighbor's cat getting inside, so she checked her wardrobe but found no cat and no visible marks. The only thing she could feel was an intense cold, as though a giant freezer had been left open inside her wardrobe.

To make her feel more secure, her father installed a latch on the door to prevent the wardrobe from opening at night. Vera also had a blue alarm clock in the shape of an animal head, which would light up its eyes when turned on. One night, after locking the door and checking the window, Vera got into bed, only to have the radio turn on by itself. The strange thing was, it was the only source of light in the room, and it made a weird noise.

Her brother, who was staying in the room next door, heard it too. He went to check on her, and she explained what had happened. He told her that whenever he was in her room playing on the computer, the radio would turn on by itself. They didn't tell their parents about the odd occurrence, thinking it might just be some malfunction. But it continued happening for weeks, with no explanation, and things slowly escalated. Things took a darker turn one day when Vera's parents were at work.

She and her brother decided to study together in the living room. They closed the door and played some quiet music to help them focus. Suddenly, Vera's brother, who was sitting with his back to the hallway, asked her to turn off the music. He said he could hear something strange. When they stopped the music, both of them heard it clearly, a loud, sharp scratching sound, as if someone was dragging a piece of wood across the floor. Terrified, they held hands and ventured into the hallway, following the sound, which led them back to Vera's room. They opened the door to find the wardrobe, and upon inspection, found nothing. But as soon as they closed the wardrobe, the scratching resumed,

faster and more intense. Frightened, they ran out of the house and waited out of the house and waited outside until their parents returned. They didn't want to go back inside. When their parents arrived and they shared the experience, their father didn't believe them. He looked around the house but didn't find anything unusual. However, over the weekend, the family began to experience the same eerie sounds. The radio turned on by itself, the lights flickered on and off, and they heard strange noises coming from the bathroom and kitchen. But what really disturbed Vera was that her brother claimed he had seen a dark, shadowy figure resembling a woman, wandering around the house. One evening, the family was playing board games in the living room,

ignoring the strange sounds coming from Vera's room, when a loud crash interrupted them. It sounded as if something heavy had fallen. Her father rushed to check, but when he returned, he was visibly shaken. He told the family they needed to leave the house for a while. He didn't elaborate, but Vera could tell something had disturbed him. The following day, Vera and her brother went out to run some errands. They took their usual route. through the village, and while walking down the street, they heard the same scratching sound again. At first, they thought it might be a trick of the wind or some other harmless explanation, but the sound grew louder and more persistent. They looked around, but there was no sign of anyone

or anything that could be responsible for the noise. Even though the street was usually empty, they felt an eerie presence as they quickened their pace and ran home in fear. When they got back to their house, things had taken a turn for the worse. Their mother showed them a coat that had been hanging in the wardrobe, only to find it now hanging in a different position with deep scratch marks on its sleeve. Vera and her brother were horrified. Their parents had no choice but to eventually close her room completely when they couldn't bear the thought of stepping inside. When Vera later moved to the Capitol, the family decided to leave her room shut up tight. But the activity didn't stop. Strange things continued to happen, and the scratching

noise never went away. But one day, Vera had a dream. In the dream, she found herself. back in her old house. Her family was asleep, but she could see a strange girl standing in the doorway of her room. The girl had pale, almost gray skin, and wide, unsettling eyes. The girl smiled at Vera, but it was a twisted, sinister smile. She didn't speak but remained motionless, staring at her for what felt like an eternity. Vera woke up with a deep sense of dread, and when she called her mother, she learned that the haunting had continued in her absence. The family could hear knocking and banging from inside her room, as though something was trying to get out. Determined to put an end to it, Vera decided to return home for a weekend

to try and cleanse the house of the evil presence. She and her mother prayed together, reading a prayer aloud while Vera sprinkled holy water throughout the room. When they opened the wardrobe, the fear Vera felt was overwhelming, but she pressed on, determined to end it. After performing the ritual, things calmed down for a while. However, the memory of the supernatural presence still lingered. Her father insisted that she put a lock on her wardrobe wherever she went, to prevent it from opening on its own at night. Despite the piece that returned to her room, Vera's father continued to lock the wardrobe every night, as the scratching sounds, the cold, and the disturbing sensation of being watched never fully left her.

Years later, Vera received an email from Sincha, a woman who shared her own unsettling experiences. Sincha had recently bought a strange stuffed toy at a yard sale. Upon bringing it into her home, her family began hearing a series of strange noises at night, including the same scratching sound that had haunted Vera all those years ago. The exact same noise. Sincha's family grew more and more disturbed, and as time passed, it became clear that the toy was somehow connected to the phenomenon. Vera shared her own experience with Sintia, explaining that she too had heard that same

scratching sound, one that had come from inside her wardrobe all those years ago. The presence had never left her, and it seemed to be able to. to be following her. Doctors were baffled. They couldn't figure out what was happening to the baby. They prescribed medications that should have worked but didn't. Nothing helped, and it was as if they were fighting an invisible enemy. That's when a friend of Laura's, a classmate, suggested that what was happening to the baby

wasn't a simple illness but something much darker. I first heard this eerie story on January 13th, when Naomi shared it with me. She wanted me to help her tell a tale that was as terrifying as it was real. Before diving into the spine-chilling details, let's set the stage a little. It was the year 2000, and Naomi's parents were happily married. Her dad, who will call Juan, was a clothing merchant who spent most of his time traveling across the country. Her mom, Laura, was building a successful women's clothing boutique.

Life was good. They had love, work, and financial stability. The boutique thrived so much that Laura needed help and ended up hiring Guadalupe, a stunning, charismatic young woman with long black hair in a calm demeanor. Guadalupe wasn't just any higher. She had a charm that captivated everyone, including Laura, who trusted her with the boutique, its finances, and even her personal secrets. Laura admired Guadalupe so much that she couldn't stop talking about her, even to Juan.

Eventually, one met Guadalupe in person at a party Laura hosted in April 2001 to celebrate her pregnancy. That's when things took a turn. The attraction between Juan and Guadalupe was instant and magnetic. Behind Laura's back, they became lovers. Guadalupe continued working at the boutique and stayed close to Laura while secretly maintaining an affair with Juan. He showered Guadalupe with gifts, clothes, jewelry, and more, while leaving Laura alone at home, heavily pregnant. By January 2002, Laura gave birth to Naomi.

Family and friends gathered at the hospital to see the baby. Guadalupe arrived too, visibly upset, almost as if she'd been wronged. Laura thought Guadalupe might have had a bad day and didn't think much of it. In fact, she even handed Naomi to Guadalupe, asking her to hold the baby. But something strange happened. As Guadalupe cradled Naomi, a sense of unease filled the room. It felt like Naomi didn't belong to Laura but to Guadalupe. Of course, Laura had no idea what was really going on.

She didn't know that just before Naomi's birth, one had ended his relationship with Guadalupe to focus on his wife and child, a decision Guadalupe didn't take lightly. When Naomi turned two months old, she fell gravely ill. Her stomach couldn't hold anything, and she deteriorated for weeks. Pediatricians prescribed various medications, but nothing worked. Eventually, Naomi had to be hospitalized. Tests and treatments continued to fail because the doctors couldn't pinpoint the cause of her illness. friend of Laura's suspected that Naomi's condition wasn't just medical, it was supernatural. Reluctantly, Laura took Naomi to see a healer, a Santera. The Santera examined Naomi and quickly determined that someone filled with envy was harming her.

Laura couldn't imagine who would want to hurt her child. She didn't have enemies and got along with everyone. Despite the Santerra's warnings, Laura decided to trust the doctors, and over time, Naomi's health improved. Naomi grew up unaware of these events. She adored Guadalupe, seeing her as a second mother. By the time Naomi was five, Guadalupe was still working at the boutique and remained Laura's inseparable friend.

But Naomi's health was a roller coaster. She had periods of wellness and periods of inexplicable illness. During these six spells, Naomi experienced horrifying nightmares, visions of a cat trying to kill her, faceless figures chasing her, and the most terrifying dream of all, seeing her mother dead in a wrecked car. Then, tragedy struck. Laura fell mysteriously ill. Doctors diagnosed her with Meniere's disease, a rare and debilitating condition affecting the inner ear. Laura's life turned into a nightmare. She was bedridden for most of the day, vomiting constantly, unable to bear heat, and suffering unbearable dizziness. At night, the dogs in the

neighborhood would gather outside their door, barking incessantly, as if drawn by something sinister. The barking grew louder and more relentless, amplifying Laura's fears. Months passed, and Laura's condition worsened. She tried everything modern medicine offered, but nothing helped. Out of desperation, a friend recommended a woman at a local church who supposedly had a divine gift for curing people and breaking curses. Laura decided to give it a shot.

The moment she stepped into the church, an overwhelming pressure built up in her head, as though it might explode. But after the session, she felt an unexpected sense of relief. The healer performed simple rituals, placing her hands on Laura's head and chanting in a foreign tongue. With each session, Laura's health improved dramatically. Her Meniere's disease, which had plagued her for months, seemed to vanish. Years later, Laura discovered Juan's affair with Guadalupe and began to piece things together.

She realized that during the times Juan and Guadalupe were together, both she and Naomi were But whenever one ended things with Guadalupe, Laura and Naomi would fall ill. Could Guadalupe have cursed them out of jealousy and revenge? As Laura unraveled the truth, she remembered the Santera's warnings and the eerie coincidences that seemed tied to Guadalupe's presence in their lives. The betrayal, the illness, and the unexplainable events all pointed to a sinister possibility. The haunted house that didn't want visitors, it all started one late afternoon around seven or eight years ago. Marina's family was sitting comfortably on the sofa, engrossed in a movie,

when suddenly, they heard something strange, the unmistakable sound of a marble dropping and bouncing across the floor upstairs. The pattern was repetitive, drop, bounce, pause, silence, and then it would start all over again. At first, they assumed it might be the neighbor's child playing with marbles. But as days turned into weeks, the noise persisted. What made it even stranger was that it didn't stop at night. It would wake the up, the same drop inbound sound, night after night. The once innocent noise of a marble became the precursor to something far more unsettling. Soon, it wasn't just marbles, they began to hear the sound of heavy furniture being dragged across the floor above them.

And this wasn't occasional, it happened every night, like clockwork. By then, it was clear that whatever was making these noises was relentless. Frustrated and sleep-deprived, Marina's family decided to confront the neighbor upstairs. Late one night, after hearing the furniture scraping yet again, they dressed, marched upstairs, and knocked on the door. They rang the doorbell repeatedly but received no response. This ritual of knocking and ringing the doorbell became a nightly routine, but it yielded nothing. Growing increasingly curious and desperate, they spoke with other residents in the building to see if anyone else was experiencing similar disturbances.

That's when they received a chilling revelation, no one had lived in the upstairs apartment for years. As time passed, the nature of the noises evolved. In addition to marbles and furniture, they began hearing curtains rustling in the dead of night. Yet, during the day, everything was still and eerily normal. Marina recalls how the fear seeped into her daily life. Friends refused to visit her house, and the moment the marble sound began, Marina and her friends would flee, regardless of the time. Eventually, the family adapted to the nightly disturbances.

They joked about it, imagining a playful ghost child rolling a marble or around. But despite their attempts to normalize it, Marina's mother, Lorena, never found the humor in it. A vacation turns ominous. One year, Lorena took a much-needed vacation to Lanzarotti with a friend. They planned to bask in the sun and relax. But from the first night, things didn't go as planned. Lorina's friend swore there was a shadow on the balcony, watching them. Lorina brushed it off, insisting the balcony door was locked and encouraging her friend to sleep. The second night, Lorena heard a metallic clinking sound, a small object bouncing, pausing, then bouncing again. Convinced it was her friend accidentally knocking something

over in her sleep, she tried to rationalize it. By the third night, both women took sleeping pills to ensure they'd finally rest. And they did, until the fourth night. That's when Lorena's friend claimed to see the shadow of a child peering at them from the balcony. This time, Lorena couldn't dismiss it so easily. When she returned home, Lorena shared her unsettling experience with her daughters. They teased her, suggesting that the Marble Ghost from their apartment had followed her to Lanzerati. But their jokes came to an abrupt halt when, a week later, the noises in their home stopped altogether. The Marble's shocking appearance.

One afternoon, Lorena was alone in the apartment, preparing a meal. Realizing she was out of salt, she ran to the store to buy some. Returning home, she poured the salt into its container. Later, when she reached in to grab a pinch, her fingers brushed against something solid and cold. Pulling it out, she found a small metallic sphere, a marble. But this was no ordinary marble. It was heavy, dense, and had the appearance of an old bullet, perhaps from a weapon long out of use. Lorena was adamant the marble wasn't in a salt bag when she poured it out.

Could this be the mysterious object responsible for the noises? Whatever the case, after its discovery, the strange occurrences in their home ceased for good. The terrifying trip to Cambus Quetz, years later, Marina's friend Mersh shared her own spine-chilling experience. She'd heard about Camus Quetz, a derelict mansion shrouded in eerie legends, and decided to visit it at night with friends. Alongside Mers were Mary, Mark, Santee, and the last-minute edition, Luz, the person who had initially shared the ghost stories about the mansion.

The drive to Cambus Quetz was unsettling. The path was overgrown, and the forest surrounding the mansion was dark and foreboding. Despite the tension, the group remained light-hearted, joking about the paranormal. As they approached the mansion, however, Merce noticed something strange, flickering yellow lights dancing through the trees. At first, she thought it was just reflections from their car headlights. But when Santi confirmed he saw the lights too, they all looked closer. The light seemed to come from deep within the forest.

like glowing fireflies. When they finally arrived at Cambus Quetz, the side of the mansion chilled them. The towering structure, overgrown with ivy and shadowed by a gnarled tree, seemed to emanate a sense of dread. Mary suggested they all turn off the car lights and close their eyes to feel the energy of the place. Immediately, Merse felt an overwhelming sensation of heaviness pressing her into the car seat. It was as if an unseen force was draining her energy. Before she could voice her discomfort, Mary spoke up, describing the same sensations. Luz, however, broke the silence in panic, urging everyone to leave. She felt the house didn't want them there. Reluctantly, they decided to leave.

But as they prepared to drive away, Mary suddenly froze. She whispered, there's someone outside. A man with a hat. He's coming toward the car. That was all Sandy needed to hear. He started the engine, and they sped off into the night. A chaotic escape, the drive-back was no less harrowing. A thick fog enveloped the road, and the air was damp, leaving the car covered in moisture. As they made periodic stops to catch their breath, they heard dogs barking in unison. Each time they stopped, the barking would start. When they drove on, the barking ceased.

Then, as they were nearing the edge of the forest, they all saw it, a glowing yellow orb hovering in the middle of the road. It moved erratically, weaving back and forth before vexed. vanishing into the trees. At one point, Mers swore she heard something scratching the side of the car, though there were no branches or obstacles nearby that could have caused it. When they finally escaped the forest and reached the town, they pulled over to inspect the car. What they found chilled them to the bone. Small, child-sized handprints covered the back of the vehicle, as if tiny hands had been pushing them forward. Even worse, scratches marred the door nearest Mers, and

on another part of the car, a man's face appeared imprinted in the condensation. Terrified, they decided to distract themselves by going out to a nightclub to shake off the terror. A bold return, by morning, bolstered by their wild night out, the group decided to return to Cambus Quetz. This time, they were determined to confront their fears head on. In the daylight, the mansion seemed less intimidating. They explored the grounds, even laughing at how scared they'd been the night before. However, their light-heartedness faded as they noticed something strange.

While walking, they found themselves inexplicably moving from one part of the mansion to another without any clear path. At one point, they were in the second-floor corridor, which should have been inaccessible due to the lack of stairs. In one room, known for being the sight of a man's death, they decided to test the legends. The room was in ruins, with cracked walls and spiderwebs hanging from the ceiling. One of the friends lit a candle and called out to the supposed ghost, daring it to show a sign. The candles flame flickered wildly before extinguishing on its own. That was the final straw. They fled the mansion, vowing never to return.

Conclusion, to this day, Cambus Quetz remains a place of mystery. Whether the group's experiences were the result of overactive imaginations or something genuinely supernatural, the events of that night left an indelible mark. For Marina and Mers, these stories serve as chilling reminders that some places, and some forces, are best left undisturbed. The New Year's Eve ritual that went too far. New Year's Eve is a time for celebrations, resolutions, and for some, peculiar rituals. People around the world burn wishes written on paper, light-colored candles, or start the year on their right foot, sometimes literally. But on December 31st, 2017, Elena and her cousin Sandra took things to a whole new level.

Instead of the usual traditions, they decided to perform a ritual so daring that it left both of them questioning reality. If you've ever played hide-and-seek, you know the rules, one person counts while others hide, and then the seeker tries to find them. But what if the game had a sinister twist? What if you played hide-and-seek, not with a human, but with a doll? If you're a fan of creepy stories, you might already have an idea of where this is going. A twisted version of hide-an-seek became popular in recent years, a ritual where you bring a doll to life, harm it, and wait for its revenge. It sounds absurd, right? That's what Elena thought too.

But Sandra? She was determined. The beginning of something dark, it all started around 10.30 p.m. when Elena and Sandra were chatting with a mutual friend on WhatsApp. The friend casually mentioned a bizarre ritual he performed days earlier. According to him, the doll he used had moved on its own, strange noises filled his home, and he even felt physical aggression. Fascinated, the cousin scoured YouTube for videos and found horrifying testimonials,

people injured, possessed, or reporting the doll missing altogether after the ritual. Sandra, always the adventurous one, was instantly hooked. For her, this was way more exciting than burning wishes or lighting candles. She insisted they try it out. Elena was less enthusiastic but didn't want to appear scared in front of her cousin. So, they decided to go for it. The game's instructions were straightforward but unnerving. Prepare the doll, open a stuffed toy with arms and legs.

Remove its stuffing and fill it with uncooked rice. Add a piece of your nail inside. Seal the doll, stitch it back up with red thread and wrap any leftover thread around the doll's body to, bind the spirit you're invoking. Set up the scene, fill a bathtub with water and name the doll, any name except your own. Start the game, at 3 a.m., tell the doll, you're it, followed by your name. Place it in the water and turn off all lights. Then hide in a room with a saltwater filled cup and a TV turned on. on. The chase, return to the doll, stab it with a knife, and say, you're next, followed by

the doll's name. Quickly return to your hiding spot and wait. End the game, to stop the ritual, find the doll, spit saltwater on it, pour the rest over its body, and loudly declare, I win. Burn the doll afterward. A coin flip decides the fate. The game could only be played by one person, which meant they needed to decide who would participate. A coin toss sealed Elena's fate. She lost. The plan was simple, they'd sneak away from their family's New Year's Eve gathering at their grandparents' home, head to Elena's house, and performed the ritual. Elena was reluctant but felt pressured. Sandra was persuasive and unrelenting, and Elena didn't want to be branded a coward. After the midnight celebrations, they slipped

away, claiming they were visiting a friend. The night was freezing, their sequin dresses doing little against the winter chill. Yet, their determination, or perhaps Sandra's, pushed them forward. The ritual begins. Once inside Elena's home, the cousins got to work. They followed the instructions meticulously, transforming a small harlequin doll, which had always creeped them out, into the centerpiece of their ritual. The doll, named Noit, had been a gift from their grandparents years ago. Elena had always found it unsettling, and this seemed like the perfect excuse to get rid of it. Despite initial doubts, they pressed on. Together, they stabbed the doll, chanted the ominous words,

and bolted to their hiding spot, a dimly lit room with a TV providing the only source of light. Sitting in a corner, they waited. Things take a dark turn, minutes passed, and the air grew heavy. Suddenly, the TV turned off, plunging them into darkness. From the silence emerged an eerie sound, the faint jingling of a bell. It seemed to come from the hall, then the stairs, growing closer and fainter as if someone, or something, was wandering aimlessly. Elena's fear escalated. The bell wasn't random, it belonged to the Harlequin doll.

Sandra tried to stay calm, but even she couldn't dismiss the sound. Their breaths quickened as the bells jingling grew louder, pausing just outside their door. And then, silence. For what felt like an eternity, the house was still. The usual noises, neighbors, distant cars, faint music, disappeared. The cousins barely dared to breathe, clinging to each other in the oppressive quiet. The interrupted ritual, suddenly, the first. front door creaked open, followed by footsteps and lights flicking on.

Someone had returned home. But who? Elena's family wasn't supposed to be back for hours. Panic-stricken, she peaked out of the room, but the hallway was dark and empty. Confused and terrified, she grabbed the cup of saltwater, determined to end the game. But when they reached the bathroom, the doll was gone. The aftermath, the cousins searched every inch of the house, but Noy had vanished. Fearing the worst, they abandoned the house.

and returned to their grandparents' place. That night, they stayed together, convinced that safety lay in numbers. Surprisingly, they both slept peacefully. However, for Elena, the ordeal was far from over. In the weeks that followed, strange occurrences plagued her home. Every night at 3 a.m., she'd wake to hear faint footsteps, the distant jingle of a bell, and the muffled sounds of laughter. Her family noticed nothing, but Elena was certain the doll was still there.

On March 15th, while cleaning her room, she found it. Noit was wedged under her bed, staring back at her with its eerie, painted smile. A haunting legacy. To this day, Elena refuses to speak of what happened after she found the doll. Sandra has moved on, chalking the experience up to paranoia and imagination. But Elena knows better. Every New Year's Eve, she can't help but remember that night and the game they never truly finished.

Was it just a game or something far more sinister? Perhaps some questions are better left unanswered. Jan had always described himself as a man of science, yet there was something that fascinated him since childhood, those stories and tales of haunted places. His grandfather, Don Emanuel, would share these stories with him when he was young. Don Emanuel was an attentive, kind, and helpful man, the typical grandfather you'd see in old Hollywood films. He always wore an old hat, carried a pocket watch, and used suspenders under his shirt to hold

up his pants. But it wasn't just his physical appearance that made him seem like a character from a vintage movie, it was also his outlook on life. No matter the circumstances, he always saw the good in people and the world, even when others didn't deserve it. A perfect example of this was his wife, Griselda. Griselda, as Jan's grandmother, was the complete opposite. She was cold, distant, and selfish. Whenever Jan would knock on her door, she would greet him with a look of superiority, quickly making excuses to leave or dismissing him. And she did the same with her own children. Griselda didn't like people much, she preferred to sit in a corner reading books with

strange, mysterious covers. Jan's older brother used to joke that their grandmother was a witch who transformed into an owl at night to hunt babies to sacrifice. Needless to say, even her own children didn't trust her. In 2008, just two days after Jan's second birthday, Don Emanuel was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. For years, he had been struggling with memory loss and performing strange actions that, at first, seemed humorous, but eventually became concerning. His children decided it would be best to move him to a nursing home in the San Martín

DePorez district where he could receive proper care. However, within a few months, Don Emanuel's condition worsened drastically. He could barely remember his children's names and would dismiss them when they visited, insisting, you're not my children. My children are no older than ten years. No one could explain why his disease had progressed so quickly. He entered the nursing home with early stage Alzheimer's, but within months, he had advanced to the third stage. His case became so rare and astonishing that doctors from all over Latin America wanted to study him.

