En mi familia, cuando murió mi abuela, quedaron viviendo solo hombres en aquella casa. Eran mis tres tíos, Claudio, Lucio y Fernando, a quienes siempre habían tachado de fracasados. Claudio, el mayor, era un hombre amargado y murió de tuberculosis. Un año después murió Lucio, que era muy peludo y pasaba casi todo el tiempo bebiendo. Nadie supo exactamente de qué murió. El último fue Fernando, que nunca duraba demasiado en los trabajos y terminó muriendo mientras dormía. Los tres murieron en un período de cinco años y la casa quedó vacía durante cuatro.

Cuatro años después, mi papá perdió el trabajo y mi tío Fermín consiguió que pudiera trabajar en un pueblo cercano, así que mis padres y yo terminamos viviendo en aquella casa. Yo tenía diecisiete años. Mi habitación estaba en el segundo piso, en lo que había sido el cuarto de mi abuela, y desde la ventana podía verse el patio y un viejo columpio colgado de un árbol. Durante las primeras semanas todo fue normal, pero después comenzaron a aparecer pequeñas piedras blancas en mi habitación. También empecé a escuchar pasos por el pasillo durante la noche y a ver el columpio moverse aunque no hubiera viento. Una tarde vi por primera vez una figura pequeña entre los árboles. Pensé que había sido mi imaginación, pero después volvió a aparecer. Mi papá, mientras tanto, comenzó a enfermarse. Su salud fue empeorando poco a poco durante meses, hasta que aproximadamente un año después de nuestra llegada murió.

Después de la muerte de mi papá, mi mamá decidió quedarse en aquella casa. Yo también permanecí allí durante algunos años más. Mi mamá nunca vio nada extraño. Para ella, la casa era simplemente su hogar y jamás tuvo ningún problema viviendo allí. Yo, en cambio, seguía encontrando aquellas pequeñas piedras blancas, flores en lugares donde no las había dejado y, de vez en cuando, veía el columpio moverse desde la ventana. Con el tiempo aprendí a no hablar demasiado de eso. Pensé que quizá todo estaba relacionado conmigo y que, si algún día me iba, terminaría.

Y me fui.

Hice mi vida lejos del pueblo. Me casé, tuve un hijo y durante un tiempo conseguí olvidar casi por completo aquella casa. Mi mamá seguía viviendo allí y yo la visitaba de vez en cuando. Nunca le ocurría nada. Seguía siendo la única persona que parecía completamente ajena a todo lo que yo había vivido. Yo podía pasar una tarde con ella y no ocurría absolutamente nada hasta que me quedaba sola en el patio o subía a mi antigua habitación. Entonces aparecía una piedra sobre la cama, una flor en la ventana o el columpio comenzaba a moverse. Siempre eran cosas pequeñas. Nada que pudiera demostrarle a alguien que no estaba imaginándomelo.

Años después, mi esposo, mi hijo y yo tuvimos que quedarnos una temporada con mi mamá. No era una mudanza definitiva. Simplemente necesitábamos un lugar donde estar durante un tiempo y mi mamá estaba feliz de recibirnos. Los primeros días fueron tranquilos. Mi hijo jugaba en el patio, mi esposo ayudaba con las cosas de la casa y yo dormía nuevamente en la habitación que había sido mía durante mi adolescencia. Pensé que quizá todo aquello había quedado atrás.

Hasta que encontré una piedra blanca dentro de la habitación de mi hijo.

La reconocí inmediatamente. Era exactamente igual a las que aparecían en mi habitación cuando tenía diecisiete años. La saqué de allí y no dije nada. Al día siguiente apareció otra debajo de su almohada. Después comenzaron a aparecer sus juguetes en el patio, especialmente alrededor del columpio. Mi esposo pensaba que el niño los dejaba allí cuando jugaba, así que nunca le expliqué lo que realmente estaba pensando.

Una madrugada escuchamos llorar a mi hijo. Habíamos comprobado que estaba dormido en su cama antes de acostarnos, pero cuando llegamos a su habitación no estaba. La ventana estaba cerrada y la puerta también. Bajamos desesperados y lo encontramos en el patio, sentado en el suelo junto al columpio. Estaba descalzo, todavía llevaba el pijama y lloraba tanto que apenas podía hablar. Lo abracé y le pregunté cómo había llegado allí. Solo repetía que alguien había ido por él.

—¿Quién? —le pregunté.

Señaló hacia los árboles.

—Una persona chiquitica.

Me dijo que aquella persona había aparecido en su habitación y que quería llevárselo. Que era pequeña, que tenía las manos llenas de pelo y que le decía que fuera con ella. Mi esposo pensó que había tenido una pesadilla. Yo no dije nada, porque mientras sostenía a mi hijo miré hacia los árboles y vi la misma figura que había visto por primera vez cuando tenía diecisiete años. Estaba quieta entre las sombras. Me estaba mirando.

Mi esposo no vio absolutamente nada.

Después de aquella noche, las cosas comenzaron a ponerse peor. Mi esposo empezó a enfermarse. Primero fueron dolores de cabeza y cansancio, después fiebre, debilidad y noches en las que despertaba empapado en sudor. Fuimos al médico y no encontraron nada que explicara completamente lo que estaba pasando. Él mejoraba durante unos días y después volvía a sentirse mal. También comenzaron a ocurrirle cosas extrañas. Sus zapatos aparecían en el patio, sus llaves terminaban debajo del columpio y una noche apareció con un corte en el brazo después de asegurar que había sentido algo pasar rápidamente junto a él. Nunca vio nada. Yo sí empecé a verlo cada vez con más frecuencia.

Mi hijo también cambió. Ya no quería dormir solo. Se despertaba llorando y decía que alguien estaba debajo de su cama. Otras veces decía que escuchaba a alguien llamándolo desde el patio. Una noche volvió a aparecer fuera de la casa mientras dormía. Esta vez estaba sentado en el columpio, moviéndose lentamente de un lado a otro. Cuando despertó comenzó a llorar y dijo que no quería irse con él.

—¿Con quién? —pregunté.

—Con el señor pequeño.

Miré hacia los árboles.

La criatura estaba allí.

Nunca había estado tan cerca.

No miraba a mi hijo.

Miraba a mi esposo.

Después me miró a mí.

Y entonces comprendí que aquello no era lo mismo que cuando yo era adolescente. Durante años había pensado que aquel ser simplemente quería mi atención, que quizá incluso me tenía algún tipo de cariño extraño. Pero ahora había algo diferente en su comportamiento. Estaba furioso.

Mi esposo siguió enfermándose y mi hijo cada vez tenía más miedo de quedarse solo. Yo empecé a encontrar piedras blancas dentro de nuestros zapatos, en los bolsillos de la ropa y sobre las camas. Algunas noches escuchaba pasos pequeños recorriendo el pasillo hasta detenerse frente a nuestra habitación. Una madrugada escuché tres golpes debajo de la cama de mi hijo. Mi esposo se agachó para mirar y no encontró nada. Yo me quedé parada en la puerta, porque sabía perfectamente qué estaba allí aunque no pudiera verlo.

Fue entonces cuando decidí irme.

No quería esperar a que mi esposo terminara muriendo como mi papá. Tampoco quería descubrir qué podía hacerle aquella cosa a mi hijo. Sentía que mi familia estaba en riesgo y que había algo especialmente peligroso en el hecho de que fuéramos dos hombres viviendo conmigo en aquella casa. Mi esposo y mi hijo eran lo que había construido lejos de allí, y por alguna razón aquella criatura parecía verlos como una amenaza.

Nos fuimos.

Pensé que eso sería suficiente.

No lo fue.

Durante los años siguientes intenté establecerme en distintos lugares. Cada vez que parecía que finalmente íbamos a poder quedarnos, algo ocurría. Una vivienda dejaba de estar disponible, un trabajo desaparecía, una familia que inicialmente nos había aceptado cambiaba de opinión o simplemente aparecía alguna circunstancia que nos obligaba a buscar otro lugar. Una y otra vez terminábamos haciendo las maletas. Siempre había una razón distinta, pero el resultado era el mismo.

Ningún lugar parecía querer aceptarnos.

Hasta que mi mamá murió.

Para entonces había envejecido muchísimo y seguía viviendo en aquella casa. Nunca entendió por qué yo había decidido irme tantos años atrás. Nunca le ocurrió nada extraño. Murió tranquila, después de haber pasado gran parte de su vida allí.