Amid the chaos and despair of his family, Griselda, who had remained distant for years, suddenly spoke up. For the first time, she seemed concerned about her husband and asked her children to bring him home. She promised to take full responsibility for his care, assuring them she would manage his medication. Initially, her children rejected the idea, as none of them had ever remembered her as a loving mother or attentive wife. But after some deliberation, they realized she was the only person Don Emanuel still recognized, so separating them might make things worse. In December 2008, Don Emanuel was brought back to his home on Avenida on Amos Este, but things soon became increasingly strange. Whenever a family member knocked on the door, Griselda would answer with a cold, dismissive attitude, claiming her husband was either sleeping, unwell, or didn't want visitors.

This behavior was odd, considering Don Emanuel had always loved having people around. In mid-2011, a devastating piece of news shook the family, Don Emanuel had passed away. His funeral was attended by friends, neighbors, and family members, all visibly affected by the loss, except for one person, Reselda. She didn't shed a single tear as four men carried her late husband's casket. After the funeral, she asked her children if she could live with one of them, as living in the house where Don Emanuel had passed away was simply too painful for her. She claimed that Don Emanuel hadn't left a will, and the pension she would receive would be

so small that she couldn't afford a nursing home. The only option left was to sell the house. Nobody believed her, but they also understood that, despite her shortcomings, she was still family, and as such, she deserved respect. Jan's mother invited her to live with them, and the family agreed to help sell the property. But as often happens in big families, promises were made and forgotten, and only four people ended up handling the situation, Jan, his father, and his siblings. On October 9, 2011, Jan was celebrating his five-year relationship anniversary with his girlfriend and was planning to propose to her that night. Before heading to his

grandparents' house to help his father dismantle a wardrobe, he took care of the last-minute details, reserving a restaurant, calling his in-laws, and finally finding the perfect ring. Once Jan arrived at his grandparents' house, he quickly dropped his things on the living room table, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work. His father and he spent two and a half hours dismantling the wardrobe, but Griselda seemed very insistent on keeping it for the new room in the house. Afterward, when they thought they were done, a loud thud echoed from deep inside the house. They went to check, but nothing was out of place. They didn't think much of it at the time, as nothing unusual had ever happened during their visits to the house. They

figured it was just a coincidence. Later that evening, as Jan was about to leave with his girlfriend for their night out, he realized he had misplaced the ring. After searching everywhere, he realized the last time he saw it was at his grandparents' house. So, he quickly asked his girlfriend to accompany him there. When they arrived, Jan told her to wait in a car, assuring her he'd only be a moment. He rushed inside, but when he entered the living room, something was off. The table had been moved, and he couldn't find the newspaper his father always left there. Even stranger, the hallway door was ajar, and as he walked toward it, a strange feeling overtook him. He began to feel weak, dizzy, and his breath grew heavier.

He continued walking, though, determined to retrieve the ring. But as he reached, the black bag where he had left it, his hand touched something else instead, but dried zucchini. Confused and feeling increasingly ill, Jan realized that this was no joke. The box with the ring was gone. He looked up, and there it was, sitting on the bed in the guest room, the very room that had once belonged to his grandfather, Don Emanuel. Jan knew he had to act fast.

He walked toward the bed but halfway there, an intense ringing filled his ear. It was unbearable, so he tried to block it out, but then, just As suddenly as it came, the sound stopped, leaving a heavy, oppressive silence. Jan couldn't explain it, but he knew something was wrong. He quickly grabbed the box from the bed and rushed to the door. Just as he reached for the handle, an invisible force grabbed his ankle and yanked him backward, sending him crashing to the floor. Everything became a blur.

Before he could make sense of what had happened, the bed began to shake violently as if an earthquake was happening, but only the bed could feel it. terrified, Jan scrambled to his feet and ran toward the door, only for the same force to grab his ankle again and drag him back down the hall. He lost consciousness. The next thing Jan remembers is waking up in a hospital room, his girlfriend sitting beside him, crying uncontrollably. She explained that after he had gone into the house, she had waited outside. When he didn't return, she went inside and found him lying unconscious on the floor. He had been unresponsive to her calls, and she had called an ambulance. From that moment on,

Jan told everyone what had happened, and his family believed him. They never went back to that house again. Some believed that Jan had been attacked by the ghost of his grandfather, possibly confusing him for Griselda, while others speculated that the spirit was a demon summoned by Griselda herself. But one thing was certain, Jan's life would never be the same again. It all started when they kicked her out of her own party. They did whatever they wanted, turning the lights on and off, yelling, and even making her mother

mad at her. But the worst part... They stopped speaking to her altogether. So, one day, she marched up to the leader of the group and asked why they were ignoring her. The answer was blunt, Fatima didn't have friends because she lived in a haunted house. To understand this, we need to go back to 2019, when Christina had been dating a guy named Danny for a few years. Danny and Christina were perfect for each other. They shared the same hobbies, similar interests, and they got along really well.

There was a special chemistry between them, and everything seemed to be. perfect. But one day, everything changed when Christina found out she was pregnant. Danny, at first, tried to be supportive, but as the pregnancy progressed, it became clear he wasn't ready to be a father. He couldn't cope with the idea, and, when Christina was eight months along, he told her he wasn't prepared for parenthood and that he couldn't continue the relationship. He packed his bags, left, and went back to live with his parents. Christina tried to hide from her parents that Danny and she were no longer together. Every time they came to visit her, she would tell them that Danny was either working with his friends or with

his parents. Her mother had always been critical of Danny, and Christina didn't want to hear her long lectures about how she'd end up alone and should move back home with her family. As time passed, it became harder for Christina to stay away from her baby. The idea of leaving her newborn with strangers was too much for her to bear. Eventually, she gave in and confided in her mother, telling her everything. Christina worked at a store in the city center. Her hours were relatively good, with Sundays and Mondays off. She had the great fortune of being able to eat lunch and dinner at home every day, which was a comfort. But once she returned to work, it was overwhelming. It was normal to feel sad about being separated from her baby, but for

Christina, it became unbearable. Sometimes, she would go to the back room and cry, then compose herself and go back to work as if nothing had happened. She'd go from feeling fine to suddenly being very down, and when she was with her baby, she became obsessed with making sure everything was okay. She checked his breathing constantly, checked his diapers every ten minutes, and made sure he was warm and comfortable. It was almost like an obsession, but with time, she started to adapt. One evening after work, Christina planned to iron some clothes. She picked up the baby, fed him, changed his diaper, and placed him in his crib. Then, she turned on the baby monitor. Her apartment was small, and the walls were paper-thin, but she was still obsessed with making

sure nothing happened to her baby. As soon as she placed him in the crib, she turned on the monitor, went to the living room, turned on the TV, and set up the ironing board. For a while, everything seemed normal. She was ironing baby clothes while flipping through TV channels, feeling more and more relaxed as the time passed. But suddenly, the baby monitor started making strange noises. They weren't baby sounds, no crying.

or breathing, just static and interference. The lights on the monitor flickered, and strange sounds started to echo through the apartment. Christina grabbed the monitor, shook it, but the noises wouldn't stop. She checked the batteries, removed them, and replaced them, but the problem persisted. She was confused because the monitor was brand new, and so were the batteries. Then, she heard a voice from the monitor, you're just like your mother. Christina froze. For a few seconds, she didn't know what to do.

She was sure the voice wasn't from a neighbor or the TV. It had come from the baby monitor, and there was no one else in the apartment, just her and her baby. This didn't make any sense. Slowly, she walked down the hallway to the bedroom where her baby was sleeping. She took a few more steps, and when she reached the door, she peeked inside. There was no one there. She checked every room, again, no one was around. So, she took a deep breath and tried to calm herself.

The heater was off, so she decided to go to the hallway and turn it on. Just as she was about to do that, the baby monitor spoke again, Are You Cold? This time, Christina couldn't take it anymore. She threw the monitor against the wall, breaking it into a thousand pieces, and the noise woke up her baby. That afternoon, she told the co-worker, Noelia, about what had happened. Noelia explained that many mothers experienced weird hallucinations after childbirth, but Christina didn't feel convinced. She didn't want to talk about it anymore and tried to put it out of her mind. Weeks passed, and the store started its big sales.

Christina barely had time to go home. She worked long hours, ate at the store, and her family and friends took care of the baby. One Saturday afternoon, after a long day of work, Christina came home to find her mother and her two younger sisters taking care of the baby. They had fed him, changed him, and put him to bed so that Christina could relax. Her sisters left quickly, but her mom stayed for a little while longer. Christina sat down on the couch, closed her eyes, and drifted into a light sleep with the TV still on. Her mom kissed her forehead and said she was going to the bathroom. Christina heard her mom walk down the hallway, the door of the bathroom open, and the sound of the toilet flushing. But, strangely,

she never heard her mom leave. After a while, Christina got up and went down the hallway to check on her. She noticed the light was on under the bathroom door, so she knocked. lightly and asked if everything was okay. Her mom's voice answered from inside, yes, dear, everything's fine. Something felt off, but Christina didn't pay much attention to it. Maybe her mom was just organizing things in there. She turned around, checked on the baby in his crib, and headed back to the living room. Just as she was about to enter, she heard the bathroom door open and the light go off. But when she turned around, the bathroom was wide open and completely empty. The house was small, just a bathroom, a hallway, a bedroom, a tiny kitchen,

and a small living room. There was no place for anyone to hide. Before Christina could process what had happened, the baby started crying loudly. She rushed to the room, feeling a chill on her neck. There was no one there. She grabbed her baby and walked down the hallway, trying to calm him. She sat down on the couch with the baby in her arms, trying to reassure herself that everything was fine. She told herself it was just her imagination, that she was stressed and exhausted, and that there was no way her apartment could be haunted. Christina didn't believe in ghosts or spirits. She convinced herself it was just post-birth exhaustion and that she was overreacting. But then, as the minutes passed, she started hearing faint tapping noises

coming from the bathroom. One tap, a pause, another tap, then two taps more. The noises kept getting louder, as if someone was in the house with her, someone she couldn't see. Someone who was watching her. Christina grabbed her baby, ran to the front door, grabbed her keys, and left the apartment. She drove straight to her parents' house. She never told them what had really happened. She just said that she couldn't handle living alone with the baby and that they were right, it was too much for her.

Her mother always knew something was wrong, and she hoped that one day Christina would open up about it. In 2005, I was invited to my first ever sleepover. Fadima was turning 12, and her parents had thrown her a birthday party that sounded amazing. I remember so many details about that house because it was extraordinary. Her father was a businessman who was always traveling, and her mother was a stay-at-home mom, quiet, and traditional. They allowed us to use the entire ground floor of their home for the party. I still keep the invitation today, it's so beautiful, it feels wrong to to throw it away.

Fatima's mother was Moroccan, and their home was decorated in a very traditional style, with rugs, a big couch that circled the living room and small tables scattered around. But one thing stood out to me, they didn't have a TV, a telephone, or a radio. They were against those things, and the only modern appliance they had was the kitchen. That night, the girls played board games, including Parchisi, and then around 9 p.m., Potima's mom sent us to bed. She made up a cozy area in the living room with blankets and cushions. We all brushed our teeth and climbed into bed.

Once we were settled, we started whispering and telling jokes, but soon, one of the girls suggested we share scary stories. Most of the girls weren't interested, but three of them, Anna, Sarah, and Lucia, claimed they had stories that would give us chills. Anna went first, telling a tale about ghosts and demonic possessions, trying to make it as terrifying as possible. Her story was full of imaginative details, and apparently, it worked, everyone was scared. Then it was Sarah's turn. She told a story about a person who suffered from catalepsy and was buried alive, only for the people to discover too late that they had

been wrong. The story was Gruz. Gabriela was born and raised in the bustling city of Guayaquil. Her family hails from Ecuador, except for her paternal grandmother, Flora, who emigrated from Spain when she was just 19 years old. a young girl, Flora took on the role of caring for Gabriela during the week, as her parents worked long hours and couldn't afford to hire a babysitter. Flora would tell Gabriela's stories about her homeland, about Spanish food, the people, flamenco, and, of course, traditional Spanish folk tales. One story, in particular, had a special role in Gabriella's upbringing. It was the story of El Ambre del Sacco, the man with the sack. In Ecuador, El Ambre del Sacco is often portrayed as a

disheveled man who roams the streets at night, hunting for lost children. When he finds them, he throws them into his sack and takes them home to eat them alive. The tale also tells of a limping girl whom the man captured, forcing her to sing from inside the sack. Without her song, no one would have known she was missing, and the man likely would have eaten her. But Flora's version of the story was even darker. She told Gabriela that El Ambre del Sacco could take on many different forms. Sometimes he was a child, other times an old lady, and most of the time he was just a sinister man. But according to Flora, the man didn't eat the children, he took them straight to hell, where they were devoured by none other than the devil himself.

As Gabriella grew older, Flora's health began to decline. Her memory faded, and she struggled to remember even the simplest things. Sometimes she would forget to wear shoes when leaving the house, or confuse her children's names. Eventually, Gabriella, who was only at the time, decided to take care of her grandmother. Since the family couldn't afford round-the-clock care, Gabriela took it upon herself to study from home and look after Flora. She took Flora on walks, they painted together, and did puzzles to exercise her grandmother's mind.

Though Flora wasn't the storyteller she once was, she remained a loving and affectionate grandmother, the woman who had raised Gabriella with so much care and love. Then, one afternoon, shortly after Gabriella turned 17, Flora became very ill. She was dizzy and weak, so Gabriela helped her lie down and asked if she needed anything. A glass of water, some juice, or maybe some cookies. Flora asked for something more specific, two slices of toast with olive oil. Gabriela rushed to the kitchen, took some bread from the freezer, toasted it, drizzled some olive oil on top, and brought it to her grandmother.

But when Flora tasted it, she refused it. She asked Gabriella for a favor. She told her to go to the street Juanca Vilca, where an elderly woman used to. to bake her own bread. The extra loaves were sold to the neighbors, and this bread reminded Flora of her childhood in Spain. Gabriela hesitated at first, wondering if the bakery even still existed, but Flora insisted, claiming the bread was the only thing that could take her back to her youth. So, Gabriella agreed. She grabbed her purse, ready to go, when Flora's voice stopped her. Gabby, be careful with El Ambre del Sacco, she warned. Gabriela was taken aback. How could

her grandmother remember that story. But she shrugged it off, thinking it was just an old tale from her childhood. After all, it had been years since she had heard the story. The street was only 20 minutes away, but it felt like a journey to the past. Gabriela remembered the old woman who had sold bread, she was kind, warm, and her bread was always delicious. As Gabriella walked down Juan Cavilca Street, she noticed how much it had changed. It used to be full of children playing and old people sitting outside their homes, but now it was quiet, almost deserted. The only person she saw was her old friend, Rosa Maria, who was picking up her younger siblings from a family friend's house. They talked for a few minutes, catching up on life. Gabriela told Rosa Maria

that she was headed to buy bread at the old woman's bakery. Rosa Maria was surprised. She knew where Gabriella lived and couldn't understand why Gabriella would walk all the way to Juancavilca when there was a bakery right next to her house. That's my grandmother's wish, Gabriella explained. She wanted the bread from that bakery. Rosa Maria offered to join her, but Gabriella declined. They walked together until they reached the familiar, small white house. But instead of the usual aroma of freshly baked bread and pastries, there was only an eerie

silence. Gabriela still felt compelled to go inside to see if the bakery was still operating, even though the place looked run down. Rosa Maria didn't want to go inside. She stayed outside, feeling uneasy just thinking about it. Inside, things looked exactly as Gabriella remembered, everything was just as it had been years ago. There was a counter full of pastries,

and shelves lined with loaves of bread. At the back of the room were a few wicker tables, and the walls were covered with photos of delicious foods. The scent of fresh bread was unmistakable. Just as Gabriella was taking it all in, a man appeared from the back room. He was an older man with a sweet demeanor, but something about him wasn't quite right. He was about five feet five inches and had dark, piercing brown eyes.

He smiled warmly at Gabriella and introduced himself as Jose Luis, the husband of Margarita, the woman who had once sold the bread. He asked about her grandmother and then offered Gabriella some pastries. She politely declined, but the man insisted, offering the best two loaves of bread in the shop. took them, but when she went to pay, she felt a chill run down her spine. His hands were icy cold when he took the money from her. She stepped back, holding the bread, unsure of what to do. The man's smile grew even wider, but instead of easing her nerves, it only made her feel more uncomfortable. She thanked him and started to leave, but he stopped her, telling her she

couldn't leave just yet. He insisted that his wife was very sick and wanted to see her. He asked Gabriela to come into the back room to give her a hug. Gabriela refused, saying she was in a hurry and needed to meet a friend outside. But the man grew more persistent, stepping closer and closer to her, until Gabriela managed to excuse herself and leave the shop. Once outside, she grabbed Rosa Maria's arm and hurried away. As they walked away from the bakery, Gabriella told her what had just happened. Rosa Maria seemed shocked.

According to her family, the woman who had once baked the bread had passed away years ago. Her family also mentioned that no one had been selling bread at that house for years. Back at home, Gabriela tried to slice the bread, only to discover that the inside was filled with mold. Shocked, she threw the bread away. The second loaf was the same. She couldn't believe it. She went to her grandmother's room and apologized, explaining that she couldn't bring the bread

Flora had wanted. Instead, she offered her the toast she had made earlier. was upset, but her words sent a chill down Gabriela's spine, I thought I told you to be careful with El Ambray del Sacco. Gabriela couldn't help but wonder what had really happened that day. What was the man in the bakery? Why had he acted so strange? And was it possible that Flora's warning had been more than just a tale from the past?

The first story, let me start by telling you a story that happened to Elias, a man who had been married to Amanda for 15 years. Their wedding wasn't planned, nor were they expecting to become parents at the young age of 19. Despite the unplanned nature of their early years together, they both worked hard to give their future child a great childhood and proper education. Elias and Amanda were both from Montcattery Shack, a town in Catalonia, and their dream was to eventually live independently in their hometown. For months, they searched for a house that would suit their growing family. They looked at various apartments and semi-detached houses, but nothing seemed to meet their

needs. They were looking for a modest home, something simple yet comfortable, with a small terrace, two bedrooms, one for them and one for the baby, a spacious living room, and a bathroom. After months of searching, it seemed like they had found the perfect home. The building was located near the Montcata Monresa train station. On the outside, the building wasn't very modern, it was at least 30 years old, but it had excellent connections. There was a bus stop right in front, and the bus stopped there on its way to the municipal school, which would be handy once their child was older. The apartment they were going to visit was on the second floor, and the building had an elevator. It had three bedrooms, a terrace with mountain views,

a fully equipped kitchen, and two bathrooms. It seemed like an enormous space for the relatively low price they were being offered, just 885,000. Elias and Amanda visited the apartment full of excitement, eager to see it. Amanda, however, had insisted on checking it out. She was curious about the neighborhood and wanted to understand why the price was so low for such a great location. But as soon as they walked through the door, they couldn't find anything wrong with the place. It was perfect. A beautiful, furnished apartment with amazing mountain views.

It didn't have a single negative point, it felt like the ideal place to raise their child. Elias, the moment they stepped in, exchanged a look with Amanda, a look of silent understanding that said, This is it, this is our home. But Amanda didn't seem convinced. She didn't seem fully certain about the decision. Elias noticed her hesitation. They had seen many houses, some that were too big, others too small. There were houses that were falling apart, and even some that were perfect but a bit too

expensive. But when Elias liked something, Amanda didn't seem to like it as much. Feeling frustrated, Elias thought that Amanda's response was just one of her pregnancy, neuroses, or perhaps it was just nerves. He decided to stay quiet and let the real estate agent continue explaining the wonders of the apartment. He thought that the more Amanda heard about the positives, the more she would fall in love with the house just like he had.

But Amanda's expression remained unchanged. She didn't even blink as if something was missing, as if the house lacked some essential quality that she couldn't explain. It was starting to bother Elias. Their baby was due soon, and they still didn't have a place to live. What kind of life would they be able to give their child if they didn't find a home soon? After visiting the apartment, the couple headed to a cafe to discuss whether they should move forward with the house or keep looking.

It was there that Amanda's doubts became clear. She said that the house didn't give her good vibes. No matter how beautiful or well-located it was, the place felt overwhelmingly negative. And that's when Elias snapped. He started telling Amanda that she needed to stop with her pregnancy neuroses and focus on what was really important, the well-being of their child and their family. If they were going to make the relationship work, Amanda needed to grow up and stop acting so irrational. Amanda, equally frustrated, responded that she was tired of looking at houses that didn't convince

either of them. She didn't want an ideal house, she wanted something practical because they were going to be a family of three, not twelve. What they needed, from the very beginning, were two bedrooms, nothing too big. But now, they were being shown huge houses, and she was starting to wonder if this big house was really a good idea. She then revealed something that had been bothering her during the apartment visit. She told Elias that she had experienced a strange, almost lucid dream. While Elias and the agent were in the kitchen, Amanda had been left alone in the living room for a couple of minutes. In that brief time, she had experienced a vision, she saw an elderly woman sitting next to the terrace, holding a wet baby in her arms. Something

inside her told her that the house already had an occupant, an old woman with a baby who had around. Elias was furious when he heard this. He accused Amanda of making up stories to avoid buying the house. He was tired of hearing these, ghost stories. He argued that there was no need for such fantasies, especially for a house that had been renovated. But Amanda didn't back down. She was insistent about the negative feeling she had about the place. The couple didn't speak to each other for over a week and a half. During that time, Elias stayed at his parents' house, and Amanda did the same. They were both upset, but finally, Elias realized he hadn't been fair to Amanda.

He had been so focused on finding the perfect house, a big and spacious one, that he hadn't considered her needs, especially considering she was pregnant and going through hormonal changes. He went to Amanda's parents' house, apologized, and promised her they would continue searching for a home. Five years later, Elias was driving his minivan on his way to his parents' house, accompanied by their two children, Juan, five, and five. and Anna, one, he had just picked them up from school and was heading to the grandparents' house,

where they would have a rare dinner without the kids. He remembers turning on the radio, the station they often listened to, and at that moment, Coldplay was playing. However, the song was suddenly interrupted by a breaking news bulletin. The news was chilling. In a second-floor apartment near the Montcata Monresa train station, a woman had drowned her baby in the bathtub. Elias was in shock.

The building they were talking about was the same one he and a, Amanda had visited five years ago, the same apartment they had almost bought. He was stunned, but he didn't dwell on it. He changed the station, hoping to calm his nerves. Upon arriving at his parents' house, Elias sat down to talk with his father. Unable to keep it to himself, he mentioned the strange coincidence about the apartment. His father, unbothered, responded calmly. It's not the first time that's happened in that building, he said.

40 years ago, another woman had drowned her grandchild in the same building. In fact, it had been the subject of news stories for months, each one with a different version of what had happened. The first version claimed that the grandmother had accidentally drowned her grandson and, devastated by the tragedy, had thrown herself off the balcony. The second version was darker, the woman, driven by jealousy, had drowned the baby and then committed suicide. On the same day, a young woman's body had been found on the train tracks.

initially thought she had been hit by a train, but an autopsy revealed that she had been dead before the train even arrived. The full truth came out weeks later. It turned out that the grandmother's son had gotten his girlfriend pregnant. The woman, unable to accept the relationship because the girl came from a poor family, had disapproved of the union. Eventually, she reached out to her son, but he ignored her. The grandmother, desperate to fix things, contacted the girlfriend, and together they arranged a meeting with the child. But that fateful night, neither the woman nor the child ever returned home. The family was left in shock, and the circumstances surrounding the deaths remained unclear. Some believed it was an act of

vengeance, while others speculated it was a tragic accident. Either way, it left its mark. Elias couldn't help but think about Amanda's strange vision during their visit to that apartment all those years ago. She had never mentioned anything paranormal before, and yet now, with the news about the drowning, he couldn't help but believe there was something more to her intuition. He shared this realization with his family and vowed never to dismiss Amanda's feelings again. The second story, this second story takes place in Mexico, but due to the ease of finding the house involved, I won't mention the neighborhood or area. This house is currently abandoned, still owned by someone who doesn't visit it.

The last thing I want is for anyone to go visit that house, so for privacy's sake, I'll withhold its exact location. Anna Maria was born in 1910 into a wealthy family. Unlike what you might expect, she wasn't the charismatic, open, and strong-willed woman one would assume. Anna Maria was actually quite reclusive, distant, and had a demeanor that made her seem like something out of a horror story. She was the type of person you'd walk past on the street and think, she looks like a witch.

On the other hand, her younger sister, Wana, was everything Anna Maria was not. Wana was kind, outgoing, and beautiful, a person who gave everything for others. But between them, there was a profound silence, a kind of tension that no one quite understood. Violetta was the older of two children in a cheerful, hard-working family. She was always diligent in her studies, and her dream was to graduate with honors and attend university in Hermosio. She had always known exactly what she wanted out of life, and no one or nothing was going to stand in her way.

However, when Violetta was 15, she became very close to a girl named Grace. Grace was the complete opposite of Violetta. Her family was chaotic, and her father was absent. Nevertheless, Violetta thought she was a charming girl, and soon, Grace became her best friend. Violetta would describe her as her best friend, although Grace was a year ahead of her. They did everything together, they were each other's confidence, and they even stayed in touch during breaks via Facebook and WhatsApp, as those social networks were becoming popular at the time. Things were going well. Grace would visit Violetta's house, and Violetta would go to Grace's.

They'd even chat with Violetta's mother, and sometimes Grace would show up unexpectedly for dinner. One day, while they were talking about their futures after finishing school, the topic of their plans came up. Grace said she wanted to try any random career and see how it went, and if that didn't work out, she'd start working and eventually become independent. Violetta thought it was a reasonable plan but made it clear that she had other goals. Grace, Violetta said, I want to pursue a career in the medical or scientific field. My plan is to take the entrance exam for the University of Hermosio and move there to study. I feel like if I stay here, I'll get stuck.

At first, Grace seemed supportive, but then her tone changed. Wouldn't you want to stay here? We could study the same thing and then live together. Violetta declined politely, explaining that she had a dream and a plan that she wasn't going to abandon. Grace, upset by her decision, abruptly left, making excuses as she stormed out. From that moment on, their friendship began to drift apart. As the summer approached, Grace became even more distant, and Violetta found herself staying up late, watching movies, checking social media, and spending time with her brother.

She shared a room with him, and the bed was positioned in the corner next to the window, with her brother's bed on the opposite side of the room. One night, Violetta stayed up until around 12.45 a.m., then decided to turn off her computer and go to bed. She lay down, facing away from the window, and closed her eyes. It was then that she felt a strange presence behind her. I felt this energy on my back, like when you turn on a TV and leave the volume at zero, she recalled. Despite the feeling, she didn't dare turn around. The air was hot, but she pulled the blanket over herself and tried to sleep. The next morning, she woke up feeling drained as if she hadn't slept at all.

She immediately told her mother, who was a devout Catholic and believed in spiritual entities. Her mother suggested that if it happened again, Violetta should wake her up, and she would sprinkle holy water in their room. This situation repeated throughout the summer. Every night, Violetta would lie down with her back to the window, and the eerie presence would return. Each morning, she would wake up exhausted. About a week before the summer ended, she decided that she wouldn't let it go on any longer. When she felt the strange presence again, she turned around to face it. To her horror, the light from the window was suddenly blocked by a dark shape that filled half of the window. Terrified, Violetta ran to wake her mother. Her mother

came into the room, but when they looked back, there was nothing there. Feeling foolish, Violetta returned to bed. After that night, the shadow never appeared again, and Violetta tried to move on with her life. By then, she wasn't as close to Grace anymore, but she would still hang out with her occasionally, along with another friend named Joseph. Joseph was a very negative person, always opposing whatever anyone said. If someone said something was white, he'd say it was black, and vice versa. Despite this, the three were still friends, or at least, it seemed that way. One day, while they were talking about their future plans, the subject of college came up again. Grace and Joseph shared their plans, and when it was Violetta's turn to speak, the mood turned tense.

Grace and Joseph began attacking her, telling her that her dreams were unrealistic and that she would fail. They mocked her, saying she would come crawling back to her parents. The insults were so hurtful that Violetta left, vowing never to speak to them again. From that point on, their relationship ended. As the next summer rolled around, the shadow returned. This time, it appeared every night. One evening, as Violetta lay in bed, she saw the shadow reflected on the wall. But she had grown so used to it that she decided to ignore it and try to sleep. Unfortunately, that wasn't enough to deter the entity. Suddenly, there was a loud tapping on the window.

Tap, tap, tap. As Violetta continued to ignore it, the tapping grew louder and more frantic. She screamed for her mother, and the moment she did, the tapping stopped. Her mother came into the room and checked the window, but there was nothing there. Violetta insisted that she could still feel the presence and that she could still sense the shadow. However, neither her mother nor her brother could see anything. That's when something chilling happened. Violetta pointed to the exact spot where she said the shadow was, and her mother, trying to calm her down,

grabbed a flashlight to prove there was nothing there. But when she shined the light at that spot, the beam was absorbed by the shadow, and it seemed to wrap around the darkness, almost like it was feeding on the light. Her mother was stunned, and Violetta was too terrified to speak. That night, Violetta slept with her parents, and the next morning, her mother sprinkled holy water in the room and said prayers. Violetta, hoping the shadow would finally leave her, decided to sleep in her own room that night.

But as soon as she closed her eyes, the shadow returned. This time, Violetta was too exhausted to ignore it. She jumped out of bed, stood in the middle of the dark room, and pleaded, please, leave. Take whatever you need, but go, and just like that, the shadow disappeared. The next morning, Violetta felt drained, as if something had taken more from her than just her energy. While in the shower, she felt as though she had a layer of wax on her skin, preventing her from feeling the water. From that moment on, Violetta could no longer sleep without nightmares.

In these nightmares, dark beings would invite her to join them. Her once bright future and academic drive began to crumble. Her grades dropped, and her motivation vanished. Yet, she managed to make it to Hermosio for college, but deep down, something was terribly wrong. She couldn't shake the feeling that the shadow was still there, haunting her every step. One night, in her second year of college, Violetta experienced sleep paralysis. She felt the shadow near her bed, and, just before it reached her, she heard a name whispered in her ear. Terrified, she searched for the name online, but found little information.

The nightmare seemed to drag on, as she felt both physically and emotionally drained. At first, they thought it was just a joke, but then it began to move frantically and spelled out the name, Violetta. Terrified, Violetta accused them of making fun of her, but they denied it, looking just as scared as she was. The Ouija board then spelled out, I am the Prince of Hell. I am Stolas. Violetta's mind raised as she recalled the strange name from her nightmares.

She asked, What do you want? The reply came, your soul. Someone promised it to me, confused, Violetta pressed the entity, asking who had promised her soul. The answer chilled her to the bone, your best friend. Violetta was floored. She hadn't had a best friend in years. But in high school, her best friend had been Grace.

The connection clicked in her mind. Grace had always opposed Violetta's plans to leave for university. Grace had always tried to hold her back. And now, here was the answer, Grace had promised Violetta's soul to a demon. As the Ouija board continued to spell out cryptic messages, one of the players began to act strangely. From their throat came guttural, unearthly sounds. The demon was speaking through them.

It revealed that it had been haunting Violetta for years, following her in her dreams, and had even whispered her name during sleep paralysis. When Violetta heard the name, Stolas, Emmanuel's disappearance, three nights and four days. That's how long Emmanuel was gone, if we don't count the night Antonio and I had dinner alone. And in those nights, something deeply unsettling took over our home. As soon as the sun dipped below the horizon, everything changed. The temperature would drop to a biting chill. Footsteps echoed from the upstairs, light and quick as if a child was running around.

We'd hear laughter, whispers, and sounds that came from everywhere and nowhere at once. But the worst part. The voices. I remember it like it was yesterday, Luciano began. Sometimes, when I'm lying in bed, my mind plays tricks on me, and I think I hear those whispers again. But then I sit up and remind myself it's not real, or at least I hope it's not. Honestly, I don't think I've ever truly gotten over it.

Luciano's story takes us back to 2005. He was fourteen then, the middle child of Miguel and Andrea. Miguel was a truck driver, constantly on the road, while Andrea was a math teacher at the very school Luciano and his younger brother Antonio attended. Their older brother, Emmanuel, had dropped out of school at 16 to work at a garage. He didn't know much about cars, but his drive and energy landed him a spot as an apprentice. Life back then was simple. Luciano described it as good. He wasn't the best student, but his grades were fine enough, and his relationship with his parents was steady. Emmanuel, though, was another story. He was constantly pushing boundaries,

coming home late, and acting as if having a job put him on the same level as their parents. Miguel was often gone for weeks, and when Andrea had to attend conferences, she'd leave the three boys home alone for a couple of days. Imagine it, Luciano said, laughing bitterly. A pre-teen, a teenager, and a wannabe adult locked in one house for two days. It was a recipe for disaster every single time. The strange girl, one of those times when their mom was away, Emmanuel brought a girl home. Luciano remembered every detail.

She didn't acknowledge him or Antonio, she just followed Immanuel into their parents' bedroom. Let's be real, Luciano said, you can guess what they were doing in there, but it wasn't what they did that unnerved him, it was the girl herself. She gave off, something, Luciano explained, struggling for words. I don't know if it was her look, her vibe, or something else, but there was something off about her. Really off, she was dressed head to toe in black. Her makeup was dark, two black smudges around her eyes, both above and below, and deep crimson

lipstick that bordered on Burgundy. Her hair was unusual, with long bangs and sideburns, but most of her head was shaved. It was the kind of style Immanuel's friends from Coretta had, Luciano explained. Coretta was a street popular back then, filled with Gothic and punk shops. They'd seen plenty of girls like her before. They had learned that appearance didn't necessarily reflect someone's character. But this girl, she was different. She didn't just look dark, Luciano said, shivering slightly.

She felt dark, Antonio and Luciano tried to brush it off, laughing quietly as they worked on homework in the living room. Antonio was sprawled on the floor doing his assignments, while Luciano read a book for class. They both froze when they heard noises from the bedroom, muffled moans and rhythmic thuds. Antonio whispered, are they, talking backward? How do they even do that? Luciano felt his skin crawl. He didn't respond. After what felt like an eternity, the girl emerged. She walked down the hall, paused in the living room, and stared at the two brothers.

We stopped everything, Luciano recalled. We just stared back, waiting for her to say something. Anything. But she didn't. She just smiled, almost smirked, and left. Something about that moment left Luciano deeply unsettled. The cold night, the family lived in a two-story house. on the outskirts of Barcelona. Downstairs had the boys' shared bedroom, their parents' room, a bathroom, and an open-plan living room with a kitchen. Upstairs was Emmanuel's domain, his bedroom, a bathroom, and a spacious terrace. After the girl left, Emmanuel disappeared upstairs and didn't come back down.

Antonio and Luciano had to fend for themselves. They reheated leftovers, ate in silence, and went to bed early. Not long after they settled in, Antonio complained that his feet were freezing. feet were freezing. I can't remember the month, Luciano said, but I do remember thinking it wasn't cold enough for heating yet. Still, Antonio kept bugging me, so I got up to find the space heater. Luciano went to their parents' room to search the closet. He rummaged through the shelves, pushing aside towels and boxes. Finally, he crouched to check him on the shoes. That's when it happened. The room went silent, he said, his voice dropping. It was thick, like the air itself froze.

And then, I felt it. A breath on the back of my neck. A man's breath. But it wasn't my brother. The breath was icy and unnatural. Luciano grabbed the heater and bolted. He didn't care that he left the closet in chaos or that his mom would be mad. He slammed the bedroom door behind him and plugged in the heater without saying a word.

Antonio asked what happened, but Luciano just shook his head. I didn't want to scare him, he said. And honestly, I didn't even know how to explain it, neither boy slept that night. They sat upright in bed, staring at the door as if something, or someone, might burst through at any moment. The disappearance. The next morning, Antonio spilled everything to their mom, about the girl, the noises, and how Emmanuel hadn't come downstairs.

Furious, Andrea stormed upstairs to confront her eldest son, but he wasn't there. His room was empty, but it wasn't just his absence that unnerved her. His desk was covered with papers, scribbled in black ink. The drawings were grotesque, monsters, twisted figures, and symbols that didn't make sense. Red ink splattered the pages like blood. His clothes were strewn across the floor, the bed unmade, the whole room a chaotic mess. Andrea called Immanuel's phone, but the sound came from inside his room. He'd left it behind, a detail so unlike him it sent her into a panic.

She called her husband, relatives, and neighbors, but no one had seen him. That night, she called the police. Strange events, while Andrea broke down in tears, family and neighbors gathered to support them. The police questioned everyone, including Antonio and Luciano, who tried to downplay their fears. That first night, their uncles stayed over, setting up a makeshift camp in the living room. But even with the house full, the strange occurrences didn't stop. The temperature plummeted again, and this time, the boys were too scared to leave their room. They stayed huddled together, pretending to sleep, as whispers echoed through the house.

They heard water running, like someone was taking a shower upstairs. But no one was there. Then came the bang. A door upstairs slammed shut. Everyone heard it. The adults rushed upstairs, finding the shower running in Emmanuel's door closed tight. Inside, wet footprints covered the floor. The voices, the second night was worse.

lights out, Antonio and Luciano heard whispers outside their door. It wasn't just random noises, Luciano said. It was a conversation. A group of people, whispering about Emmanuel, the voices were so clear they could make out bits and pieces, though the words blurred in memory. Antonio hid under the covers, begging Luciano to get their mom. But Luciano refused. We were sure, he said.

Those voices weren't coming from outside the house. They were in here. Right outside our door, that night, Luciano prayed for the first time in his life. The return, for the next three days, Andrea and Miguel focused entirely on finding Emmanuel. Andrea skipped work, making endless calls and searching tirelessly. Miguel cut his route short to join the search. The boys, meanwhile, were kept on strict lockdown. They weren't allowed to leave the house, not even for school.

On the fourth day, around 6 p.m., the police called. Emmanuel had been found in the city center. He came home looking, normal. He claimed not to remember where he'd been or what had happened. He offered no explanations and gave no details. The house returned to its usual calm. The whispers stopped. The footsteps ceased.

It was as if whatever darkness had crept and left with Emmanuel. But some questions remain unanswered. The unspoken truth, now 29, Luciano reflects on those events with a mix of unease and frustration. Antonio, now 27, feels the same. Our parents never talk about it, Luciano said. They dodge the topic every time we bring it up. But we're convinced they know more than they're letting on. The brothers are determined to uncover the truth someday.

Until then, they carry the chilling memory of those nights, of whispers, icy breaths, and the darkness that once engulfed their home. Claudia hadn't expected much when she hit play on the recording she made that night. Honestly, she didn't think she'd captured anything unusual. Maybe some muffled music from the village festival, the sound of her dad snoring in the next room, or perhaps a stray insect buzzing near the microphone. But when she finally put on her headphones and pressed play, she realized how wrong she'd been. Those 11 minutes of recording weren't quiet at all.

In fact, they were filled with sounds she'd rather not have heard. Before diving into the details, let me clarify something. Claudia, the protagonist of this story, has asked to remain entirely anonymous. She's shared real names, locations, and details with me, but for her safety and peace of mind, I won't reveal any of that. Instead, I'll use a fake name, Claudia, and keep her story as anonymous as possible. She could be anywhere, she could be anyone. Claudia, now 20 years old, has spent half her life feeling uneasy in her own skin,

and her own home. When she was a child, her parents divorced. She spent her early teenage years living with her dad, who eventually moved to a small house in a mountain village. The move seemed ideal at first. Claudia was about 15 or 16 at the time, and the house, with its two floors and spacious layout, seemed perfect. She had her own room, there was plenty of space for their two dogs, and the quiet village atmosphere felt safe. Or so it seemed. Early warnings, I don't know why, but that house always made me feel weird, Claudia admitted. I had my room downstairs, and I tried to make it cozy, but something about it was, off. At the time, I didn't understand why I felt so uneasy. I figured it was just my imagination. I mean, I was a teenager,

who doesn't get spooked by random creaks and groans in the night, but it wasn't just the typical sounds of a house settling that bothered her. One summer night, between one and two a.m., Claudia was lounging on the living-room couch, watching her favorite comedy show. On one side of the couch lay Alpha, her loyal American Staffordshire terrier, and on the other side was Lucas, her tiny Yorkshire terrier. The vibe was relaxed, just a girl, her dogs, and some mindless TV. Then it happened. She heard a distinct knock on the wooden frame of the couch, right behind her head.

I froze, Claudia recalled. It wasn't the kind of sound you could ignore. It was deliberate, like someone, or something, was trying to get my attention. But I told myself it was nothing. Maybe the couch creaked. Maybe I imagined it, except Claudia couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't alone in the house. Night after night, the same unease crept in, making it impossible for her to fall asleep until dawn. Her dog Alpha seemed to share her anxiety, often barking at the small window in Claudia's room.

Every time, Claudia would check the window and find, nothing. No stray animals, no prowlers, just the suffocating darkness of the surrounding woods. The room she couldn't stand. As Claudia got older, she spent less time at her dad's house. Months would pass between visits, but when she did stay, she noticed her discomfort only grew. Her dad, trying to make her feel more at home, even painted her bedroom pink, her favorite color at the time. But the fresh coat of paint didn't change anything. I hated that room, Claudia confessed. I couldn't explain it, but it felt, wrong.

Like there was someone else in there with me, always watching. When her grandmother passed away, Claudia saw an opportunity to escape her dreaded room. Her grandmother's old bedroom was upstairs, and Claudia begged her dad to let her move into it. The atmosphere in the upstairs room was different, or so she thought. For a while, the new room felt like a fresh start. But one night, everything changed. The summer night she'll never forget. It was last summer, Claudia began, her voice trembling slightly.

It was around 3 or 4 a.m., and I was lying in bed, scrolling on my phone. Lucas was at the foot of the bed, as usual. Then, out of nowhere, I felt it. She felt someone, or something, standing on the other side of the bed, staring at her. It's hard to explain, Claudia said. I couldn't see anything, but I knew it was there. The presence was so intense, it felt like the end. air in the room got heavier."

And then it started moving, slowly, deliberately, around the bed. Claudia's heart raised as the invisible figure approached. She clutched her phone tightly, her eyes darting around the room, searching the shadows for any sign of movement. But there was nothing to see, only the overwhelming feeling of being watched. And then, it stopped. Whatever it was, it was now standing mere inches away from her. That's when I felt my hair stand on end, like static electricity, Claudia said.

I started sweating, shaking. I was terrified. I screamed for my dad, over and over, but he didn't wake up. Desperate, Claudia grabbed her phone and played a prayer video on YouTube. She didn't know what else to do. The calming voice in the video eventually lulled her into an uneasy sleep, but the experience left her shaken. A presence that wouldn't leave, the strange occurrences didn't stop.

If anything, they became more frequent and more intense. Claudia began to notice odd noises coming from both floors of the house. house, scratches, thuds, even faint whispers. But the most unsettling event occurred on August 23rd, 2019, during the village's annual festival. Her dad had gone to bed early, leaving Claudia alone in the upstairs room. She stayed up late, scrolling through her phone, when she heard it, a faint clicking noise, like a light switch being flipped on and off repeatedly. At first, I thought it might be an insect or something outside, Claudia said. But the noise was coming from inside the room, she reached for the lamp on her nightstand,

and as soon as she turned on the light, the noise stopped. I just sat there for a while, staring at the walls, trying to figure out what it could have been, she said. Eventually, I grabbed my phone and texted my mom, even though I knew she wouldn't see the message until the morning. I just needed to tell someone, unable to shake the feeling that something was off, Claudia decided to record the sounds. She opened the voice recorder app on her phone, placed it on the nightstand.

turned off the light and tried to sleep. The recording, two days later, Claudia finally mustered the courage to listen to the recording. At first, she heard nothing unusual, just the muffled sounds of the festival outside. But then, around the four-minute mark, things took a sinister turn. I started crying when I heard it, Claudia admitted. It was proof that I wasn't imagining things. There was something, or someone, inside that room with me, the recording captured a series of heavy, dragging footsteps, as if something with claws or hooves was pacing the room.