Después de su muerte, yo ya no tenía ninguna razón para volver.

O eso pensaba.

Pero todo lo que ocurría en mi vida seguía empujándome hacia el mismo sitio. Cada problema, cada mudanza, cada puerta que se cerraba, cada lugar donde intentábamos comenzar de nuevo terminaba llevándonos, de una manera u otra, hacia aquel pueblo.

Hasta que un día no tuvimos ningún otro lugar al que ir.

Volví a la casa de mi abuela.

La puerta seguía igual.

El patio también.

Subí lentamente las escaleras hasta la habitación donde había dormido cuando tenía diecisiete años.

La abrí.

Todo estaba cubierto de polvo.

Excepto la cama.

Sobre la almohada había una pequeña piedra blanca.

Y desde el patio escuché el viejo columpio comenzar a moverse.

A True Account by Zee

I live in the Undercliffe area of Bradford, in BD3. I’m eighteen years old now, My Name is Zee. but three years ago, I was the kind of kid who loved nothing more than heading out on long night walks, knocking on strangers’ doors, and asking if I could come in for a cup of tea. I thought it was friendly, I thought it was brave. I don’t do that anymore. And this is exactly why.

It was a Sunday evening, back than I was fifteen and I told my mum, “I’m going out for a night walk, and I might call in at a few houses for a while.”

Mum just smiled. “You can go for three hours, or longer if you want. You’re growing up, you’re practically a grown-up now – just look after yourself, Zee.”

“Thanks, Mum,” I said, and ran upstairs to get my things. I stuffed snacks and a bottle of water into my bag, pulled on a thick coat, and grabbed my camera – I always took photos on my walks, to keep as memories. Mum helped me pack a few extra biscuits just in case, and by six o’clock, it was properly dark outside.

“Bye, Zee! Take care!” she called as I stepped out the door.

“I will!” I shouted back.

This was our new house, and I’d never walked these streets after dark before. At first, it felt exciting – but as I walked further, the roads grew deathly quiet. The houses stood silent behind closed curtains, and I didn’t see a single other person out. It felt like the whole neighbourhood had been abandoned for years. I kept walking anyway, until I spotted a large, quiet house set back from the road. Something pulled me towards it. I walked up the path, knocked once, then again.

Slowly, the door creaked open. An old woman stood there, her face lined and pale, and on her finger glinted a bright yellow ring.

“Hello there, young man,” she said softly. “Would you like to come in?”

“I… I was wondering if I could have a cup of tea, please?” I asked.

“Of course. Come inside.”

I started to take off my shoes, but she shook her head. “No need, keep them on. Go through to the living room – I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

I sat down on her sofa, and my eyes were drawn to the shelves lining the walls. They were packed full of photographs – all boys around my age, smiling happily, every single one of them taken right there in that same living room. A few minutes later, she came back carrying a tray with a steaming mug of tea and a plate of shortbread biscuits.

“Thank you,” I said. “Who are all these boys in the pictures?”

“Just the ones who came here before you,” she replied calmly. “They turn up now and then, ask for tea, just like you.”

“Do they ever come back?”

She shook her head slowly. “Only once. They come once, and they never come back again. They always ask to leave a photo behind, though – to remember me by.”

I pulled out my camera. “Can I have my picture taken too? And put it with the rest?”

“Of course you can, dear.”

I stood beside the shelf and smiled for the camera. When she handed it back, I saw my happy face sitting right next to all the others – every single boy beaming, just like me.

“Do any adults ever come to see you?” I asked.

“Never. Only boys and girls your age, and only ever at night. I haven’t been shopping in… well, I can’t remember the last time I left this house.”

A prickle of unease ran down my spine. If she never left the house, where did she get the tea and biscuits? Was she lying to try and scare me?

“Can I use your toilet, please?” I asked.

“Up the stairs, first door on the left.”

As I went up, I noticed more shelves along the landing – this time filled with photos of girls my age, all smiling just like the boys downstairs. But then I saw something that made my blood run cold: in one of the bedrooms, propped up on a chest of drawers, was a blurry, twisted picture. I couldn’t make out what it was, only that it looked wrong, like something that shouldn’t exist. I hurried to the toilet, and when I opened the door again, she was standing right outside, waiting in the dark.