Occasionally, there were faint growls and low, guttural sounds. The scariest part, though, was the voice. It sounded like it was struggling to breathe, almost choking, Claudia said. I don't know how to describe it, but it didn't sound human. And I know for a fact that the only living beings in that room were me and Lucas. Towards the end of the recording, Lucas could be heard whimpering softly. Claudia's own breathing, heavy and uneven, was also audible. as she drifted off to sleep.

Living with the unknown, Claudia is convinced that her dad's house is home to something unexplainable. Whatever it is, it doesn't seem to want to leave. I've tried everything, she said. Prayers, sage, even asking a friend who's into spiritual stuff to cleanse the house. But nothing works. If anything, it only makes it worse. The presence always comes back.

Despite the fear, Claudia spends a lot of time at her dad's house. Her dad, her dogs, and her grandfather are the most important people in her life, and she doesn't want to abandon them. During the day, the house feels almost normal. But at night, it becomes suffocating. It's like the darkness belongs to whatever's in that house, Claudia said. You can feel it watching you from the shadows, no matter where you are. I've learned to ignore it, but it's always there. Claudia knows she can't be the only one dealing with something like this.

She's hoping someone out there has an answer, a solution, Anything that might help her reclaim her home. Do you have any ideas? Can you help Claudia find peace? It's one of those stories that can leave anyone with chills, especially when the person telling it is so certain of what they've experienced. This is one such tale, told by someone who, in the beginning, didn't really believe in the strange things that could happen in the world,

until it happened to them. This is a story of something paranormal, or at least that's what the person involved believes. Ira Jimenez, a 24-year-old woman, is someone whose past still haunts her. Though she's doing much better now, whenever she reflects on what happened to her, she gets goosebumps. You might find it hard to believe, but the strange events began when she was only 16 years old. At that age, she met a man who was 11 years older than her. They hit it off, and despite the age difference, Ira quickly fell head over heels for him. The relationship felt magical at first. The first four years were filled with love, like a fairy tale. But as time

passed, things took a dark turn. By the time they had been together for six years, it wasn't love anymore, it was something else. Fights and lies have become their daily bread. The relationship, once something Ira cherished, had started to tear her apart. She was stuck in a toxic cycle. As much as she loved this man, their constant arguments made everything feel unbearable. She could barely focus on her studies, and her dream of becoming a veterinarian seemed impossible. All the stress from their relationship, combined with her academic pressures, led to physical and mental exhaustion. Ira began fainting.

She had never experienced anything like it before. Her health, once perfect, was deteriorating right in front of her eyes. When she finally went to a doctor, she was diagnosed with anemia caused by prolonged stress. It was a wake-up call. Ira had to make a decision, leave the relationship or quit her studies. She didn't know what would be worse, but she realized that staying with him meant she would never be able to achieve her dreams. So, she made the difficult decision to break up with him.

After the breakup, things started to improve. She passed her exams, made new friends, and her health gradually returned to normal. But then, something strange began happening. At night, when Ira would go to sleep, she'd turn her back to the door, curling up to rest. But suddenly, she started feeling an overwhelming cold on her back. At first, she thought it was just a draft, something not worth worrying about. But as the days and months went by, the chill grew stronger every night. No matter how many times she turned away from the door, the cold returned.

It became a strange, nightly ritual, and although it was uncomfortable, it didn't seem like a serious issue. However, it wasn't just the cold that was affecting her. Ira started to notice something else, the more she went through this nightly ordeal, the the less interested she was in dating or even forming connections with anyone. She went on a few dates, but nothing clicked. Her heart seemed frozen. She convinced herself that it was because of the six years she had spent with her ex, and

she simply wasn't ready to move on. But things only worsened with time. The cold wasn't the only sensation she felt at night now. As the months went on, the cold was accompanied by painful spasms in her body. Soon, she began having vivid nightmares. In these dreams, a faceless man would kidnap her, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't escape. Even when she woke up, the fear lingered, making it hard for her to breathe, let alone shake off

the feeling of dread. Her health began to decline again. The fainting spells returned, and the exhaustion was so intense that she could barely eat. Ira lost more and more weight. Desperate, she visited doctor after doctor, trying to figure out what was wrong with her. But nobody could provide answers. Finally, her mother suggested seeing a healer, someone known to their family. Ira was hesitant but agreed, and when she entered the healer's office, he immediately told her that he knew everything about her past.

He knew she had been in a six-year relationship, and he even knew that she had broken up with the man. He told her something chilling, something that took Ira completely off guard, you have a dead person attached to you. It's slowly draining your life. Without saying another word, the healer explained that Ira was under the influence of a powerful spell, one that had been placed on her by her ex. It was called the love-binding spell, a dark, malevolent form of magic that was often used to make someone fall in love with another person. However, it wasn't just about love,

the purpose of the spell was to bind the person's soul to the other. In Ira's case, it was slowly destroying her, day by day. The healer explained that the only way she could escape this curse was to act quickly. The more she resisted the relationship, the stronger the spell would become. Over time, this dark force had been consuming her spirit, draining her energy, and leaving her a shadow of her former self.

Ira had to act fast. The healer gave her a list of ingredients for a ritual that would free her from the curse. It was strange and unsettling, but Ira, desperate for a solution, decided to follow his instructions. The ritual involved chanting, prayers, and the sacrifice of a rooster. The process was intense, and although Ira didn't go into detail, she recalls the heavy feeling of dread that weighed on her as she underwent the ritual. But soon after, things started to improve.

Over the following days and weeks, she felt better. Her health returned, the nightmares stopped, and she regained her strength. It was like a fog had lifted from her life. Ira had been freed, but the experience left a lasting mark on her. She became hypersensitive to the presence of others, sometimes sensing things or shadows, but she no longer felt fear. In fact, she now felt strong and protected. Ira had visited the healer several times since then, and each time, she felt more like her old self.

She hasn't seen her ex again, and the terrifying nightmares have not returned. Although she still sometimes senses strange presences, she no longer fears them. She feels safe in her new life, free from the darkness that once threatened to consume her. In the years since, Ira's story has become one of the most talked about in her circle. It's one of those stories that make you believe in things you might not have believed in before. After what happened to Ira, even the most skeptical among her friends couldn't deny that something supernatural had been at play. Carlos, a friend of Ira's, has a similar story, one that also changed his perspective

on life. He used to be just like Ira, skeptical and unwilling to believe in the paranormal. But that changed after an encounter that still haunts him to this day. Carlos' partner, Leia, lives in a house on the outskirts of town, with a garden and a small pool house used for family gatherings. The place was lovely, but over time, Carlos began to feel uneasy. At first, he'd drop Leah off at her house at night, parking the car by the entrance, and she'd walk across the garden and into the house. But eventually, Carlos noticed that she seemed uncomfortable walking around the property at night, especially near the pool house. She confessed to

him that she often felt a strange presence there. One night, in July 2016, Carlos dropped Leah off as usual. He parked the car, and as he walked back to his vehicle, something caught his eye near the pool house. He saw a shadowy figure that looked like an elderly woman, smiling in a sinister way. He was so terrified that he ran back to his car, locking the doors and driving away without looking back. The experience left him shaken, and that night, he had terrifying nightmares. But he didn't tell anyone about what happened. He kept it to himself, thinking no one would believe him. The following summer, Leah's family held a gathering at the house. After the meal, Leah's niece went to the pool house, but after just a few moments,

she ran back, terrified, saying she had seen someone there who scared her. Over the next few months, Carlos continued to feel uneasy whenever he visited, always sensing something off near the pool house. It became unbearable, and by June 2017, the discomfort had reached a peak. At a dinner with friends, one of their group refused to go to the pool house to fetch drinks, saying it gave her a bad feeling. The group was puzzled, but they eventually decided to stay away from the area. Carlos' experience had now become something everyone could feel, even if they didn't understand why. Carlos' story, much like Ira's, remains a mystery. Both of them know now that there's more to the world than meets the eye. Whether it's an ancient

curse or an unseen presence, they've learned that some things can't be explained, only experienced. The first story I want to share is about Felix, a guy who's now 18. Since he was a kid, Felix had this rare ability, not everyone has it, you know. When he was just seven, he could already see shadows. And not just your usual ones, these were weird shadows, people, animals, things that weren't supposed to be there. He'd catch them from the corner of his eye, shadows that disappeared the moment he turned to look.

They weren't just creepy decorations hanging around, though, they felt off, like they didn't belong in world he lived in. These shadows didn't carry any emotions or vibes. No sadness, no joy, no anger, nothing. They just, watched him. Imagine being a kid trying to do your homework with shadows literally staring at you. It got to a point where Felix felt like he was constantly being spied on. In his innocence, he started chasing these shadows around the house, hoping to find out what, or who, they were. Of course, every time he followed them, they vanished. As he got older, something changed. The more he focused on these shadows, the more vivid they became.

At first, they were just vague outlines, but soon enough, Felix could make out their clothes, their shoes, even their faces. And then, things escalated, he began seeing these shadowy figures sitting by his bed, as real as you or me, living their own lives while he lived his. Fast forward a few years, and the shadows started to fade. For a while, Felix thought he was done with them. Then, three years ago, things took a turn. He had developed an interest in the paranormal, dabbling in voodoo, Ouija boards, and all that

spooky stuff. It rekindled his childhood ability. That's when he reached out to me. He told me he'd found a way to open his mind to these shadows, allowing them to grow stronger, stronger in ways most of us wouldn't even understand. He had a theory, one that a lot of people I've spoken to share, negative entities don't harm people out of malice. So, naturally, Felix wanted to help.

He opened himself up to these encounters, attempting to connect with the shadows. Eventually, he told his parents about everything. But, surprise, surprise, they didn't believe him. His siblings mocked him, too. Nobody seemed to get what Felix was going through. And then came the attacks. One night, out of nowhere, Felix started experiencing full-blown night terrors. But these weren't your run-of-the-mill nightmares, they weren't the kind where you wake up in a cold sweat and say, wow, that was

freaky. No. Felix swore these shadows grabbed his wrists and ankles, forcing him to leave his body and join them in their eerie astral realm. He tried to tell his family again. But they just shrugged it off and sent him to the doctor, convinced his night terrors were stress-induced. Exams, schoolwork, typical teenager stuff, right? The doctors gave him sleeping pills, hoping they'd help. Spoiler, they didn't. In fact, they made things worse. With his body drugged but his mind wide awake, Felix began to notice things he'd previously overlooked. Every morning, after those nighttime adventures, he'd wake up with fresh bruises, finger marks on his wrists and ankles, bite marks, and scratches across his chest.

It was like something, or someone, had been trying to claw his heart out. He showed his injuries to his parents and siblings, but they brushed him off again. They accused him of hurting himself for attention. His brothers turned it into a cruel game, teasing and scaring him relentlessly. Then came July 21st of this year. That day, Felix's oldest brother, Marcos, decided to organize a horror movie night. The four siblings gathered in front of the TV, armed with chips, popcorn, and a bootlegged copy of The Conjuring.

They dimmed the lights, shut the doors, and got ready for some good old-fashioned scares. Everything was fine, until the TV suddenly turned off. Felix felt it immediately, a bone-chilling coldness that wrapped around him like a wet blanket. The shadows were back. He could feel their eyes on him, but he stayed quiet. He didn't want to deal with his siblings' mockery again. Marcos tried turning the TV back on, but it kept shutting off. Frustrated, he started checking the cables, the remote, the batteries, everything.

Felix, meanwhile, was practically vibrating with anxiety. He could feel the anger of something unseen, something focused entirely on Marcos. Whatever it was, it wasn't happy, and Felix knew his brother was in danger. But he stayed silent. Marcos, oblivious to the growing tension, finally snapped. He threw the remote against the wall. As soon as he did, a vase fell off a nearby shelf and shattered. Then another.

And another. Every decoration on that shelf began crashing to the floor, one by one. Marcos jumped up, thinking the shelf was collapsing. But as he reached for it, an invisible force shoved him backward. He fell hard, face first into the floor. For the first time, Felix's siblings believed him. Since that night, the shadows have shifted their attention. They're no longer fixated on Felix alone, they've started tormenting the entire family.

His parents, still skeptical, dismiss it as mass hysteria. But Felix's siblings now know the truth, whatever this dark presence is, it's real. Now, let me tell you about Innes. Ines was someone I connected with immediately. She told me about her grandparents, how they practically raised her. filling in the gaps whenever her parents were too busy with work. They were her rock, her safe place. And their love for each other.

The stuff of fairy tales. When her grandmother passed away from leukemia, her grandfather fell into a deep depression. He stopped eating, stopped caring, stopped living. It got so bad that he ended up in the hospital, teetering on the edge of death. For Ines, the thought of losing her grandfather was unbearable. He wasn't just her grandpa, he was her second dad. her hero. She couldn't let him go. Determined to cheer him up, she tried everything. She spent hours at the hospital, talking to him, playing games, watching soap operas together. One day,

she learned about his childhood obsession with gray wolves. That gave her an idea. She cracked open her piggy bank, went to a toy store, and bought the closest thing she could find, a stuffed gray wolf. When she gave it to him, it was like a switch flipped. Her grandfather smiled, a real, genuine smile. Slowly but surely, he started getting better. But life wasn't done throwing curveballs at Ines. When she was 14, she injured her knee during a handball game. It was devastating, a sprain knee meant missing the national championships. She fell into a deep sadness, convinced she'd let her team down. That's when her grandfather returned the stuffed wolf to her. He told her the wolf had helped him heal and that it would help her too. It was his way of reminding her that

setbacks weren't the end, they were just detourers. Inspired, Innes began her recovery. But just as she was getting back on her feet, tragedy struck. Her grandfather passed away suddenly, leaving her heartbroken. Strange things started happening after his death. Every night, she heard the sounds of a dog running through the house. Her clothes smelled like wet fur. Hair, white and coarse, covered her floors. At first, she dismissed it as her grief playing tricks on her. But But one night, while sitting alone in the living room, she felt it. The growl of something Farrow behind her. Turning slowly, she locked eyes with two glowing green orbs staring at her from the dark hallway.

Those glowing green eyes in the darkness seemed to rise higher and higher. Innes couldn't look away, even though fear was wrapping itself around her chest like a tightening vice. The creature moved closer, and the sound of its claws scratching against the wooden floor echoed louder with each step. Her mind raced. What am I seeing? What is this?

She wanted to scream, but her throat felt locked, as if the fear itself had taken physical form and was pressing down on her. As the figure came closer, its full form began to take shape in the dim light of the hallway. It wasn't a wolf, as her grandfather had once described in his stories, nor was it a normal dog. This creature was something in between, something otherworldly. Its fur was a strange mix of ash and silver, almost glowing faintly as it moved. It had a lean, muscular frame and a presence that screamed danger but also familiarity.

The moment stretched into what felt like ours. Innes was frozen, her mind bouncing between terror and a strange, unexplainable connection. The creature stopped just before entering the living room, sitting back on its haunches. Its eyes bore into her soul, and suddenly, she wasn't just looking at the creature, she was inside its presence, as if they were connected through some invisible threat. Then, out of nowhere, her grandfather's voice echoed in her mind. Soft, reassuring, and familiar. Don't be afraid, Pequenya.

It's here to guide you. Tears welled up in her eyes. She couldn't understand what was happening, but the voice of her abuelo calmed her. For the first time since his passing, she felt a sense of peace amidst the chaos of her emotions. The creature tilted its head as if it had heard her grandfather too, then slowly turned and patted back down the hallway, disappearing into the shadows. When her parents came home that night, they found Ines sitting on the couch clutching the wolf plushy her grandfather had given her.

Her face was pale, but her eyes carried a strange clarity. She didn't tell them what she had seen. She didn't know how to explain it. The days that followed brought more strange occurrences. The mysterious dog sounds persisted, but now, Ines wasn't as terrified. Instead, she felt like the creature was guarding her, as if her abuelo had somehow sent it to watch over her. There were moments she thought she saw those glowing green eyes in the distance, at the end

of the hallway, through her bedroom window, even in the reflections of mirrors. One night, as she lay in bed clutching the plush wolf, she felt the weight of something sitting at the edge of her bed. Her heart raced, but when she turned to look, there was nothing there. Only the faint indent of paw prints on her blanket. She whispered, Abuelo, is it you? The response came, not in words, but in the faint sound of claws tapping against the floor as if the creature was acknowledging her.

Months passed, and Ines began to notice a change in herself. The overwhelming grief she had been carrying started to lift. She no longer felt entirely alone. Though she missed her abuelo deeply, the presence of the mysterious wolf-like entity gave her strength. She took it as a sign to keep pushing forward, just as her abuelo would have wanted. She returned to playing handball, slowly regaining her confidence and skills. Her teammates welcomed her back with open arms, and though she wasn't at her peak yet, she

felt determined to prove that she still had what it took. The plush wolf became a talisman of sorts. She took it everywhere, to school, to practice, even to tournaments. Her friends thought it was a little strange, but Ines didn't care. She knew what it meant to her, and she knew it was a symbol of something much bigger than herself. On the night of the championship game, Ines felt a wave of nervousness she hadn't experienced before. She was about to step onto the court when she felt a sudden chill down her spine.

Turning her head, she swore she saw a flash of silver fur and two glowing green eyes watching her from the stands. She blinked and it was gone. But she smiled. The game was intense, and Ines gave it her all. With only seconds left on the clock, the ball was passed to her. She hesitated, the pressure of the moment nearly overwhelming her. But then, she remembered the voice of her abuelo.

be afraid, Pequenya. You are stronger than you know. With a surge of determination, she took the shot, and scored the winning goal. As her teammates rushed to embrace her, she glanced toward the stands again. For just a moment, she thought she saw the wolf sitting proudly at the top row, its glowing eyes watching her with what felt like pride. After that night, the strange occurrences began to fade. The sounds of claws in the hallway stopped. The scent of dog in her wardrobe disappeared. And though she missed the presence of the creature, Ines felt like she no longer needed it. Her abuelo had given her one final gift, the strength to move forward. To this day, she keeps the plush wolf on her nightstand as a reminder of the

connection they shared and the love that transcends even death. A haunting journey through two lives, three weeks ago, I stumbled upon a story that resonated with me deeply. From the very first word, I felt a strange connection to its protagonist, Marion. Her bond with her grandmother was a mirror of a relationship I once had, intense, irreplaceable, and formative. Marion described her grandmother with so much affection it could warm your soul. To her, this wasn't just a grandmother, she was practically her second mother. Marion's story begins in a small town, a tale marked by heartbreak and resilience. Her parents, amidst a tumultuous divorce, failed to see the collateral damage their arguments

inflicted on her. With endless fights and an ever-deepening rift, Marion found herself in the crossfire. Her father, caught up in bitterness, was less interested in her well-being and more in tormenting her mother. The idea of custody was nothing more than a weapon for him to wield. When her mother announced plans to move to France for work, her father saw it as an opportunity to cause chaos. He fought tooth and nail to prevent her from leaving, not out of love for his daughter but pure spite. After a grueling battle, Marion's mother reached her limit and made the difficult decision to leave Marion with her grandmother. This decision didn't sit well with Marion.

She felt abandoned, betrayed by the one person she thought would always put her first. All she had was a weekly phone call with her mom, each conversation capped at ten minutes. It wasn't enough, not by a long shot. Marion's new home was a small, weathered house in Jane. Her grandmother had lived there for over thirty years. To everyone else, it was an ordinary home, a place with no record of strange occurrences or paranormal activity. But that changed the moment Marion stepped inside.

From the first night, she felt it. The house wasn't just old, it was sad. It wasn't just Marion's imagination, something felt deeply wrong. At night, the silence was broken by the sound of a woman sobbing. The cries echoed through the hallways, filling the air with despair. Marion, though young, wasn't afraid. Instead, she felt a profound sorrow. It was as if the woman's pain resonated within her.

She often woke up around 3 a.m., compelled to sit at the edge of her bed. Her eyes would lock onto the hallway, and there she'd see her, a shadowy figure. The woman walked slowly, head bowed, her face obscured by a veil. Though her presence was haunting, Marion didn't feel threatened. If anything, she felt drawn to her, as if the woman needed something, perhaps comfort or understanding. But fear held Marion back. She never dared to approach or speak to her.

Every morning, she recounted these experiences to her grandmother, who never dismissed her claims. Her grandmother believed her. In fact, she told Marion that the woman might be a reflection of her own sadness. If you're happy, her grandmother would say, she'll stop crying, encouraged, Marion made an effort to smile more, to push away the longing for her mother. She spent more time outdoors, made friends, and even tried to cheer up her grandmother. But the sobbing grew louder, more anguished. The happier Marion tried to be, the sadder the house became.

Pablo stayed glued to the peephole, his eyes aching from the strain of staring for hours. The dim light of the hallway seemed to flicker occasionally, almost like it was playing tricks on him. He was determined not to miss the moment when the landlord would finally step out of his apartment. Minutes dragged into hours, and yet, there was no sign of anyone leaving. He could still hear the faint murmur of the television from the landlord's unit, a maddening reminder that someone was inside.

Just when he was about to give up, his patience finally paid off. Around midnight, the door across the hallway creaked open. Pablo's heart raced as he leaned in closer to the people. The landlord stepped out slowly, holding a small trash bag. But something about his movement seemed, off. He didn't look around, didn't acknowledge the world outside his door. Instead, he shuffled down the hallway like he was in a trance, his steps unnaturally slow and deliberate.

Pablo was frozen, torn between confronting the man and watching this peculiar behavior unfold. As the landlord reached the trash shoot, he paused for what felt like an eternity. He tilted his head slightly, almost as if he sensed he was being watched. Pablo pulled back from the peephole instinctively, his heart thudding loudly in his chest. When he dared to look again, the landlord was gone. It didn't make sense, there was no sound of footsteps returning, no creak of a door shutting. He just, vanished. The next day, Pablo decided enough was enough.

He called his parents and explained the bizarre occurrences. His father, initially skeptical, offered to come over and check the apartment himself. When his parents arrived, Pablo felt a surge of relief. Surely, his father could bring some clarity to this mess. They inspected the apartment thoroughly, checking the electrical systems, the plumbing, and even the structural integrity of the walls. seemed normal on the surface, but the moment they walked into the bedroom, the temperature plummeted.

Both of his parents shivered, and his mother commented on how unnatural the cold felt. They tried turning on a portable heater, but it sputtered and died almost instantly. As they continued their inspection, Pablo's mother noticed something odd in the bathroom. The mirror, which had always seemed slightly foggy, now had distinct streaks running down it, like someone had been dragging their fingers across the surface. She wiped it clean, but within minutes, the streaks reappeared. What's going on here, Pablo? She whispered, visibly shaken.

I don't know, he admitted. But it's been like this since the first night. Over the following weeks, things only escalated. The nightly knocking on the bedroom door grew louder and more persistent. At first, Pablo and his girlfriend tried ignoring it, then rationalizing it, maybe it was the pipes, or perhaps an animal trapped in the walls. But deep down, they both knew it was something else. Something they didn't want to confront.

One particularly cold night, they decided to sleep in the living room, hoping to escape the frigid temperature of the bedroom. They piled blankets onto the couch and huddled together, trying to keep warm. But as the clock struck 2.30 a.m., the knocking started again. This time, it wasn't coming from the bedroom door. It was coming from the living room window. Pablo's blood ran cold. They lived on the third floor, and there was no balcony or ledge outside that window.

Gathering his courage, he slowly approached and peaked through the curtains. What he saw made him stumble backward, nearly tripping over the coffee table. A face was staring back at him, pale, expressionless, with hollow eyes that seemed to pierce through him. It wasn't human, or at least not anymore. The figure pressed a hand against the glass, leaving a frosty imprint before vanishing into the darkness. That was the breaking point.

The next morning, Pablo packed up whatever he could carry and left the apartment with his girlfriend. They refused to spend another night there. When they informed the landlord of their decision, he simply nodded, as if he had been expecting it. You're not the first, he muttered under his breath. What do you mean by that? Pablo demanded.

The landlord shrugged, avoiding eye contact. That apartment, it has a history. I've had tenants come and go, but none stay for long. If you're smart, you won't ask too many questions, but Pablo wasn't about to let it go. He spent the next few days researching the building's history. What he uncovered was chilling, decades ago, a woman had lived in that very apartment. She was a recluse, rarely seen by her neighbors. One winter, she died in a bedroom, alone, forgotten, and undiscovered for weeks.

By the time her body was found, the cold had seeped into the walls, leaving a permanent chill that no amount of repairs could fix. Even after moving out, Pablo struggled to shake the memories of that place. The experience left him with lingering nightmares and a deep unease about ever renting again. To this day, he refuses to talk about what he saw in the window that night. And as for the apartment? It remains listed for rent, a tempting offer for those who don't know its dark secrets. Final part of the second story, after investigation, Pablo realized that it was not just the story of the woman who amazed that place.

He found stories from former tenants of the same sensation of cold, the same night sounds, and fleeting glimpses of a pale face on our hair and our hair. The property, apparently, had been built on problematic land, previously used as a cemetery for the indigent. Despite never returning to the apartment, Pablo noticed that something had changed inside it. A shadow seemed to follow the darkest songs of his mind. Their relationship ended weeks later, alleging that it was nothing more or the same. He never told anyone that he saw no glass in the night, but one thing was certain, he had left the apartment, but the apartment was not left.

Tercero Canto, Atrilha Sembulta, Philip was a man who loved the solidity of nature. He traveled through remote places with his baroque, his Faguerreiro, and a diary where he wrote down the thoughts that arose in the nights above the stars. One of the regions you always wanted to explore was the boreal forest in northern Canada. Isolated and immense, it was the type of place that was the spirit of any adventure. The journey began well. The skin was clean, the air was stained with fresh pineros, and the silence was barely cut by the wind and the sheets were far away. Philip followed a little known trail, marked by ancient Sinise left by hunters. Every day, he felt more connected to nature

and more distant from the civilized world. But, not fifth day, something mute. While setting up camp, Philip noticed something strange, there were sticking around the premises. Ellis was not an animal, he was not a boot like that. They seemed barefoot, but slightly distorted, as if their feet were too long, with toes spread in an irregular manner. The marks continued in the direction of the next river and disappeared on the banks. Philip tried to ignore it, attributing it to his imagination or to the forests only instavelle. But when the night falls, the discomfort becomes impossible to ignore. He agreed once again three days ago with the sound of broken chickens. Pigoo his lantern, coming out of the barracks, and saw something that made his

heart stop. The forest seemed alive. Trees that were previously moving now seemed to be leaning in unusual directions, and a dense snow had formed, obscuring everything a few meters away. However, between the trunks, Philip perceived a tall, lean figure, with eyes shining as if reflected in the light of the moon. The creature does not move, he barely faced it for a long moment before disappearing into the snow. But manhah, Philip decided to return. But after a while, before it was clear, he seemed to have changed. Usinai's two hunters are not where the Lumbrava is. It was like a wild forest reconfigured during the night, transforming into a labyrinth.

The first story I'm going to share with you is one that happened to a subscriber, whom we'll call Lucia. Lucia was around 13 years old at the time, and she wasn't going through the best family situation. Her parents were in the middle of a divorce, a divorce that was far from friendly. Before this, they had spent months arguing, shouting, and even throwing dishes at each other. The tension between them had escalated to the point where they stopped speaking entirely. They no longer communicated with each other directly, instead using their daughters as messengers to pass along messages that would often ignite another round of fights. These messages were never about reconciliation.

They were manipulative, designed to make the girls believe there might be a chance for the couple to get back together, when in reality, these were just triggers for more arguments. As a result, Lucia's home became a battleground. The atmosphere was thick with anger, confusion, and sadness. The house itself seemed to reflect this emotional chaos, Lucia described it as a place where you could hardly breathe, a room that felt suffocating, as if something dark and negative was lurking within. But at the time, Lucia didn't attribute these feelings to anything paranormal.

She simply thought it was the negative energy caused by the circumstances at home. the emotional turmoil she was living through, it didn't seem out of the ordinary. Her mother eventually decided to leave and move in with her sister, leaving Lucia and her younger sister to stay with their father in the house. While their mother figured out where to live and what to do, they continued to live under their father's roof. However, things took an unexpected turn just days after their mother left. Lucia's younger sister began experiencing what psychologists call night terrors. Night terrors are quite common in children, especially those who have been through a high-stress situation. These children often can't express their emotions properly, and as a

result, their minds and bodies manifest their pain through disturbing dreams that they can't remember, but which are incredibly vivid and frightening. The effects are so intense that they can cause physical reactions, like shaking or screaming. It's not just difficult for the child experiencing the night terrors, it's also incredibly hard for the people around them. I know this from personal experience, as my younger brother suffered from them as well. The terror that it causes seeing someone you care about trapped in such a terrifying state, is indescribable. So I completely understand how Lucia felt when she witnessed her sister's torment. But the nightmare didn't stop there.

It wasn't just the terrifying dreams that began to affect the family, it was something else. Every time her sister would have these episodes, Lucia would hear three distinct knocks coming from the closet in her room. It sounded as though someone was inside the closet, knocking, as if they wanted to be let out. These knocks always happened right before her sister would start screaming, and the situation became more unsettling each night. This went on for about a month, three knocks, followed by her sister's screams. Every time it happened, Lucia and her father would rush to her sister's room to try to wake her up. However, this is actually not the best thing to do when someone is experiencing night terrors.

Waking them up can make the confusion worse and may even trigger anxiety. But of course, as someone witnessing a loved one going through such a horrible, experience, it's hard not to try to help them out of it. Despite the advice, Lucia and her father would always rush to calm her sister down, get her a glass of water, and wait until she could fall asleep again. Eventually, Lucia couldn't ignore the strange occurrence any longer, and she decided to tell her father about it. She explained that it wasn't just her sister's night terrors that were troubling her, it was the three knocks. She was convinced that something wasn't right, that there was something in the house causing the knocks. But her father dismissed it,

attributing it all to stress and claiming that perhaps her sister needed attention. He even suggested that Lucia's imagination was running wild, and that the knocking was just part of the stress they were all going through. But Lucia wasn't convinced. She was sure that the knocks were real. So one night, after hearing the knocks again, she decided to investigate. She got up, walked over to the closet, and opened it wide. She searched through the clothes, checked every corner, and opened the drawers.

But there was no one there, no one there, no one. one who could have made the knocks. She couldn't explain it, but that night, after opening the closet, her sister didn't scream. Lucia wondered if perhaps the knocks weren't coming from the closet after all. Maybe they were coming from somewhere else. Maybe it had all been in her head. But she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. For several weeks, things seemed to calm down.

Her sister didn't experience any more night terrors. But, as is often the case with paranormal events, things don't stay quiet for long. One night, after the knock stopped, Lucia started hearing footsteps on the floor above her, footsteps in high heels. She could hear them walking back and forth, tapping against the floor. At first, she didn't think much of it. But then, she realized that the steps were always heading towards the stairs that connected the upstairs to the ground floor.

It didn't sound like someone just walking around, it felt intentional, like someone knew exactly where they were going. started to feel like the entity was mocking her, as though it was aware of the family's painful history in that house. It was as if the entity knew everything that had happened and wanted to play with Lucia's emotions. Every night, the steps would continue, growing louder, accompanied by soft songs and whispers. The whispers would echo down the staircase, and Lucia grew more and more uneasy. But as time passed, she started to ignore the noises, telling herself that they couldn't hurt her. The footsteps stayed upstairs. But just when she started to start to,

started to feel a little better, the footsteps came downstairs. The steps would go towards her father's room, then turn around and go back. They moved in strange, almost erratic patterns, like the person walking was disoriented or sick. Lucia couldn't explain it, but something about those steps felt wrong, unnatural. They made the floor creak in ways that suggested someone was dragging their feet, as if they were struggling. One night, after the steps came downstairs again, they stopped in front of her sister's bedroom door.

As soon as they did, her sister began screaming. This time, however, it was different. When Lucia and her father rushed into her sister's room, they found her sitting in the corner of her bed, eyes wide open in terror. She was shaking and screaming, they pulled my hair. They pulled my hair. Her father tried to comfort her, but she was in a full-blown panic attack. She kept saying that something had grabbed her hair and tried to pull her off the bed.

Her father reassured her that it was just a dream, but the look on her face said other When her father tried to calm her down, he noticed something that sent a chill down his spine. On her arm, there was a bruise, a handprint, unmistakably the size of an adult's hand. The bruise was deep and purple, as though someone had grabbed her with a strong, forceful grip. From that moment on, Lucia's father started taking things more seriously. He moved his daughters into his bedroom, and the three of them began sleeping together in the same room every night. They stayed like this until the father managed to sell the house and move to a new apartment,

away from whatever presence had been tormenting them. The next story I want to share with you is a lesson in why it's important never to mess with the paranormal. Some things are better left untouched, and we should never cross that line. The world of spirits and the paranormal is dark, and it's not something we can control. No matter how tempting it might be, we should never believe that we can invite a spirit into our lives or that it will be friendly. They're not here to help us, they are not our friends.

Thinking that they could be is a dangerous misconception. This is exactly what happened to Sarah. Sarah lives in a small house with a backyard where her parents grow strawberries and potatoes. It's an old house, very old, and Sarah has always been fascinated by the paranormal. She's the only child in her family, and ever since she was young, she's had an interest in investigating the supernatural. The house had been passed down through generations, and Sarah always felt that something strange likely happened there.

She had heard noises at night, felt cold spots in certain rooms, and sometimes felt like someone was there with her, but she never gave it much thought. She often brushed it off as her imagination, or maybe it was just her mind trying to make sense of the old house's creaks and groans. But then one night, things took a strange turn. Sarah clearly heard someone entering through the back door of the house. She could hear boots on the floor as they walked down the hall. The person moved deliberately, heading straight for the kitchen.

They searched through the cupboards and then walked back the way they came, retracing their steps. The person knew exactly where they were going and what they were doing. It was the middle of the night and Sarah thought it was just her father out in the yard, perhaps preparing something for the morning. The next day, she asked him if he had been up during the night, but he denied it. This strange occurrence remained unexplained, and it left Sarah feeling uneasy. The sounds continued, every night, always the same footsteps, the same searching. Something was definitely wrong, but she wasn't sure what it was.

One day, she came across an old book in the attic, one that looked ancient and worn. She didn't know why, but she felt drawn to it. It was filled with rituals and incantations, things that made her curious. She felt a powerful urge to try one of the rituals, a simple spell that promised to contact the spirits of the dead. With an air of daring and intrigue, she performed the ritual that night. What she didn't know was that she had opened a door that she couldn't close. From that night on, the footsteps became more intense, more frantic.

Sarah began seeing things, shadows out of the corner of her eye, objects moving on their own, whispers in the dead of night. She felt an overwhelming presence in the house, something watching her. Whatever had crossed into her world had no intention of leaving. The more she tried to communicate, the more it pushed back. Sarah tried to ignore it at first, but soon the entity became aggressive. She would wake up to find strange marks on her body, bruises, scratches, and sometimes, she would hear voices calling her name from outside her window.

They weren't friendly voices. Then, one night, she heard something in the attic. It sounded like someone walking around, dragging something heavy. When she went upstairs to investigate, she found nothing. But the presence that had once been subtle was now overwhelming. It felt like a storm was brewing inside her home. Sarah's parents finally intervened after her behavior became erratic. She had stopped sleeping altogether, and she became withdrawn, unable to function normally.

They had to call in a priest to perform an exorcism. Afterward, the house was cleared, but the damage had already been done. Sarah learned the hard way that the paranormal world is not a place for curiosity. It's better to leave things alone, especially when you have no idea what you're dealing with. The lesson is simple, don't mess with the unknown. You might think you're ready, but you may never be prepared for what comes through. It had been ten, twenty, or maybe thirty minutes, and still, no one went to check on them. Lucia's story was taking forever, neither Jack nor the burial had lasted this long.

The five girls were starting to get frustrated. They were yawning, rubbing their eyes, and the tiredness was creeping in. No one was coming to get them, and they were starting to lose patience. Then, all of a sudden, every light in the house flicked on. The dining-room lights, the hallway lights, the second-floor lights, everything lit up at the same time. And just as suddenly, they went out again. Seconds passed, and once more, the lights came back on.

At this point, the girls were convinced that Lucia was just playing a prank on them. She was probably going to show up in a sheet, pretending to be a ghost, and scare them all. The five girls got even angrier, but then the lights went out again, and a window on the upper floor swung wide open. Out of nowhere, Fatima's mother appeared. She was furious. She told the girls to go to bed, get under the covers, and turn everything off. Lucia's story had been dragging on for far too long, and no one had expected it to go this

far. I don't remember exactly how many times the lights turned on and off. I don't want to lie, but I can tell you it happened more than a few times, and at that point, We all thought it was just some elaborate joke by Lucia. We were all expecting her to jump out, shrieking or doing something ridiculous to frighten us, but no one had the energy to play along anymore. In the middle of the tension, all the girls in the dining room started to scream. Suddenly, all the lights cut out once more, and Fatima's mother ran into the room to see what

was going on. When she asked for an explanation, no one said anything. Then, when the five girls went back into the house and asked what had happened, they still didn't get an answer. They figured it was all just a joke. That night, nothing else happened. But when summer ended, something strange started happening. None of the girls who had been in the dining room that night spoke to Fatima anymore.

They would cross paths with her in the hallways and pretend like she wasn't even there. They wouldn't greet her, wouldn't say a word. It was like they didn't even recognize her. Ingrid got really upset about this. They had kicked her out of her own party, messed with the lights, made her mother angry. and now they were acting like she didn't exist. One day, Ingrid went straight up to the ringleader of the group and asked her point-blank why they were all ignoring Fadema.

The girl simply responded that Fadima didn't have any friends because she lived in a haunted house. She went on to tell a story about a ghost that had once lived inside a shoebox. The box had been abandoned by a dumpster in a city called F.C. People would just walk past it, ignoring it completely, but one day a little girl picked it up and took it home to turn it into a dollhouse. She had no idea what was inside, but hours later, after she had painted it pink, added some glitter, and decorated it with fabric scraps, the ghost appeared to her in a dream.

It thanked the girl for giving it a new home and told her that if she allowed it to live inside her head, it would take her to magical places, like the sea, the mountains, or the kingdom of clouds. But the girl refused. The ghost got angry and warned her that if she didn't accept, one by one, her loved ones would start dying. The next morning, the girl woke up to find that her cat had died. That night, the ghost came to her again in a dream and repeated the offer, but the girl turned it down again. When she woke up the next morning, another loved one had passed away.

Lucia interrupted the story at this point. She wasn't interested in the ghost tale, she wanted to know why the girls weren't speaking to Fatima, and why they screamed during the birthday party. The girl answered, well, when the lights turned on, the shoebox was on the table. It was exactly as I had described it. But when the lights went out, the box was gone. And when the lights came back on, it was there again. We all saw it.

I called her a liar and accused her of orchestrating the whole thing just to turn her back on Fatima for being different. I never spoke to her again. In fact, until recently, every time I remembered the story, I just wanted to kick her in the head. A couple of weeks ago, Ingrid met up with an old friend. It was someone who had been at Fatima's birthday party, one of the five girls in the garden that night. They decided to catch up over coffee, and after a while, they found themselves in a cafe in Central Madrid. After ordering, about ten minutes later, a waitress came over to

them. The woman recognized them immediately. She had been an old childhood friend, but neither of them could remember why they had stopped talking all those years ago. They began exchanging jokes and stories, and out of nowhere, the waitress mentioned the following. Wow, I still remember Fatima's birthday party. That was crazy. I'd love to know how she pulled off that trick. Ingrid and her friend exchanged a look and asked, what trick, the lights and the shoebox. That was creepy. I ended up sleeping with the light on for days. This story starts back in 1989, when Maricel and Gonzalo got married. It was a simple celebration because they didn't have much money and couldn't afford a grand banquet. They had always dreamed of a big family, but since money was

tight, they decided to wait until they had better jobs, savings, and a house. Then, one day, Gonzalo came up with a crazy idea. He took all their money and invested it in a street food business. They bought a van and moved it from one town to another, setting up in markets, street corners, and local festivals. The business didn't do well at first, but over time, it started to pick up. Eventually, they were able to buy a second van, hire more staff, and even rent a place for their food business. Their fortunes grew to the point where they could buy a big house and start their family. They had five kids, four boys and a girl. We didn't have luxuries, but we lived well. We taught our kids the value of hard work, Gonzalo often said.

However, Gabriel, their eldest son, was the one who struggled with that. From a young age, he showed no interest in anything, no schoolwork, no responsibility, and no desire to focus on anything. His grades were poor, and he just couldn't concentrate. Gonzalo decided to take him to see a psychologist, thinking maybe he was having trouble expressing his thoughts or emotions. But after several sessions, the psychologist concluded that Gabriel was perfectly fine. There were no issues with his mental health, though he did mention that Gabriel believed there were two people living inside his head.

At first, they thought it was just an imaginative phase, but over time, the situation didn't improve. They dismissed it as a childhood game. The years went by, and they forgot about the whole thing until 2018, when Gabriel was 17. One summer evening, he asked his parents if he could stay up late to play online games with his friends. Since the only computer in the house was in the room he shared with his brother, Joaquin, his parents told them to work it out between themselves. After negotiating, they agreed that Gabriel could stay up until 7 p.m. The whole family went to bed, but before they did, Maricela had a chat with Gabriel,

telling him to turn off the computer by midnight because the next day, they would all go to the Capitol for lunch at her sister's house. When she opened the door, she was ready to scold him, but to her surprise, the room was dark, the computer was off, and both boys seemed to be sleeping. However, when she looked closely, she saw that Joaquin was in bed, but Gabriel was nowhere to be found. Maricella searched the whole house in the dark, calling out for Gabriel, but there was no sign of him. She checked the doors, the closets, under the table, and even the kitchen.

Everything was locked up tight. Panicking, she woke up Gonzalo, and they both searched again. No, Gabriel. They decided to split up, Gonzalo went outside to search the streets, while Maricella stayed home, trying to contact him by phone, but his phone was off. Gonzalo was driving frantically around the neighborhood, checking every corner, looking at every person walking in the street. His mind was racing with fear.

Suddenly, after driving through a curve, he spotted Gabriel. He was walking aimlessly down the street, barefoot and wearing his pajamas, his pants soaked as though he had jumped into a deep puddle. Despite the relief of finding him, Gonzalo was furious. He jumped out of the car and shouted at Gabriel, but the, a terrifying story, a tale so chilling that even she couldn't believe it, not until it happened to her and others who witnessed it. Inar was a young woman who married early, and when her daughter turned two, for reasons she

couldn't quite explain, her marriage fell apart, and she found herself divorced. This is where Inar's true struggle began. She had to start over from scratch, rebuild her life, her home, and her sense of security, all while raising a young child on her own. She had no choice but to find a new place to live, and it wasn't going to be easy. Inar had little money to her name and a two-year-old to care for, but she didn't give up hope. The first thing she did was reach out to all her friends, asking if they knew of any affordable places to rent. She needed to find something that was close to her daughter's paternal grandmother's house because the grandmother had been helping take care of her little one while Enar worked.

It wasn't an easy area to find an apartment in, it was a commercial district, and every place seemed to have a waiting list or was out of her budget. Still, Inar clung to the hope that she might find something small and affordable. Eventually, one of her friends came through. The friend told her about a basement apartment for rent. Now, when you hear basement, you probably imagine a dark, cold. cold, creepy place, but in this case, it was the opposite. The basement had been completely renovated.

It had windows, a nice patio, and was surprisingly spacious. Intrigued, Inard decided to go take a look. The house from the outside looked lovely. The second floor had a large wooden balcony and was rented out to a small family. The first floor, which was at street level, was occupied by the owners of the house. And to the side, there was a small door that led to the basement apartment. basement apartment was vast, well-lit, and surprisingly pleasant. It had three bedrooms, a living room, dining area, kitchen, a utility room, and a huge

back balcony that overlooked the rear of the house. Since the house was located on the high part of the city, the views were stunning. It seemed like such a great deal, and the price was unbelievably low. Inar didn't hesitate. She thought she was incredibly lucky to find a place so close to her daughter's grandmother, and everything felt like it was falling into place. The next day, she signed the lease and moved in. Her friends came over to help her move, and they were all impressed by how nice the place was,

especially for the price. But there was one thing that stood out to one of her friends, a little odd detail. Why are there so many crosses everywhere, the friend asked. Inar hadn't noticed before, but now that it was pointed out, she saw them two, small crosses made out of twigs, placed on the doors, windows, and even in the corners of the rooms. The group fell into an uncomfortable silence. Then, one of Anar's friends, who was religious, broke the silence. I used to see the family that lived here, always talking with the priest after Mass.