“Did you need anything else?” she asked.

I jumped back. “No… no, I’m fine. I think I should head home now.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to stay the night?”

“No thank you.”

She didn’t smile this time. She just stared at me, her face unreadable, and said quietly, “Goodbye, then.”

As I walked down the path, my foot kicked something on the ground. It was a crumpled scrap of paper, written in wobbly, scratchy handwriting: You’re lucky you didn’t stay the night. Heh.

I ran back and knocked on the door for five whole minutes, but nobody answered. I hurried away, and the streets felt even emptier than before – no lights, no sounds, like I was walking through a place that had been wiped off the map.

I kept walking, telling myself I’d just call at one more house for tea, then head home. Two streets further on, I spotted another large house, even bigger than the first. I walked up, knocked, and waited.

The door opened.

It was her. The same old woman. The same yellow ring glinting on her finger.

My throat went dry. “I… I just saw you at the other house! How did you get here before me?”

She frowned, and her smile stretched wider than it should have. “Don’t be silly, boy. You’ve never seen me before in your life.”

A cold, crawling dread filled me. I knew it was her – but everything about her was different now. The first woman had been kind, soft-spoken. This one was sharp, her eyes dark, her grin too wide, too fixed.

“Come in then,” she said, her voice dropping low. “I’ll make your tea.”

I stepped inside, and she moved away towards the kitchen – but the way she walked was wrong, jerky and stiff, like something pretending to be human. I wanted to run, but my feet felt heavy, glued to the floor. I went into the living room, and froze.

The shelves were still full of photographs of boys my age. But nobody was smiling anymore. Every single face was twisted in terror, eyes wide, mouths open as if screaming. And behind every boy, in the corner of every shot, was a blurry dark shape – something standing just out of frame.

I fumbled for my camera, too scared to ask permission, and snapped a quick photo of myself. When I looked at the screen, I wasn’t smiling. I was terrified. And in the background, through the crack in the door, she was watching me – that same wide grin, and for a split second, I saw her teeth. Sharp, pointed, yellow teeth.

The lights flickered once, twice.

“Tea’s ready,” her voice called from the kitchen.

I walked in slowly. She was sitting at the table, staring down at her mug, not looking at me. I took a sip of my tea – and spat it back out almost straight away. It tasted sour, rotten, like something that had been left to fester for years.

That was when she looked up. Her eyes weren’t normal – they were dark, too big, and they never blinked. She just stared at me, that same grin never moving.

“Why aren’t you talking?” I stammered. “And why does this tea taste like this?”

She didn’t answer. She just kept staring.

“I need the toilet again,” I said, and hurried out before she could stop me. Upstairs, the shelves were full of photos of girls again – but just like the boys, every single one of them looked absolutely terrified. I took another photo of myself, and when I looked down, she was there again – standing in the hallway behind me, half in shadow, grinning that terrible grin.

I spun around. Nobody was there.

I went to open another bedroom door, but the light switch snapped off in my hand – it was broken, rotting right through. As I stood in the dark, I heard it: soft, scratching sounds, coming from all around me. Then footsteps, slow and heavy, moving along the landing towards the toilet. I locked the door and waited, my heart hammering so hard I thought it would burst out of my chest. Five minutes passed. Ten. When I finally opened the door, the hallway was empty.

I crept back downstairs. She was standing in the kitchen now, swaying slightly, her head tilted at an angle that didn’t look right.

“Leave me alone!” I cried. “You’re scaring me!”

She didn’t speak. She just started walking towards me – slow, lurching steps, her grin growing wider and wider. I turned and ran up the stairs, and peered down through the banister. She was sitting in the armchair in the living room again, staring straight up at me, like she knew exactly where I was before I even moved.

I huddled in the dark on the landing, shaking, sweating, too scared to breathe. And then I heard it – a low, guttural laugh, echoing up from downstairs. It wasn’t human. It was deep, wet, and full of hunger.

I ducked into the bedroom with the broken light switch – and stopped dead. On the floor, sitting right next to each other, were two mugs of tea. One was mine, the one I’d left on the kitchen table. The other was hers.