Maybe they were really devout. No one said much more about it, but the atmosphere felt tense. The night passed without incident. Inar and her daughter settled in, but as soon as she got into the shower, something strange happened. The bathroom light suddenly went out. While she was still in the shower, Inar didn't think much of it. She dried off, went to check the light, and found that the bulb had burnt out. She shrugged it off.

Then, when she walked past the kitchen, she noticed that the fridge was unplugged. Again, she didn't think too much of it and plugged it back in. She turned off all the lights, climbed into bed, and tried to get some sleep. Everything seemed fine until around midnight. That's when her daughter started crying uncontrollably. Ina rushed to her room, and the little girl said, I don't want to stay here, mommy. I'm scared, Inar, still half asleep, assumed it was just a bad dream, so she comforted her daughter and got her to fall asleep again.

But when she looked up, she noticed something else, the TV in the bedroom was on. It was showing static. Inar thought it was just another electrical glitch and turned off the TV. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep again. The days went by, and strange things continued to happen. The light bulbs kept burning out, the fridge would turn off randomly, the washing machine didn't work right, and the TV kept turning on by itself. After about a month, Inar called the landlord to report the issues. She thought maybe the wiring in the building was faulty.

But the landlord assured her that everything was in good condition, so Inar didn't dwell on it too much. One evening, Inar's friend Jenny came knocking on her door. Jenny had been kicked out of her house by her stepfather and asked if she could stay with Inar for a while. Of course, Inar agreed. Jenny promised she'd contribute to the rent. At first, everything was fine. But then, things started to take a turn. One morning, while Jenny was cleaning, one of the crosses on the wall fell off.

Jenny asked Inar what she should do with it, and Inar, who had never put the crosses up in the first place, told her to do whatever she wanted with it. The next morning, Inar woke up to find Jenny sitting at the kitchen table, looking terrified. What's wrong? Inar asked. I couldn't sleep last night. The neighbor upstairs kept making noise, laughing, banging around. I thought I was going crazy.

Jenny explained. But Inar hadn't heard anything. She brushed it off and went to work, but over the next few days, Jenny continued to complain about hearing strange noises at night. One evening, as the noises escalated, Enar decided to call in a technician friend to check the electrical wiring. Jenny stayed home that day to meet him and also planned. to talk to the neighbor about the noise.

That afternoon, Inar received a call from her friend. He couldn't make it. The police are here, he said. Something happened at the building. Inar was confused and asked him what was going on, but her friend couldn't give her any details. Panicked, Inar tried calling Jenny but got no answer. She called the landlord to ask about the situation,

and the landlord told her that the grandmother of the family living above had passed away recently. Inar didn't know what to make of it, but she felt uneasy. Later that evening, after work, Inar went home, hoping to find Jenny. But when she got there, the apartment was empty, and Jenny wasn't answering her phone. The next day, Jenny showed up at Anar's work, looking worse for where. Her face was pale and her eyes bloodshot. I'm not coming back, she told Anar.

That house, something's wrong with it. Inar tried to get more details, but Jenny was too scared to talk. She told Anar that the night before, she had heard the laughter again, and when she went upstairs to confront the neighbor, nobody answered the door. But I heard the laughing coming from inside, Jenny said. It's like they were mocking me, Inar didn't know what to make of it, so she went to the landlord and confronted him about the situation. He dismissed her concerns and insisted that everything was fine, but when Anar insisted,

he opened the door to the upstairs apartment. Inside, the place was a mess. The grandmother's body was found in the kitchen, and her face was frozen in an expression of terror. Inar and the landlord fled in horror. That's when things began to make sense. The strange occurrences, burning light bulbs, malfunctioning appliances, the creepy laughter, seemed to be linked to the grandmother's passing.

Inar knew the house was haunted, but she had no idea how deep it went. The atmosphere in the house became oppressive, and soon, Fiona, another friend of Anars, came to stay with her. Fiona, who was a devout Christian, didn't believe in spirits or the supernatural. She thought Anar was just overreacting. But things continued to worsen. The baby, Fiona's child, began crying at the same time every night, and even after a doctor checked him out and said there was nothing physically wrong, Fiona's behavior started

changing. She grew quieter, more withdrawn. Finally, Fiona admitted that she was hearing things, whispers, mocking voices, and that Jenny had been right. Anar was shaken. The house wasn't just haunted, it was evil. Fiona's own experiences, hearing voices and feeling the presence of something sinister, made her realize that Inar wasn't crazy.

Then, one night, Inar woke up to find that Fiona's child had disappeared from his crib. After a frantic search, they found him sleeping under a bed. Fiona, terrified, took her. Unseen shadows and eerie footsteps, childhood memories turned nightmares. We've received so many stories about childhood experiences, encounters with imaginary friends, monsters under the bed, shadows creeping across walls, and even whispers of ghosts. It's enough to make you wonder if kids have some special sensitivity that fades as we grow older, something that lets them see what adults can't.

One particular story, shared by a girl named Daila, stood out to me for the vivid details she provided. It's not just her story, though, similar accounts have come from people in places as far apart as Spain, Peru, Chile, and Mexico. Let's set the stage, Dila was just six years old when this happened. She remembers how her parents had a strict bedtime routine for her. On weekdays, it was lights out by nine, and on weekends, maybe she'd stretch it to ten if the family was watching a movie or playing games. But if there wasn't much going on, she'd still have to head to bed early. One Saturday night, though, things didn't follow the usual pattern. Her parents

had some friends over for dinner, and Dila ended up falling asleep on the couch while the adults laughed and toasted each other noisily in the background. I still remember it so clearly, she told me. My mom made me a honeyed milk drink and let me pick a movie. I chose the never-ending story and curled up on the couch. Even though I couldn't hear the dialogue over the adults chatter, I knew the movie by heart, so it didn't matter. Somewhere during the night, Dila drifted off, only to wake when the guests finally left. But for some reason, she felt energized. I don't know what came over me, but suddenly I wanted to play board games, watch another

movie, anything to keep the night going. My parents weren't having it, though. They reminded me that it was late and that my dad had to wake up early to visit my grandma in the hospital the next morning. Naturally, they shoot me off to bed, and this is where things take a sharp turn toward the creepy. A temper tantrum gone horribly wrong, Dila went to bed angry. No, scratch that, she was furious.

I was six, you know. And six-year-olds aren't exactly known for their rational thinking. I threw a full-on tantrum. Kicking, crying, yelling, you name it. I didn't care that my dad needed rest. All I cared about was the fact that I wanted to stay up, and they weren't letting me. From her bed, she screamed the classic kid line, if you don't come here, I'm gonna. Her dad responded with equal firmness, warning her not to push her luck.

I'll give you three chances, he said. If I have to get up, you won't like what happens. Dila didn't take the bait. She kept wailing. Her dad counted down. One, no reaction. Two, still nothing. Finally, he got up.

But something about the way he rose was, off. I expected him to storm into my room, yelling at me to be quiet. But instead, he moved so slowly, like he was half asleep, or maybe just trying to scare me. He shuffled down the hallway toward the bathroom, which was was right next to my room. Then he turned on the light, and here's where Dila's memory gets downright chilling. I heard my dad's voice, loud and clear, coming from his bedroom, saying, get back to bed, Dila. Right now. But he couldn't be in two places at once, could he? He wasn't in his room. He was standing in the hallway, near the bathroom. Or at least,

someone was. Frozen in fear, Dila clutched her bedsheets. She could see the shadow of whoever, or whatever, was out there, projected on her wall. The figure was tall, with broad shoulders, and wearing what looked like a hat. It wasn't her mom. Her mom was petite, and this shadow loomed much larger than her. The bathroom light went out suddenly, plunging everything into darkness. I couldn't see a thing, but I could hear it. Slow, deliberate footsteps heading toward my door.

My heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest. When her eyes adjusted, she scanned the room, but nothing was. there. Still, the footsteps continued, stopping just outside her door. Then everything went silent. It was so quiet that the sound of a single drop of water falling from a faucet would have felt deafening. I told myself it was my imagination.

Maybe I'd been half asleep and dreaming the whole thing. I convinced myself that it had to be my mom's shadow after all, but when she opened her eyes again, she saw them. Green eyes. Bright, glowing, cat-like eyes staring at me from inches away. They had this eerie, almost electric intensity. I couldn't see a face, just those eyes. I screamed louder than I've ever screamed in my life.

Her father rushed in, flipping on the hallway light. Whatever had been there vanished in an instant. But her parents didn't believe her. My dad scolded me for waking him up and grounded me from watching cartoons for a week. Even now, at twenty, I can't bring myself to tell them what I saw. They wouldn't believe me anyway, that night left a lasting mark. I've been terrified of cats ever since. Something about their eyes just sets me off.

It's like I'm back in that room, staring into those same glowing lorbs, the vanishing family and the town that heard them. This next story takes place in a small coastal town during the pandemic lockdowns. Dennis, the storyteller, asked me not to share the town's name, but he painted a vivid picture of its atmosphere, a closed-knit community where everyone knows everyone else's business. Even if you haven't spoken to someone directly, you know their life story through the grape line, Dennis explained.

For example, Dennis knew all about the elderly widow who lived at the end of the street and her estranged relationship with her son. He also knew about the woman two blocks over who was rumored to be having an affair with the newspaper vendor. But the most unsettling gossip was about the family living right next door to Dennis. They were good people, Dennis said. The parents were hardworking, honest folks. The mom was a pianist, and some evenings, I'd sit on my couch just to listen to.

to her play. It was magical. But their daughter, Paula, something wasn't right with her. The days that followed were filled with unease. People whispered in hushed tones about what had happened. The neighbors were all convinced of what they had heard, gruesome fights, the sounds of chaos, and unmistakable distress from that house. And yet, there was no explanation. No evidence, apart from the wreckage left behind, could account for it. The family was understandably furious. Imagine coming back to your home only to find it vandalized beyond recognition and your personal life the subject of wild gossip. The mother, always so composed, was particularly vocal about the invasion of their privacy. She couldn't understand why anyone would accuse

her daughter of such horrifying things. After all, she claimed Paula's health issues had been improving. The father, usually mild-mannered, was equally upset. He demanded answers but got none. Still, the neighbors couldn't shake the memory of that night. Even Dennis' parents, who had always liked the family, couldn't help but wonder if there was more to the story. Dennis' mother swore that the sounds were real, she had heard them as clearly as she could hear her own heartbeat now. How could anyone explain the synchronized accounts from multiple households?

It wasn't just her or her husband who had heard the screams, the entire block had been drawn to their balconies, witnessing the eerie silence after the noise had stopped. As the weeks passed, the story didn't fade as everyone hoped it would. Instead, it grew legs, fueled by rumors. Some said the girl had been cursed. Others speculated that the house was haunted, perhaps built on cursed ground. It didn't help that strange occurrences began to be reported from the neighboring apartments. Dennis herself wasn't immune to these incidents.

She began hearing faint scratching noises coming from the shared wall late at night. At first, she assumed it was her imagination. But the sounds grew louder. They weren't consistent but always came at the same late hour, just when she was about to drift off to sleep. She even tried recording the sounds once, but when she played the recording back, there was nothing but static. It gave her chills.

One night, Dennis' parents decided to confront the family directly. It wasn't an easy decision, they didn't want to offend them or appear nosy. But the noises, combined with the inexplicable events, were too much to ignore. They knocked on the door, and after a long pause, Paula's mother answered. She looked worn out, her usual graceful demeanor replaced with visible tension. Dennis' father hesitated before speaking, unsure of how to broach the subject. We've been hearing, strange noises, he finally said. Scratching, sometimes thumping.

It's coming from the wall we share. We thought it might be, he trailed off as Paula's mother's expression changed. She seemed to freeze for a moment, her face pale. don't have any pets, she said quickly, her voice almost defensive. Dennis' mother tried to diffuse the tension. We know, and we're not accusing anyone of anything. It's just, unusual. We thought you should know, Paula's mother nodded, but her tight-lipped response didn't reassure

them. I'll look into it, she said before closing the door a little too abruptly. From that night on, the scratching noises stopped, but they were replaced by something worse, whispering. It wasn't loud, but it was there, a faint murmur. that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. Dennis couldn't make out any words, but the tone was unsettling, almost pleading. She didn't dare tell her parents, fearing they wouldn't believe her, or worse, that they would.

The neighbors began keeping their distance from the family. The warm exchanges in the hallways and casual conversations were replaced with stiff nods and quick glances. Even the once beautiful music that had flowed from their piano stopped. Paula's mother no longer played, and the silence in their home felt oppressive. One day, Dennis overheard her parents talking in hushed tones. They had heard that Paula's parents were seeking help, not from doctors this time, but from someone who specialized in cleansing energies.

It sounded absurd to Dennis, but the desperation in her parents' voices made her stomach churn. What happened next only deepened the mystery. Late one evening, Dennis was sitting in her living room when she heard a commotion in the hallway. Peaking through the peephole, she saw Paula's parents struggling to carry something heavy wrapped in a thick blanket. It was shaped oddly, and for a terrifying moment, Dennis thought it might be a body. She backed away from the door, her heart pounding. The next morning, rumors spread like wildfire.

Some neighbors claimed they had seen the family driving off in the middle of the night with all their belongings. Others insisted they had heard chanting coming from their apartment before the family left. By the end of the week, the apartment was completely empty, and the family was gone. But the story doesn't end there. Months later, Dennis heard from a mutual acquaintance that Paula had been sent to live with relatives in a distant town. Supposedly, her episodes had worsened, and her parents believed a change of environment might help. The apartment remained vacant for a long time, and no one seemed eager to move in.

Dennis couldn't forget the events, no matter how hard she tried. The whispers, the scratching, the guttural screams that had drawn the whole neighborhood out that fateful night, all of it lingered in her mind like a bad dream. To this day, when she walks past that apartment, she can't help but quicken her pace, avoiding the haunting silence that seems to seep from its walls. And sometimes, when the wind blows just right, she swears she can still hear faint whispers coming from behind that locked door. Have you ever heard of a remedy that could help someone like Claudia?

Let me tell you, once you hear her story, you'll think twice before wandering around in the dark late at night. Claudia's tale, as told by Natasha, is one of those chilling accounts that stays with you. In fact, Natasha shared two of her own experiences, and both left me with a pit in my stomach. The first happened when she was around seven or eight years old. Back then, she slept on the top bunk of a bed that gave her a good view of the hallway and the dining area of her house. One night, Natasha's father realized he'd forgotten to turn off the living room light.

So, he got up, walked to the room, and switched it off. At least, that's what Natasha thought happened. From her bunk, she began to notice a strange figure standing at the end of the hallway. It was tall, unervingly so, and wore what looked like a top hat. She couldn't make out its face, but she could feel its eyes locked on her. Terrified, Natasha called out softly, Dad. Is that you? Are you trying to scare me?

She waited. Instead of an answer, she heard her father grumble groggily from his bed. He turned on his bedside lamp, and just like that, the shadow disappeared. The next morning, her dad denied ever getting up to turn off the light. According to him, it had turned off all on its own. Weeks later, Natasha managed to shake off the fear from that night. It was a normal evening, and she decided to take a bath. She prepared everything, turned on the water, and climbed in.

Relaxed, she began to lather up when suddenly, out of nowhere, she felt someone whispered directly into her ear. The voice was close, too close. She could feel the warmth of it. She froze, scanned the bathroom, and confirmed what she already knew, she was alone. Scambling out of the tub, she wrapped herself in a towel, bolted out of the room, and touched her ear. It was burning hot. Later, when she calmed down enough to inspect it in the mirror, her ear was visibly red, as if someone

had pinched or slapped it. Now, if those experiences weren't enough to freak you out, the next one Natasha shared was even creepier. It happened just a week ago when she was playing with her younger brother. The two of them were home alone and decided to play a game of hide-and-seek. But not just any version, they added a spooky twist. Inspired by a scene from The Conjuring, they blindfolded themselves and tried to find each other by sound alone.

Her brother went first. Natasha hid, and after some running around, he found her. Then it was her turn. She blindfolded herself and began feeling her way around the house, arms outstretched. She could hear the pitter-patter of her brother's feet running in the living room and followed the sounds. At one point, she was sure she heard him dart into the bathroom. Knowing the layout of the house by heart, Natasha backed into the bathroom with her arms spread

wide, ready to catch him if he tried to escape. But something was off. She didn't bump into him, not even a graze. It was impossible. The bathroom was tiny, and she should have touched him by now. Then, she heard a stifled giggle, the kind that sends shivers down your spine. It was warm, close, and eerily familiar. It reminded her of the whisper she'd heard in the bathtub.

Would you dare to play this kind of game after hearing her story? Natasha isn't alone in her unsettling encounters. Another friend, Esme, shared a chilling experience involving her boyfriend, Carlos. Now, Esme is the type of person who's quick to dismiss anything supernatural. If something strange happens, she's the first to rationalize it. what happened to Carlos left even her questioning everything. For years ago, Esme and Carlos moved into a house together. They quickly settled into a routine. Esme would wake up early for work, leaving the house around 6.30 a.m., while Carlos stayed in bed a bit longer. Everything

seemed fine, until one morning when Esme had already left. Carlos was asleep when he was jolted awake by a noise in the living room. Groggy, he got out of bed, opened the bedroom door, and stepped into the dark hallway. He could barely see but noticed movement in the shadows of the living room. Something, or someone, was there, flitting back and forth. Adrenaline kicking in, Carlos rushed to open a window and pull up the blinds to let in light. But as soon as he did, the first blind crashed down, plunging the room into darkness again. At that exact moment, the intercom buzzed.

It was the male carrier. Desperate, Carlos begged the man to help him get out of the house, claiming the door wouldn't open. But before the mailman could respond, Carlos woke up in a cold sweat. It had all been a nightmare, or so he thought. The second dream came just a few days later. This time, Carlos was dreaming when he felt a force push him back into the bedroom as he tried to leave.

Startled, he woke up. It was another nightmare, but the recurring themes, the living room, the hallway, the darkness, started to unsettle him. Then came the third dream, the most disturbing yet. As before, Carlos left the bedroom and ventured into the hallway. This time, he felt something heavy clinging to his leg. Looking down, he saw a child gripping him tightly. The child's face was obscured, but Carlos reached out to touch their hair, hoping to see their

eyes. Just as he was about to, he woke up. By now, Carlos was at his wits' end. He couldn't brush these dreams off as random anymore. Worse, he began hearing whispers while awake, hot breaths against his ear that were far too real to ignore. Esme, noticing his growing anxiety, decided to do some digging. She scoured local archives for any records of tragedies or eerie events tied to their house or street but found nothing. Weeks went by without incident, and the couple began to relax. Then one night, as they

lay in bed, everything changed again. Carlos, lying awake, shifted positions so he was facing the open bedroom door. At first, everything seemed normal. But then, in the doorway, he saw her, a little girl in a white dress standing silently beside the bed. The moment she noticed Carlos watching her, she turned and walked away. That was the breaking point. From then on, Carlos refused to stay in bed after Esme left for work, terrified of what might happen if he did. Desperate, they turned to a spiritually inclined friend who suggested placing white candles

throughout the house. These, she explained, would help guide any lingering spirits to the other side. Skeptical but willing to try anything, they lit candles. in the bedroom and living room. And whether by coincidence or not, the nightmares and eerie sensations stopped altogether. The final story comes from Mila, who's had her fair share of supernatural encounters. Unlike the others, Mila's experiences seem tied to her family's past. Mila's mother, Tamara, grew up during the height of the Ouija board craze.

Back then, it was common for teens to gather in dimly lit rooms and summon spirits as a test of bravery. Tamara and her friends were no exception. One day, they held a session at a friend's house. Mila doesn't know all the details, but she does no one thing, the group failed to close the connection properly. They ended the session abruptly and went their separate ways, leaving the board wide open. Two days later, Tamara noticed that one of her friends, Maria, was absent from school. The only explanation the nuns offered was that Maria had left due to problems with evil, in her home.

Mila suspects this unfinished session triggered the paranormal events that have played her family ever since. In their current home, objects often move on their own. Disembodied whispers echo through the halls, and the family's pets grow restless, barking or hissing at invisible forces. Whenever Mila confronts her mother, Tamara brushes it off, insisting nothing is wrong. But Mila knows better. The most unsettling part. The phenomena seemed to follow them wherever they go. One incident happened while Mila was on a trip. She called her grandmother, who was home alone, but the line was riddled with static. Mila called out her grandmother's name repeatedly, but all she heard were faint, eerie whispers. Later, her grandmother claimed she hadn't received any calls that day.

Recently, the activity has escalated. Mila now wakes up from vivid dreams where she's being grabbed or pulled. Disturbingly, she sometimes finds bruises or marks on her body in the same places she was, touched, in her dreams. In one particularly harrowing incident, Mila felt her hair being lifted while she stood in front of a bathroom mirror. Panicked, she fled toward the stairs but froze, unable to move. The next thing she knew, she was. It made me feel quite uneasy because I had never told anyone about the experience I had that summer. That year, Mariah's parents had gone on vacation for a couple of days, and Carlos decided to stay at her house to keep her company, so she

wouldn't be alone. I guess if he had known what was going to happen, he would have thought twice about it. On the first night, they slept with the door closed, as Araya was used to it that way. But on the second night, they decided to sleep with the door open to let the air circulate. That's when strange things started to happen. In the middle of the night, I heard a loud bang coming from one of the blinds downstairs, followed by a heavy silence. I stayed there listening intently, my heart pounding in my chest. I thought about pretending I hadn't heard anything, but then Araya asked, did you hear that? I said yes, but we didn't know what to do. Then I heard her cat meowing frantically, and she heard footsteps. We decided

to turn on all the lights in the house and checked it from top to bottom, thinking maybe someone had sneaked in, but we didn't find anyone except us. Araya opened the door to the room where the cat sleeps, and the cat darted out, completely panicked. After calming the poor animal down, which took a while, we went upstairs and got back into bed. I lay there, facing the wall, my back to the door and the desk. But suddenly, I felt a cold, uncomfortable sensation right behind me, and I could feel that same eerie feeling I had experienced when I first saw the silhouette. The tension was overwhelming, and I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. I begged Araya to leave, but we didn't know where to go. She tried to calm me down,

and somehow I managed to fall asleep. Carlos didn't talk to Araya about what happened until weeks later, and when he did, she admitted that she had felt the same thing. She also mentioned that she had been sensing something strange in her house for a long time, something that hid in the darkness. That's why she always slept with the door closed, to keep whatever it was from entering her room. And on the night they slept with the door open, whatever it was decided to make its presence known. On October 31st, 2017, they threw a Halloween party at Araya's house. That day, the house wasn't empty, her family was home, so they decided to hold the party in the pool house.