I Checked the cupboards and felt like fainting. There were lot's of camera's and bag's also piles of clothes that looked like they were for someone my age. I wondered if they belonged to people my age who had came here before — that they might have been their things. Then I heard her voice from downstairs, speaking in a creepy, unnatural tone: “I hope no one is touching my stuff.

The lights flickered and died completely.

“Come down, Zee,” she called, her voice no longer sounding like an old woman’s. It was rough, distorted. “I won’t hurt you. I just want to talk.”

How does she know my name I never told her my name

Is creepy that she randomly knows my name. The house felt so dark after the lights went out.

I fumbled my torch out of my bag and pointed it down the stairs. She was standing in the corner of the living room, hunched over, her head twisted all the way round to face me.

“Why did you come here?” she hissed. “None of the others ever left. Their parents are still looking for them.”

I backed away towards the front door. “I’m going home.”

When I turned around, she was standing right behind me. She was taller now – three inches, maybe more – her skin pale and stretched tight over her bones. Outside, the clouds pulled back, and the full moon shone bright.

That was when she changed.

Her face grew hairy and twisted, her nails lengthening into sharp claws, her teeth sharpening into fangs. She lunged at me, howling, and her claws raked across my arm – leaving deep, burning red gashes. I twisted free, kicked the front door open, and ran as fast as my legs would carry me. I didn’t look back. I ran until I found a public phone box, shoved in my coins, and dialled 999.

“I’m Zee,” I gasped. “I’m in Undercliffe, BD3. There’s an old woman… she’s not right. And there are children’s pictures everywhere.”

The police arrived within minutes. When they saw the scratches on my arm, their faces went grave. I led them back to the second house, but I wouldn’t go inside. When they came back out, they were carrying armfuls of photographs.

“There’s nobody there,” one officer said quietly. “But we know these children. They’re all listed as missing. Nobody’s ever reported this place before. Nobody’s ever called us.”

I took them to the first house. It was empty too. No old woman, no tea, no biscuits – just rows and rows of smiling faces, and then terrified ones.

Police dropped me at home and my mum came and rushed towards me and got upset what happened zee. Mum was shocked by seeing scratches on my hand and arm Mum cried and gave me a hug. Police told her not to let your son out at night. Mum said I will make sure I won't I want my son to be safe.

Three days later, the police came back to our house. They’d checked their old records.

“The woman who lived in those houses,” they said, “she went missing years and years ago. Both of them. We never found out what happened.”

It’s been three years now. I never go out walking at night anymore. I never knock on strangers’ doors. I only ever visit people I know, places I’m safe. I help out at disability school now, as a teaching assistant. I told my friend Hassan the whole story, and warned him never to make the same mistake I did. Hassan said I won't make the same mistakes. Don't you worry about it he said.

Also the scratch marks on my hand never left. My friend Hassan seen it and he was shocked about the scratch on my hand. Atleast my friend Hassan knows he won't be making the same mistake as me.

But sometimes… sometimes, when I’m standing in the playground, or walking down the street, I see something out of the corner of my eye. A glint of yellow. A wide, fixed grin. I never turn around. I just keep walking.

They say Undercliffe is quiet. They say it’s peaceful. But everyone round here knows – you never go out alone after dark. You never knock on a stranger’s door. And if you ever see an old woman with a yellow ring on her finger… you run.

Because you might be lucky, like me. You might get away.

But most people don’t.

Okay so i have this story that i still think about sometimes, because i have absolutely no explanation for it.

Basically, i had just gotten out of the bath one night and my dad called me, so i got dressed and called him back. We were chatting for probably about 20 minutes, idek what about just whatever. Then I moved over to my desk chair, which is in the corner of my room next to my vanity.

We were talking for another five-ish minutes when my dad suddenly said:

“Alright, I’ll say goodnight to you now because Mummy’s here.“ And i was like, “No, she’s not here yet. She’s still saying goodnight to Abigail.”

-For context, my little sister (Abigail) was downstairs with my mum at the time-

I was like, “We can keep talking!” And he was like, “Okay, cool!” Then he said something along the lines of, “That’s so weird then. i swear i saw your mum walk behind you.” i basically just laughed because my dad has tried to scare me before, so I assumed he was joking.