The vibe in there was light, and no one felt uncomfortable. Everything was going well until Araya's cat suddenly started acting up. It was meowing, looking around wildly, moving around restlessly. At first, they ignored the cat, as they were having fun, but toward the end of the night, Araya left the pool house to grab something from the main house. That's when the frightening incident with Carlos happened. a while, my phone rang, and I saw that it was Araya calling with a trembling voice. She asked me to come over, and so I did.

When I arrived at the house, I found her shaking with fear, holding her cat in her arms. She told me that when she went to open the door to the house, she heard a noise. When she turned around, she heard a cruel laugh echoing through the thick darkness. I started searching the area, thinking maybe someone had snuck in to prank us because of the date, but there was no one around. Despite that, we both felt like we were being watched. This eerie sensation made us lose our desire to continue with the party, and we decided to head home.

Some friends who were a couple stayed behind, and later they told us they heard footsteps near the hedge surrounding the property and a loud bang, but they couldn't figure out what it was. In August 2018, Araya's dad was out in the garden, trying to catch a glimpse of a lunar eclipse. The sight was so impressive that he decided to take a few pictures. But when he checked the photos, none of them looked like what he had seen. The pictures were full of strange, round dust particles surrounding him. He decided to shoot a video, and when he focused on the moon, those dust particles started moving. They didn't seem like dust at all, what he saw were glowing orbs flying all over the place.

That's when the family's ancient traditions came into play. Araya's grandmother decided to investigate everything that had been happening. The family had not only seen strange things in the photos, but they were also going through a tough period. Bad luck seemed to be following them. So the grandmother thought that maybe an evil eye had been cast on the house, and that it had allowed some entity to attach itself to the land. She performed a ritual to purify the land.

For a while, things seemed to get better, but eventually, the strange presence returned. It was as if everything that had been done to get rid of it had only temporarily subdued it. No one knows what will happen next, whether the presence will stop being as absent. active as before or if it's gathering strength for another attack. For that reason, I encourage anyone who knows anything to help Carlos and Araya by leaving a comment below so they can take note of it. This story, as unbelievable as it may sound, started 25 years ago, when Jazz was very little. It was a quiet night, and our protagonist was sleeping peacefully next to her mother.

Like most young children, Jazz had an intense fear of the dark, which is why she always slept with a light on and clung tightly to her mother. Jazz was trying to fall asleep but couldn't. She started to feel like someone was watching her. She was holding on to her mom, and then suddenly, she felt someone tugging at the blanket at her feet. Jazz turned around and saw a woman who looked like she had come out of a swamp. She was wearing tattered, dirty clothes, and her long nails were black.

Her hair was long and messy. The terrifying figure climbed into the bed, slowly crawling behind Jazz. Despite the mattress moving and the figure's constant shifting, jazz's mother didn't respond. She didn't even flinch. Jazz tried to alert her mother. She moved, shook her, tried to talk, but was so scared that no words came out. When she finally managed to speak, her mother still didn't respond.

Jazz remembers speaking to her mom, but she didn't move, and neither did anyone else in the room. Her grandmother didn't react either. The silence allowed the woman from the swamp to curl up next to Jazz and breathe in her ear. This figure whispered strange things Jazz couldn't understand, repeating them over and over. For Jazz, those moments felt like an eternity. She's not sure how much time passed until she finally gathered the courage to scream. But when she screamed for help, both her mother and grandmother remained still. It was only then that her grandmother screamed and her mom finally woke up.

Jazz told her what had happened, but her mother didn't see anything. After that terrifying night, the swamp woman kept appearing to Jazz. She would show up at the most unexpected times, and the fear Jazz felt was so overwhelming that she became a very scared person. There were periods when the figure would disappear, but as soon as Jazz started to feel normal again, it would return with more intensity. One day, when Jazz was six years old, she came home early from kindergarten. She went to her room to drop off her backpack and was about to turn on the TV to watch cartoons. As she stood in front of the TV, ready to switch it on, she saw a woman's reflection in the screen. The figure was standing behind her, next to the window, hiding behind the curtains.

She had long hair, was barefoot, and wearing a nightgown. Jazz quickly turned around, thinking it was her cousin, but no one was there. Jazz rushed to tell her mother what she had seen, but her mom didn't believe her. She was told that everyone else was in the kitchen, and her cousin was still in class. But Jazz could feel deep down that the woman was haunting her. Her mother decided to take her to a priest. After hearing the entire story, the priest conducted a ritual. He explained that children are very sensitive to paranormal entities, and it was likely

that Jazz was being haunted by a demonic entity. The priest performed a ritual to shield Jazz from the supernatural, and from that moment on, Jazz began to lead a normal life again. But over the years, she still experienced paranormal encounters. The woman from the swamp, although no longer visible, was always there. could feel her presence, hear whispers, chains dragging on the floor, and footsteps no one else could hear. But when she would tell her mother about it, her mom would dismiss it, believing the priest

had already cured her. Jazz started to feel isolated and misunderstood. As Jazz grew older, her nightmares became more intense. Her family told her it was all in her head, but the woman continued to haunt her in her dreams. One night, after a terrifying experience, Jazz and her boyfriend were parked near a cliff when a police car approached. Jazz's boyfriend was drunk, and they both feared being caught. However, the officers just wanted to check if the car had been abandoned.

After that tense moment, they relaxed. But then something truly terrifying happened. Jazz suddenly felt the same presence she had felt as a child, and she saw the shadow of a woman moving next to their car. The figure kept getting closer and closer, and it was only then that Jazz realized she was being haunted once again. The swamped woman hadn't left her alone after all. This is a detailed and intense narrative, blending elements of supernatural horror and emotional distress.

To expand the story into 3,800 words while keeping it unique, informal, and avoiding plagiarism, I will rework and elaborate on the content. The following version aims to preserve the core essence while expanding on the details. Sarah's mind was in chaos, her body frozen in place, as though she were trapped in some invisible force field that rendered her helpless. She tried to scream, to call out for help, to move, to escape, yet nothing happened. She was utterly powerless. Her throat was tight, her lips sealed, and her muscles refused to obey her commands.

She felt completely immobilized, stuck in her own body. Suddenly, the doors of the closet at the foot of her bed began to creak open, slowly, inch by inch. The sound was unnerving, like the rustling of ancient wood. As the doors opened wider, a figure began to emerge. It was a woman, but not one that belonged to the world Sarah knew. This woman's eyes were hollow, vacant, her lips twisted into a cruel, malicious grin. Her clothing was torn, filthy, and stained, and her face was disfigured with infected wounds,

as if she had been through hell and back. Sarah's heart pounded in her chest, and she tried once again to scream, but no sound escaped her lips. Her throat felt as though it had been sealed shut, and her whole body refused to move. She was trapped in her own body, unable to escape the nightmare that was unfolding before her eyes. The woman, with slow, deliberate movements, gripped the edges of the closet and began to crawl out. There was no rush, no urgency. She approached Sarah step by step, her eyes locked onto hers the entire time, with a gaze that

felt like ice running down her spine. Sarah's mind screamed at her to run, to do anything, but her body was completely unresponsive, trapped in a nightmare she couldn't wake from. With each step the woman took, Sarah could feel her terror deepening. She wasn't just trapped in her own body, she was a spectator to her own suffering. It was as though some invisible force was forcing her to watch every horrifying moment unfold, to witness this repulsive figure coming closer and closer, until it was right in front of her. And then, without warning, the woman lunged.

She attacked Sarah with a ferocity that seemed almost inhuman, as though every blow was a release of years of rage and hatred. punches, slaps, and bites rained down upon Sarah, each strike hitting her with the force of a real physical assault. The pain was overwhelming, so real, so raw, that it felt as though her skin was being torn apart with every hit. The woman's voice echoed in her mind, like a sick whisper that carried on the wind, you will pay with your life.

Over and over again, the words echoed, chilling her to the bone. Sarah's world became a blur of pain and fear. She couldn't move, couldn't fight back. The woman kept hitting her, each strike adding to her agony, and Sarah felt as though she were dying. And yet, despite the horror of the night, Sarah's suffering didn't end there. The woman disappeared as suddenly as she had appeared, but Sarah's torment continued. Every night, without fail, the same figure would emerge from the closet.

Each time, the woman would attack her with the same malice, the same relentless violence. began to dread sleep, to fear the closing of her eyes, for every time she did, the nightmare would begin anew. No matter what Sarah did, she couldn't escape. She tried sleeping with the lights on, but the woman still came. She tried staying awake by drinking coffee and sugary drinks, but her body betrayed her, and exhaustion would eventually pull her into sleep. It was a vicious cycle that seemed impossible to break.

Her life spiraled out of control. She became irritable, her grades plummeted, and her parents noticed some of the same. thing was terribly wrong. They questioned her, asking if she had heard from Yvonne again, if something had happened to her. But Sarah couldn't speak, couldn't even explain what was happening. Her body was a prison, and she was its captive prisoner. As her condition worsened, her parents made the decision to keep her home from university for a week, hoping that by staying close, they could help her. Her mother and brother Dario took turns looking after her during the day, keeping her busy, talking to her, never leaving her side. At night, her brother

and stayed with her, hoping his presence would offer some comfort. The first night, something miraculous happened. For the first time in months, Sarah slept peacefully, without the haunting visions of the woman. But the second night, Sarah's body moved on its own, flipping onto her back, and the familiar terror began once again. The closet door creaked open, and the woman appeared, but this time, something was different. The woman didn't approach Sarah. Instead, she turned toward German and attacked him, too.

Both Sarah and German were helpless as the woman beat them, one after another. Neither could move, could defend themselves, could cry out for help. The next morning, German was silent, staring at his sister in disbelief. As they sat down to breakfast, their mother asked, what's going on? Why are you both so quiet? German, still shaken, responded, I had a horrible nightmare. But that was when Sarah broke. She couldn't hold it in any longer.

Tears streamed down her face as she finally confessed the nightmare that had been plaguing her for months, the woman, the attacks, the endless suffering. Her family was stunned. It wasn't just Sarah who had experienced it, German had seen it too. He had felt it too. It was real. The family was left in a state of shock. If this wasn't a figment of Sarah's imagination, then what was it?

Something was happening in their home, something far beyond what they understood. In their search for answers, Sarah and her family visited every esoteric shop in Viadolid, hoping to find someone. who could explain what was happening. But no one seemed to know anything. The only solution that offered any hope came from a shaman, a man who lived near Plaza de Poniente. He came to their home, walked through every room, and performed a cleansing ritual. The shaman explained that the woman was not a ghost, but a negative entity, a spirit summoned by someone with a deep hatred for Sarah.

The spirit's goal was not to kill her, but to make her life unbearable, to push her to the point where she would end it herself. The shaman lit sage and performed rituals to close off the space, marking the windows and doors with oil, hoping to keep the entity at bay. Every month, Sarah had to perform a series of rituals to protect herself from the woman's torment. The entity, the shaman explained, would always be with her, a dark shadow that could never truly be removed, but at least she could protect herself from its attacks. Mirisal, a waitress, had her own story to tell, a tale of a different kind of haunting, one that

had come into her life after a devastating divorce. In 2014, she had learned that her husband had been secretly seeing another woman. The woman approached Marisol in a park one afternoon, revealing that she had been with Marisol's husband for over a year and was now pregnant with his child. Marisol was devastated. She had suspected something was wrong for months, but to hear it so bluntly was crushing. But what was worse was that their young daughter, Nayara, was caught in the middle of this painful revelation. Neera, just five years old, had witnessed the breakdown of her parents'

marriage and, like many children in such situations, began to develop coping mechanisms. She created an imaginary friend, a girl named Salome, who accompanied her everywhere. Salome was always there, playing, talking, and comforting Neera when she felt lonely. But Marisol began to notice that Salome wasn't just a harmless figment of Naira's imagination. were strange things happening, things that didn't make sense. One night, Marisol discovered a bruise on Naira's neck, and when she asked her daughter about it, Naira claimed that Salome had done it. Salome had gotten angry when Naira refused to let her change the TV channel and had hit her. At first, Marisol thought it was just a playful story, something children do, but as time

went on, the situation escalated. Naira began to talk about Salome in ways that disturbed her mother. Naira described Salome as someone who was both older and younger than her, someone who knew strange things, like the tragic history of a queen from Spain named Barbara de Braganza. Marisol dismissed these stories at first, but as Naira's behavior grew more erratic, she began to worry. One night, after putting Naira to bed, Marisol felt a strange presence in the house. It was a feeling she couldn't shake, as if someone was watching her. She searched the house, convinced she was being paranoid, but when she went to check the bathroom mirror, she saw something that made her blood run cold, a tall woman in a white gown standing

next to Naira's bed. When Marisol turned around, no one was there. The terror was only beginning. Marisol knew she had to act fast, but she had no idea what was truly happening. As she searched for answers, she found that many parents had experienced similar occurrences, children with imaginary friends who turned out to be something far darker than just the products of an active imagination. In the end, Marisol learned that some entities were drawn to moments of emotional pain, particularly

in children, and that they could latch onto a family during its most vulnerable moments. Salome wasn't just an imaginary friend, she was something else entirely. The house felt alive in a way that made it impossible not to notice. It wasn't just a house, it was something more. It was the kind of place that you could feel in your bones. Carolina and her mother felt at the moment they set foot inside. There was something magnetic about it. The air felt thick, and yet they couldn't help but breathe it in.

They immediately fell in love with it, convinced that this was the home they had been searching for. They felt like they had found their place in the world. But that first night in the house, it wasn't all magic. The warmth of their excitement quickly gave way to a deep, biting cold. It wasn't just a chill, it was an unbearable, gnawing cold. They had to light a fire in the fireplace to keep warm, and even then, it barely made a dent in the freezing atmosphere. The only one who didn't seem affected by the cold was

Wana. From the moment they moved in, she started roaming around the house, as though she knew it already. Wana would go up and down the stairs with an energy that seemed out of place for someone of her age. She would walk through the rooms, mumbling to herself. It was almost like she was having conversations with someone invisible, as if someone were with her in the house. Wana was convinced that her sister, Anna Maria, was still there, that somehow, Anna Maria was watching over her in the house. She would often say that she could feel Anna Maria's presence, like a constant companion, guiding her through the old rooms. Carolina's mother, Gloria, tried to explain it away. She told Carolina that Juana was likely just delusional from age and depression.

She believed that Juana's mind was playing tricks on her, making her think that Anna Maria's spirit was still there. But the more Juana spoke of her sister's presence, the more unsettling it became. As the days passed, Juana's health began to decline. At first, it was just the occasional dizziness or fatigue, but soon it became much worse. She had trouble getting out of bed. Her bones ached to the point where even the slightest movement was impossible. There were days when she couldn't even lift her arms, as though her limbs were no longer responding to her mind's commands. It wasn't just physical exhaustion, there was something deeper at play, something sinister that seemed to have settled into her body. And it wasn't just Juana's health that was deteriorating.

Carolina began to feel strange in the house too. At first, she thought it was just the cold and the weird creaks and groans of the old structure settling. But as time passed, she started to feel something much more disturbing. Carolina wasn't scared of being alone in a big house, not at first anyway. She loved the space, the peace, the solitude. But it was when she was alone in her assigned room that things began to change. The darkness would press in on her. She felt claustrophobic, trapped in the pitch-black room. She started to develop an irrational fear of the dark, of what might be hiding just beyond her reach. It wasn't just fear, it was a sense of doom, as though something in the house was waiting for her to fall asleep

so it could strike. She couldn't shake the feeling that the house itself didn't want her there, that the walls were alive with hostility. The creaks and groans of the house didn't seem so normal anymore. They weren't the sounds of a house aging, they sounded like something much more deliberate, like something was walking through the halls, watching her. Carolina couldn't even sleep. Every night, she would lay in bed, exhausted, but unable to shut her eyes for more than an hour or so at a time. She feared that if she closed her eyes, someone would jump out at her, that something would grab her, strangle her, or worse, stab her in the dark. The fear took hold of her, and she felt like the very house itself might collapse on top of her.

She was convinced that the house wanted to kill her, that it was alive in a way that was malicious. And then the doors. They started closing by themselves. Carolina would turn her back for a moment, and when she looked again, the doors would be slammed shut. Cold drafts would sweep through the rooms, and Carolina was convinced that these weren't just drafts from the house settling. No, these were deliberate, intelligent forces. Something was in the house with them. Something that wasn't there before.

She heard whispers, faint, unintelligible words that seemed to come from nowhere. She would press her ear against the door, and sometimes, when Wana fell silent, there would be a soft reply. A voice that no one else could hear. It was as if something was always there with Wana, whispering to her, following her every move. Carolina was terrified. She would often wake her mother in the middle of the night, claiming that there was something in the house, someone lurking in the shadows or hiding in the closet.

Gloria tried to calm her down, but she too was frightened. The family's fear reached a point where they felt they had no choice but to contact a local shaman. The man arrived at the house and immediately said that he didn't understand why they were still living there. He said the negativity in the house was palpable, and that something dark had lived there in the past, a person filled with hatred and bitterness, someone who had made a pact with something dark and evil.

The shaman said that this person had sold their soul, and now, the house was cursed. The entity in the house was seeking a vessel, a body in which to live, and the owner of the house was the one it was after. The shaman explained that it wasn't something he could help with directly. The owner of the house had to perform the ritual to rid the house of the entity. It was their responsibility to confront it and force it out. Gloria was hesitant at first but eventually agreed. That same day, she gathered sage and started walking through the rooms, letting the smoke from

the sage fill every corner. She blessed the doors and windows with oil, saying prayers that she didn't fully understand. She invited the dark entity to leave, to go back to wherever it came from. And for a time, it worked. For twelve days, the house seemed to be at peace. The walls no longer creaked ominously, and the heat from the fireplace actually warmed the rooms. There were no more shadows lurking in the corners, no more cold drafts. The house felt lighter, as if the oppressive weight of fear had been lifted.

Wana seemed to improve as well. She no longer stayed in bed, and her health seemed to return to normal. She was moving again, walking around with ease, her bones no longer frozen by pain. It was as if she had been rejuvenated, as though the curse had been lifted. But on the twelfth night, everything changed. Just as the sun set, the cold returned, creeping into their bones. The creaks came back, and the whispers grew louder. The house was alive again with the same sinister energy.

And then, Wana collapsed. She had a heart attack and died before the ambulance could even reach her. Carolina and her mother were devastated, but they knew one thing for certain, they could never stay in that house again. After Wana's funeral, Carolina and her mother decided to leave. They packed up their things, took one last look at the house, and vowed never to return. They never did. One of Juana's children or grandchildren ever stepped foot inside that house again.

They knew the story, and they didn't want any part of it. But they respected Juana's wishes not to sell the house, understanding that she had wanted to stay there, to live out her days in that place. Since then, the house has sat empty. No one from Juana's family has gone near it, and the rumors about what happened there have only grown with time. The next story I'm going to share is about Marta. Some of her friends watch this channel, so Marta asked me not to reveal the city or

country she's from. I'll do my best to be as concise as possible when telling this story. Back in 2015, Marta had a close-knit group of four friends, Anna, Yvonne, Clara, and Eulalia. Marta and Ullalia had known each other for years, their families having been friends since before they were born. They'd weathered every storm together, moving to different countries, dealing with the usual teenage drama, but no matter what happened, their bond never broke. They'd always been there for each other. But everything changed on April 5,000. 2015. Ullalia's father, who had been fighting cancer for years, passed away. Ullalia was devastated.

She couldn't even find the words to express her pain. Marta's mother suggested that Ullalia stay with them for a while, hoping it would help her heal. For the first two days, Ullalia barely said a word. She couldn't bring herself to get out of bed. She didn't want to do anything. Marta tried everything to comfort her, but nothing seemed to help. on the third day, something strange happened.

Eulalia suddenly seemed fine. She had packed Marta's things and was ready to send her home. Marta was shocked. It was as though her friend had completely changed overnight. She didn't understand it, but she tried not to worry. She trusted Eulalia, and she believed that things were getting better. But she didn't know that the Eulalia she knew was gone. Something else had taken her place.

From the shadows, paranormal encounters that shatter reality. At the end of the hallway, two piercing eyes glowed ominously in the dark. They seemed to hover, their green light illuminating nothing but themselves, rising slowly until they almost touched the ceiling. Ines was frozen in place, her instinct screaming that this was no ordinary dog. This was something larger, darker, more sinister. The growling intensified, rumbling through the air like a storm. This thing didn't want her there.

Time became meaningless as Ines stared into those eerie green orbs. minutes, hours, she couldn't tell. Her chest felt heavy, the air thick with tension. Then, in a blink, it all vanished. The eyes, the growling, the oppressive feeling, gone. Ines gasped and reached for her phone, her trembling hands barely managing to dial her mother's number. When her mom picked up, Ines erupted into a frenzy of stammering and sobbing.

She begged her parents to come home immediately, her voice a chaotic mix of fear and urgency. There's something here, she cried. It's not a dog, it's something worse. I felt it for weeks, but now I've seen it. It was in the hallway, near the front door. Her mother tried to calm her, but nothing worked. Innes was certain this malevolent presence had materialized to torment her. From that night on, the entity didn't remain a secret,

it made itself known to everyone in the house. Her mother began reporting strange occurrences, seeing a large shadow darting from one room to another. She swore she saw a wolf-like creature sleeping at the foot of Inessa's bed and once caught a glimpse of those same green eyes glowing under her daughter's bed. Convinced the entity was targeting Ines, her mother couldn't shake the feeling that it fed off her daughter's struggles, her depression, her illness. It was as if the creature thrived on Inessa's misery, consuming what little life force she had left. Desperate for a solution, the family stumbled upon a video blog about a haunted shamanic sculpture. The vlogger had

recounted how their aunt had rid herself of a similar curse by casting the object into the sea. Inspired, Inessa's parents drove to the nearest beach and hurled a stuffed animal, a potential vessel for the entity, into the waves. For three days, peace returned. No growls, no green eyes. No shadowy presence. But on the third night, Inessa's mother woke up at 3am, gripped by an overwhelming sense of dread. Something loomed in the doorway of her bedroom, a massive, shadowy figure with those same glowing green eyes. It stared at her, on blinking, for over an hour. Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone.