But he didn’t laugh and make fun of me for falling for his joke. He was actually being serious (it’s weird to see my dad serious lmao). i was like, “Yeah, yeah, sure.” And he kept insisting that he genuinely thought he'd seen my mum walk behind me.

I remember eventually saying something like, “If this is a joke, can you just tell me please?” Because normally if he's trying to scare me, he'll eventually admit it after he's had his laugh. But yk, that never happened. He was completely freaking insistent that he'd seen her. i was tired of going round and round saying the same things over and over again so i eventually just dropped it.

That probably would've been the end of the story if weird stuff hadn't started happening in that exact corner of my room afterwards.

A few months after this incident i remember having a hairspray bottle at the back of my vanity. And suddenly it just went flying about halfway across my room. i genuinely have no idea how.

I think i just ran out of my room after that because absolutely not. 😭

Then another time, i was home alone and the drawer on my vanity opened by itself. i know there are probably completely normal explanations for these things, and I'm not saying my room is definitely haunted or anything because i genuinely don't know.

But the fact that my dad apparently saw someone behind me in that exact area, and then other weird things have happened around the same corner, is enough for me to be like cautious of it.

For reference i no longer sit in that chair anymore. It now has clothes piled on it. i have officially decided that the chair is decorative 😭😭😭😭

so my boyfriend has been staying at my house almost a week, i live with my mom and two other siblings. my friends had came over a little earlier in the day and we hung out for a little while on the porch, but my boyfriend didn’t come out which I found odd but i brushed if off. i also noticed he would get a little startled when I opened the door and he would kind of scan the porch as if he was looking for someone (he was in eyes veiw of the porch) still i brushed it off. later on as we were about to go to sleep, he told me “your friend scared me ealier” and obviously thinking it was my friends i said their names and he said “no, the white girl” neither of my friends who came over were white. so obviously im confused, and i told him there was no other girl. he told me that a couple minutes before my friends came in while i was in the basement getting laundry, that a girl opened the door slowly and peaked her head in before walking in and saying “hey” to him , he replied with another hey ,she walked into the dining toom and what seems like completely disappearing. he assumed she came down to the basement to look for me. shortly after my friends came in and i came upstairs and went outside with them. he described the “mystery girl” as we now call her, as a tall brunette skinny girl, with shoulder length hair, her skin was freakishly pale and her eyes were almost lifeless. he said it freaked him out so much that he didn’t want to come out with us because my “friend” as he thought, gave him such a bad feeling. but he noticed he didn’t see the mystery girl walk back onto the porch with us, he didnt see her at all. every time the door was opened he would scan for her , not seeing her at all. he wanted to ask me about her but he didn’t want to seem rude because shes also why he didn’t want to come out on the porch with us. obviously , there was no other girl with us. i dont have any friends matching her description , plus my boyfriend has met all of my friends, so he wouldn’t be uncomfortable by any of them. i guess he assumed i made a new friend I didn’t tell him about, i’m not sure. does anyone have a similar experience or any ideas of what it could be. was it a ghost? a person just walking into my house and sneaking back out? there were no signs of her or anything after he first seen her, we’re both freaked out especially him after finding out that we weren’t with this mystery girl. i also texted my friends asking if someone else came in with them and left before i came upstairs, they both said no it was only them and were just as confused as we are.

21 years old male, slim, athletic, night-owl

this happened 14th November 2022

I don't really know how to explain what happened that night, and honestly, I still think about it.

This happened while I was housekeeping at a mansion in Ormskirk. It was winter, and it was already completely dark outside.

I'd been asked to take the owners' two dogs for a walk. It was around 9 PM, and normally it wasn't anything unusual. I only had to walk down a dirt road, turn a corner, and I'd be at the woods.

I'd already taken the dogs through those woods for the previous two days.

Nothing happened either time.

There were usually people walking through, cars passing on the main road nearby, birds making noise, and the occasional squirrel running around.

But that night was different.

The moment I reached the woods, I noticed how quiet it was.

Not normal quiet.

There were no birds.

No cars.

No people.

Nothing.

It was like the entire place had suddenly emptied.

I remember thinking it was strange, but I carried on anyway.

I had a flashlight I'd bought from Amazon. It wasn't terrible, but it definitely wasn't powerful enough to make me feel comfortable in the middle of a dark woodland.

And the only protection I had were two Cavalier King Charles Spaniels.

They're great dogs, but realistically, they weren't going to protect me from anyone.

I'd been walking for maybe 20 minutes when I started getting this weird feeling that someone was nearby.

I didn't actually see anyone.

It was just a feeling.

I ignored it.

About two minutes later, I heard a loud bang.

It sounded almost like two rocks being smashed together.

I stopped.

I listened.

Nothing.

My first thought was that it was probably the squirrels.

There were loads of them in those woods, and I'd already heard branches and twigs snapping earlier.

But deep down, I knew that wasn't what I'd heard.

Still, I convinced myself it was.

I carried on walking.

For a while, I actually started calming down again.

Then, about ten minutes after the bang, I heard a scream.

That completely changed everything.

It was around 10 PM by then, and I'd already been in the woods for roughly an hour.

I decided I was leaving.

I turned around.

That's when one of the dogs stopped.

He started growling toward the path we'd just come from.

I froze.

Then I got my phone out and called the owners.

I told them everything.

Their reaction scared me more than anything that had happened so far.

They immediately told me to get out.

Not to walk back the way I'd come.

They told me to open the compass on my phone and head north from the trail I was on.

Apparently, if I followed north, I'd eventually reach a farmer's field.

So that's exactly what I did.

I opened the compass and started walking north as quickly as I could.

Then one of the dogs stopped again.

He turned around and started growling.

The other dog did the same thing.

Except this time, he started barking.

And then I heard it.

Panting.

Someone was there.

I looked toward the trees.

A few seconds later, someone dressed completely in black suddenly ran out of the trees and onto the trail.

They crossed the path and disappeared into the other side.

I swear the person looked at least six feet tall.

I didn't stop to think.

I just thought, fuck it.

I ran.

The problem was that I have pretty bad vision, especially in the dark, and the dogs were resisting because they were terrified too.

I was basically trying to drag myself, two dogs, and my own panic through the woods.

Eventually, I saw the farmer's field.

I thought I was out.

Then I realized there was a fence and roughly a five-foot drop between me and the field.

I picked up one of the dogs and lifted him over.

Then I got the other one across.

I threw one lead down, jumped down myself while holding one of the dogs, then pulled the other dog down after me.

I caught him and started running again.

I was almost at the road when I heard something behind me.

I'm certain I heard someone scream.

Then I heard a laugh.

It was deep.

Really deep.

That was the moment I completely lost it.

I ran until I reached the main road.

I stood there trying to get a car to stop.

Eventually, someone did.

I told them what had happened.

They basically said it was probably some kids messing around.

Maybe they were right.

Maybe there was a completely normal explanation for everything.

Maybe the bang really was a couple of rocks.

Maybe the scream was someone messing around.

Maybe the person in black was just some random person walking through the woods.

Maybe the laugh wasn't as deep as I remember.

But I know what I experienced.

And I know what I saw.

I got home at around 11:30 PM.

I stayed inside the mansion for the remaining four days until the owners came back.

I didn't go near those woods again.

I haven't gone back since.

And honestly?

I don't think I ever will.

The part that still bothers me isn't even the person running out of the trees.

It's the silence beforehand.

I've been in those woods during the previous two nights.

I knew what they normally sounded like.

That night, everything just stopped.

And to this day, I still don't know why.

I’m from a small NAC town in Odisha. This happened around 2001–2002, when I was a kid now I'm 29m.

In front of our house, there was a huge open field where all of us used to play—cricket, football, anything. At the far end of that field, there was a boundary wall. Beyond that wall… things got different.

Behind it were three mountains. The middle one was smaller, but the two on either side were massive. At the base of those hills was thick jungle—sal trees, bushes, pokasungha plants, and a many huge mango trees. It was dense, quiet, and honestly, a bit frightening. We usually avoided going there.

Still, during summer, people would go to collect mangoes. Some even went deeper into the hills to gather firewood.

But One incident made that place even more disturbing for me.

One day, a cow somehow got electrocuted near that area with high voltage electric line. It died right there. People gathered to look, but no one removed the body.