Since that night, the entity hasn't returned, leaving the family baffled. Why had it come back after they had cast the stuffed animal into the ocean? Was it a final farewell or a cruel reminder of its power? The family hopes never to encounter those terrifying green eyes again. Alejandra's fear of the bathroom, Christina, A 17-year-old paranormal enthusiast, thought she could handle anything spooky. That was until her family began renovating their home. The construction focused on fixing bathroom leaks that have been causing flooding in their

downstairs neighbor's apartment. While the work was being done, her younger sister Alejandra was forced to sleep in Christina's room because her bedroom was right across from the torn apart bathroom. From the start, Alejandra hated sleeping in that room. She claimed that something dark watched her from the demolished bathroom at night. Her parents dismissed it as childish imagination, but Christina started noticing strange things as well. On the night of June 4, everything came to a head.

At around 3 a.m., Christina woke with a strange compulsion to look at her sister's bed. Alejandra was wrapped tightly in her blanket, as usual. But then, the blanket began sliding off her, slowly and deliberately, as if pulled by invisible hands. Terrified, Christina's eyes darted to the foot of the bed, but there was no one there. later, Christina's own blanket began to move. That's when she panicked. She reached out to wake her sister, only to find Alejandra's body ice cold. The realization hit her like a punch, this wasn't Alejandra. Whatever was in her bed wasn't human. Screaming, Christina bolted from the

room, her legs carrying her down the hall to her parents' bedroom. She could barely form coherent words, but her terror was enough to send her parents rushing to the scene. As they approached the girl's room, the door slammed shut in their faces. For the next half hour, they tried everything to open the door, but it wouldn't budge. When they finally managed to force it open, they found the room in chaos. Both beds were appended, with sheets and blankets strewn across the floor. But Alejandra wasn't there. To their shock, Alejandra came running down the stairs moments later, asking what was going on. She hadn't been in the room at all. The family has been searching for answers ever since, but nothing explains what happened.

happened that night. Leo's rational descent into madness. Leo, a 26-year-old skeptic from Albisade, had always prided himself on his logical mind. Fascinated by how myths and legends shape human behavior, he set out to debunk the paranormal in a methodical study. His work was divided into three parts, researching famous cases, conducting experiments, and drawing conclusions. One of his experiments involved using a Ouija board to test the phenomenon. Sitting in his dimly lit room, he began asking questions, meticulously documenting the process. Is anyone here, he asked. The board didn't respond, but his alarm clock suddenly blared at full volume. St startled, Leo turned it off and continued. But the same thing happened with each

question he asked. Frustrated, he removed the clock's batteries, yet it still went off, impossibly. The next night, Leo tried again, this time with the lights on. When he asked how many entities were present, the light bulb above him burst. Though shaken, he continued his sessions over the following weeks, logging every detail. But the activity escalated. He began feeling watched, even during the day. Conversations with friends were interrupted by his blank stares into corners of the room, as if something unseen was lurking there. His once rational mind unraveled. Leo's detailed notes, once filled with clear observations, became disjointed and incoherent. He grew reclusive, leaving his job and isolating himself from

loved ones. His sister later revealed that Leo had checked himself into a psychiatric facility, tormented by what he claimed was a ghostly presence. Though doctors diagnosed him with psychosis, Leo remains convinced that he summons something real, something that continues to haunt him. The landlord's secret and David's haunting, waiting can be maddening, especially when you feel ignored. That's exactly where Pablo found himself, on edge, pacing back and forth, his patience stretched thin. He'd been trying to get a hold of his landlord for weeks. Calls went unanswered. Texts ignored. And every issue in the apartment, from flickering lights to plumbing disasters, was left unresolved. So, Pablo decided enough was enough. He stationed himself outside

the landlord's house one morning, waiting for his moment. Finally, the door opened. The landlord stepped out, locking the door behind him. Before he could even turn, Pablo was on him. I've been calling you non-stop. What's going on? I have issues with the apartment, serious ones. The lights are out of control, the pipes are a mess, and, what gives? The landlord, visibly annoyed, brushed him off. That's your problem. I don't handle those things. You deal with it. I'm not responsible for every little issue that happens in the house. Pablo's frustration bubbled into anger. Not responsible. I'm freezing in there. The appliances don't work half the time, the lights pop, and the door to my bedroom. Don't even get me started on the door to my room. Every night, I hear banging,

like someone's hitting it over and over again. The mention of the banging stopped the landlord in his tracks. His face went pale, almost as if all the blood had drained out of it. His hands trembled as he reached for the wall to steady himself. His legs wobbled like they might give out any second. Sir. Are you okay? Pablo asked, his anger giving way to concern. The landlord didn't respond, his breathing shallow, his expression distant. Panicking, Pablo ran inside, grabbed a glass of water, and returned to find the man still leaning heavily against the wall. Here, drink this. Are you sure you're okay? Should I call an ambulance? The landlord was unresponsive. staring blankly ahead like someone who'd just been told the worst news of their life.

The banging. It was like the mention of the door had triggered something deep, something terrifying. Pablo didn't wait any longer. He called an ambulance. The paramedics arrived, and after a brief examination, they confirmed it was a fainting spell caused by low blood pressure, though, judging by the man's fear-stricken face, it felt like more than that. Pablo followed them to the hospital.

Gilt nodded him the entire time. He hadn't meant to cause this. Was it his fault? Did he push too hard? Hours later, after the landlord's family arrived and the doctors gave the all clear, the man still hadn't spoken a word. Not to Pablo, not to his family, not even to the nurses who tried to coax him into saying something.

It was as if the life had been sucked out of him. When Pablo finally returned to his apartment, everything felt eerier than ever. The cold bit into his skin, the light bulbs buzzed ominously before flickering out, and the banging returned with renewed ferocity. To make things worse, his girlfriend had officially had enough. That night, she packed her things and left for her parents' house, leaving Pablo alone in the haunted apartment. The next morning, Pablo resolved to confront the landlord again. But this time, he wouldn't wait around.

As soon as he woke up, he planned to march to the landlord's house and demand answers. However, at 7.30 a.m., his doorbell rang. Standing there was the landlord, looking disheveled and jittery. He wasted no time. Pablo, let's end this. I'll cancel your lease. Forget the contract. You can move out immediately, and I'll even give you two grand for the inconvenience.

Just pack your things and go. Pablo blinked in disbelief. Wait, what? I don't want money. I just want you to fix the problems with the apartment. No. You don't understand. For your own good, you need to leave.

Everyone who's lived there has had problems. They all left. But, his voice trailed off. But what? Pablo pressed. The landlord hesitated, his hands shaking. It's the banging on the door to your bedroom. It's...

It's not the first time. Six months ago, a young man lived there. Just 18, full of life, ready to take on the world. But one day, without warning, he, he hanged himself. Right in front of that door, the words hit Pablo like a freight train. Bullen's life, ever since that fateful April 3rd, had changed completely. She no longer felt safe in her own skin, let alone in her own home. She began making small but noticeable changes to her lifestyle, all rooted in a deep fear

she couldn't fully articulate to those around her. Friends noticed her behavior shifting, but every time they asked, she waved it off with a nervous laugh and an excuse that didn't hold water. It's just stress, she'd say. Work's been rough, you know. But her friends weren't convinced. The truth was that Bullen couldn't get over the feeling that David wasn't just a figment of her childhood imagination.

He wasn't some quirky coping mechanism her younger self had conjured up to deal with loneliness. No, David felt real, and the signs of his presence were growing too obvious to ignore. The growing presence, strange things began happening around her apartment. At first it was small things, an object out of place, a light flickering more than usual, a sudden and inexplicable draft in the middle of the night. But then it escalated. Bullen began waking up to the sound of soft footsteps in the hallway, shuffling that seemed to come from nowhere but always stopped right outside her bedroom door.

The worst part. That smell, the damp, earthy stench she had convinced herself was just her imagination, was back. And it was stronger than ever. One particularly harrowing night, Boulin woke up to a loud thud against her bedroom door. Her heart leapt into her throat. Clutching the edge of her blanket, she strained to hear anything else, but the apartment was silent, save for the sound of her own rapid breathing.

She wanted to believe it was the neighbors. She wanted to believe it was her cat, but she didn't have one. In the morning, she found faint muddy footprints leading from the kitchen to her bedroom door. Seeking help. By now, Bollin was running on fumes. Her lack of sleep and constant paranoia were affecting her work and relationships. Desperate for answers, she turned to online forums for paranormal experiences, where she anonymously shared her story.

The responses ranged from supportive to outright dismissive, but one reply stood out. You need to confront him, the post read. If he's attached to you, ignoring him will only make it worse. Acknowledge him, but set boundaries, confront him. The idea sent chills down her spine. She hadn't spoken to David since she was a child, and the thought of addressing him now, as an adult, felt utterly absurd. But the alternative, continuing to live in fear, seemed worse.

So, one night, she mustered all her courage. Sitting in the middle of her living room with every light in the apartment turned on, she spoke aloud. David, if you're here, I need you to stop. You're scaring me. Her voice trembled, but she pressed on. I didn't mean to abandon you. I was just a kid.

But you can't keep doing this, the room fell silent. For a moment, she thought maybe she'd imagined it all. But then, a quiet, childlike voice whispered from the corner of the room, You left me, the revelation, Bullen froze. She couldn't bring herself to look in the direction of the voice. Tears welled up in her eyes, and her body shook as she whispered back, I didn't know. I'm sorry, David, the voice didn't respond immediately. Instead, the lights in the room flickered, and the smell of damp earth grew stronger.

When David finally spoke again, his tone was different, harsher, colder. You forgot me. You tried to pretend I wasn't real. But I am. I always have been, Bullen couldn't hold back her tears anymore. What do you want for me, she pleaded. To remember, he said simply. And just like that, the presence seemed to vanish.

The oppressive smell dissipated, and the light stabilized. A fragile peace. Psychologists she consulted suggested that David could have been a manifestation of her loneliness and anxiety as a child, resurfacing now due to unresolved emotions. But Bullen couldn't shake the feeling that it was more than that. She started journaling about her childhood, trying to piece together memories she'd long buried. The more she wrote, the more vivid her recollections of David became, his voice, his laughter, the way he used to follow her everywhere. And with those memories came a bittersweet realization,

For all his faults, David had been her only friend during a very lonely time in her life. The final encounter. One night, about a month after their conversation, Bullen woke up to a familiar smell. Her heart sank. She knew what it meant. This time, though, she didn't panic. She turned on her bedside lamp and sat up, waiting. David, she called softly.

For a moment, there was nothing. And then, standing in the corner of her room, she saw him. He looked exactly as she remembered, pale skin, freckled face, dark hair, but his expression was different. He looked, sad. I'm sorry, Bolin said, her voice trembling. I didn't mean to leave you. But I can't live like this anymore.

You need to let me go. David stared at her, his eyes filled with an emotion she couldn't quite place. After what felt like an eternity, he nodded. And just like that, he was gone. Moving on, Bullen hasn't seen or heard from David since that night. The smell, the footsteps, the strange occurrences, all of it stopped. For the first time in years, she feels a sense of peace. She still thinks about him sometimes, though.

On quiet nights, when the house is still and her mind wanders, she wonders if David has finally found rest, or if he's out there, waiting for someone else to find him. One thing is certain, Bolin will never forget him. After all, how could she? David wasn't just a part of her childhood, he was a part of her. And maybe, in some strange way, he always will be. Sure, I can rewrite this text in a unique, informal style while keeping it around 3,700 words,

though it might take a little while to complete. I'll get started right now and let you know when I'm done. This is a lengthy and detailed transformation, so it might take a little time to provide you with the 3,700 words as requested. Let's break it down and I'll provide a detailed, rewritten version in an informal, unique style. I'll update you as I work through it. I've started transforming the text, maintaining a unique, informal tone while expanding on the original story.

This is a lengthy process, so it might take a little time. I'll break the original text down into manageable sections and build it up step by step. I'll keep you updated on my progress. Let me start with the first portion of the rewrite. Sarah had always been a curious person. For weeks, she'd been hearing strange sounds at night, boots echoing along the hallway. At first, she brushed it off, thinking it was just her imagination or perhaps the house settling.

But then, one evening, something happened that made her question everything. She was sitting in her room, reading, when she suddenly heard footsteps again. This time, they seemed to be getting closer. It was late, and the house was quiet, everyone else was asleep. She sat still, listening, her heart beating faster. The sound of boots walking slowly down the hallway, it was so distinct. Each step seemed deliberate, measured. Sarah thought it was just her dad, walking around her maybe her brother.

But when she opened her door to check, she was met with nothing. The hallway was empty. The next morning, over breakfast, she decided to ask her dad if he had been walking around the house the night before. Hey, Dad, what were you doing outside last night? She asked casually, not wanting to sound too alarmed. Her dad, half asleep, looked at her puzzled. I was asleep all night, sweetheart, he replied.

I didn't go outside. You must have dreamed it. Sarah wasn't convinced. She felt uneasy. Something about the sound of those boots, it wasn't a dream. She decided to investigate further. She checked the back door, locked, just as it should be. The possibility of someone sneaking around was impossible.

Still, the footsteps were clear as day. Over the next few nights, Sarah tried to catch whatever it was. She even started leaving her door open to see if she could catch a glimpse of whoever, or whatever. was walking around. The first few nights, nothing happened. But then, one night, when she'd closed her door again, the footsteps returned. The unmistakable sound of boots, walking across the hall, coming toward her room. This time, Sarah was determined.

As soon as she heard the boots again, she jumped out of bed and threw open the door, hoping to confront whatever was out there. But when the door swung wide, she found nothing. The hallway was empty. There was no shadowy figure, no explanation at all. It was frustrating. The footsteps had to mean something, right? Why was this happening?

The more she thought about it, the more she felt that maybe, just maybe, this wasn't a person. What if it was something else? Something supernatural, something that didn't want to be seen. Sarah couldn't help but wonder if there was a ghost in the house, something stuck in this place, something that wanted to communicate with her. to find answers, Sarah did what many people in situations like hers might do, she turned to the Internet. After all, the Internet had all sorts of solutions, right? One thing she kept coming across was something called a Ouija board, a tool used to communicate with spirits.

There were hundreds of people who had used it and claimed to have contacted spirits from the other side. Some said it was dangerous, others said it worked wonders. Sarah wasn't sure what to think, but the idea intrigued her. She knew she had to try it. She had to know what was going on. So, after some research, she learned how to make her very own Ouija board. It wasn't hard, just some cardboard, markers, and a few basic instructions. She even followed the guide on how to make a spirit glass, a simple glass that would move when the spirit wanted to communicate.

The day she finished making the board, Sarah felt a mix of excitement and nerves. She wasn't sure if she should be scared or hopeful, but she knew she couldn't back out now. She was determined to contact whoever, or whatever, was haunting her house. The next day, when her parents were out, she invited a few of her friends over. Sarah didn't want to do this alone, and in hindsight, that might have been the best decision she made. The girls all gathered around, each with a finger on the glass, ready to ask questions. At first, nothing happened. They waited, each of them nervously glancing around the room.

Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. No movement. They all looked at each other, unsure if they should continue. Sarah's heart was racing. She didn't want to seem disappointed, but at the same time, she didn't want to be scared. They kept asking questions, is anyone here? Who are you?

What do you want? But the glass stayed still. It was a relief, in some ways. Sarah didn't really want to deal with a ghost, especially not one that was potentially angry or dangerous. But part of her was still curious, still waiting for a sign. When the glass never moved, she decided to pack up the board. Her friends went home, and Sarah was left alone to think about the whole experience. That night, Sarah couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching her. She had nightmares, waking up in a cold sweat, heart pounding.

It wasn't the dreams themselves that were troubling, but the feeling that there was someone, or something, standing right outside her room, watching her, just beyond the door. Every time she opened her eyes, the room was empty. But the unease was still there, lingering in the air. The next morning, things got worse. When Sarah went into the bathroom, she found something that made her blood run cold. The bathroom mirror, shattered. Broken into pieces.

There was dirt and mud all over the floor, as if someone had dragged something filthy through the house. It was an awful sight. At first, Sarah wondered if it was her pet, but then she remembered she didn't have any pet. It couldn't have been them. She immediately felt a shiver run down her spine. It was like someone was trying to send her a message, to warn her about something. Maybe it was the entity she had been trying to communicate with.

Maybe it didn't want to be found. Maybe it didn't want her to dig any deeper. Sarah knew one thing for sure, she wasn't going to mess around with Ouija boards anymore. Whatever she had stirred up, it wasn't something she could control. She didn't want to risk upsetting whatever was haunting her house. A few days passed after the mirror incident, and Sarah couldn't shake the feeling that things weren't right in the house. The unsettling feeling of being watched had only gotten worse, especially at night.

It was as if the walls themselves were holding secrets, whispering things she couldn't understand. And each time she looked into a mirror, it felt like someone, or something, was standing just behind her, waiting for her to look away. She tried to stay calm. It was probably just her mind playing tricks, right? But the sounds, the broken mirror, the feeling of being followed, they were all too real to ignore. Her mom noticed the change in Sarah's mood. She'd become more withdrawn, more on edge, and less interested in hanging out with her friends.

One evening, over dinner, her mom asked her what was going on. Sweetheart, you've been so quiet lately. Is something bothering you? Her mom asked, looking up from her plate. She hesitated, unsure if she should say anything. Her mom had always been a practical woman, someone who didn't believe in things like ghosts or spirits. But Sarah couldn't keep the fear bottled up any longer. I think something's here, Mom, Sarah finally said, her voice shaking.

There's something in the house, her mom raised an eyebrow. What do you mean, something? I keep hearing footsteps. It's like someone is walking around the hallway at night. I've heard it so many times, and when I check, there's never any. her mom didn't respond at first. She just stared at her, then sighed. Sweetie, I think you've been watching too many scary movies. It's probably just your imagination. Why don't you try to relax? Maybe you're just stressed out, Sarah didn't believe that. She wanted to believe

her mom, she really did, but it wasn't just her imagination. The sounds, the broken mirror, the sense of being followed, it was too much. That night, after everyone had gone to bed, Sarah decided to do something drastic. She wasn't going to sit around waiting for something to happen. She was going to take matters into her own hands. She grabbed her flashlight, a notebook, and a camera, and snuck into the hallway. She was going to document everything. If something was walking around the house, she'd catch it. Sarah knew it was risky, what if she found something she wasn't ready for? What if she found a ghost? But she had to know. She sat quietly in the dark, her flashlight illuminating a small portion of the hallway.

She waited for what felt like hours, the silence pressing in on her. Then, just when she was starting to doubt herself, she heard it, the boots again. The unmistakable sound of footsteps, slow and heavy, coming from the other end of the hallway. Her heart raced. This time, she wasn't going to run. She wasn't going to back down. She turned on her camera, aiming it down the hallway. The footsteps grew louder, closer, and then, not.

nothing. The sound stopped as suddenly as it had started. Sarah stood frozen, her flashlight trembling in her hand. She looked around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the figure she knew was out there. But there was nothing. The hallway was empty. She felt a cold chill wash over her. The air seemed thicker now, heavier. Suddenly, the flashlight flickered and went out. Sarah's heart skipped a beat. She tried to turn it back on, but it wouldn't work. Panic sat in, and she fumbled with the light, her fingers shaking. That's when she heard it again, this time, it was closer, so close that it sounded like it was right next to her.

Who's there? Sarah whispered, her voice barely audible. The footsteps didn't stop, but they didn't get any closer, either. They just kept pacing in front of her, as if whatever was out there was waiting for her to do something. Sarah's mind raced. Was this a ghost? Was she about to be attacked?

With a sudden burst of courage, she switched on her phone's flashlight and turned to face the hallway. But when she shined the light down the corridor, she saw nothing. The house was completely still. No shadows, no figure, just darkness. Suddenly, she felt a strange pull in her chest, like something was calling to her from the end of the hallway. Without thinking, she took a step forward. Her feet felt heavy, and every instinct in her body screamed to turn back, but she kept walking, drawn toward the end of the hall.

As she neared the door to the attic, Sarah noticed something odd, a faint light coming from beneath it. She hadn't noticed it before, but now it was impossible to ignore. The light seemed to flicker, like the glow of a candle, and it was coming from the attic, the one place she had never dared to go. Her breath caught in her throat. Sarah took a deep breath, mustered all the courage she had left, and slowly opened the attic door.

The light grew brighter as the door creaked open, and a strange, musky smell wafted out. The attic was cluttered, filled with old furniture, dusty boxes, and forgotten memories. But in the middle of it all, there was something else, a large, wooden chest, sitting in the center of the room. The chest was illuminated by the strange light, glowing faintly in the otherwise dark space. It felt like the chest was waiting for her, like it was meant to be discovered. Sarah hesitated. Was this what the footsteps were leading her to?

The chest? She felt a strange compulsion to open it, to see what was inside. But a part of her knew it wasn't going to be good. Whatever was inside that chest, it was connected to everything that had been happening, the footsteps, the broken mirror, the eerie feeling that had taken over her house. Still, she couldn't resist. With trembling hands, Sarah reached out, grabbed the latch, and pulled open the chest. Inside, she found old photographs, dozens of them, stacked haphazardly on top of each other.

They were faded, worn at the edges, and many of them were barely recognizable. But one photo stood out. It was a picture of her house, taken long before she was born. In the picture, there was a man standing in front of the house, staring directly at the camera. His eyes were cold, empty. And his boots, those same heavy boots, were visible in the photo. Sarah felt a chill crawl up her spine. She knew that man.

Somehow, she knew him. And the realization hit her like a ton of bricks, that man was the one who had been walking through her house. the one who had been leaving footprints in the hall but who was he why was he haunting her house and what did he want the mystery deepened as sarah stared at the photo her mind racing the answers were just out of reach but she knew one thing for sure she wasn't alone in the house anymore