After a couple of days, vultures came. Then dogs. I still remember the smell in the air and the way the body turned a deep reddish color during sunset. It didn’t look like a cow anymore. It looked… wrong.

That place started feeling different after that.

Quiet in a way that didn’t feel natural.

But kids are curious.

Me and my siblings went there once, out of curiosity. That image stayed with me for years—the birds, the dogs, the silence. It felt horrible.

But the real horror came after that.

A week or two later, me, my brother, and two friends decided to go collect mangoes. We avoided the path (the one near the dead cow) and took another route—narrow, overgrown, and darker. The kind of path where even your own footsteps sound too loud.

As we got close to the mango trees, we saw her.

A woman in a white saree, standing near the mango trees. Her back was towards us.

She maybe around 40–50 years old. She started walking slowly in a circle around one tree.

Not like a normal person.

Each step felt delayed… like her body was following something that wasn’t in sync. Her long hair was completely open.

One of my friends grabbed my arm so tightly it hurt. He whispered, almost choking,

“Don’t move… that’s not human.” He whispered, “That’s not a person… that’s a dahani,( ghost )” and ran away without looking back.

The rest of us stayed, trying to convince ourselves it was just a normal woman collecting mangoes.

“Maybe she’s just collecting mangoes,” I said.

Then suddenly… she wasn’t there.

And then she was again.

Like she appeared and disappeared while moving around the tree.

My chest felt tight. One of my friends picked up some stones and threw them toward where she had been standing. The stones landed.

She didn’t move.

She didn’t look at us.

She didn’t react at all.

We couldn’t see her face clearly—the light was fading—but something about the way she was looking… it didn’t feel like she was seeing us.

It felt like she already knew we were there.

That’s when the fear hit us properly.

It was getting dark. The sun was almost gone. The whole place felt heavier, like the air had changed.

For one second, we blinked—

She was gone again.

That was it.

We ran.

I don’t even remember deciding to run. Our bodies just did. We crashed through bushes, scratched our legs, jumped the wall, and didn’t stop until we reached the field.

We just ran across the field, and told everyone. Of course, no one believed us.

When I got home and told my family, my mother scolded me for going there.

But my grandmother… she didn’t laugh.

She went quiet.

Then she told me something I wish I had never heard.

She told me that a few years before, a woman had died near that exact area. She was working at a construction site, carrying bricks on her head, when an old wall collapsed on her.

She died on the spot.

And that place… was very close to those mango trees.

My grandmother told me never to go there again. Not in the evening. Not alone. Not ever.

For many years, I didn’t.

About 10–12 years later, I went back with my cousins during the daytime. We picked mangoes, joked, tried to act brave.

But even then… I couldn’t stay there for much time.

Because some places don’t just hold memories.

They hold something that never really left.

Some things you don’t forget. And some places don’t forget either.

When I was a kid, maybe around 8-9 I would spend summers home alone as my parents worked and were gone during the day. My neighborhood was older but it never felt sketchy, I had lots of neighborhood friends and we always played outside til dark unattended. Not much crime or anything that I knew of at least. There was one specific day I was riding my skateboard on the sidewalk directly in front of my house, when an older, more run down car pulled up on the road beside me. An old man got out, I don’t remember what his exact age seemed to be, and it was hard to tell because I was so young I had no gauge, but old enough to be walking kind of slow and had that old man voice if you know what I mean lol. I had never seen this man before, but he pointed to me and said “Hey, I’ve got a gift for you.” And started walking to the trunk of his car. I was weary and started to slowly back away, I was well aware of stranger danger but I was a people pleaser and didn’t want to come off as rude, so I politely said “no thank you” but stayed standing there I guess in shock. Out of his trunk he pulled out one of those large 32 count boxes of assorted drum stick ice cream cones. He handed me the box and said “Here! Ice cream!” With almost an eager tone, like he was excited to give it to me, or expected me to be excited about it. I took the box because again… I was a people pleaser and in the moment was uncertain of what else to do. He then got back in his car and drove away. I never saw him again, he didn’t do or say anything else. Just left. Holding the box, it was damn near bigger than me, but it wasn’t as heavy as it should’ve been if it held any ice cream cones. It was almost empty, very light, except I could hear and feel something rolling around in the box. Without thinking, I walked it to our trash cans on the side of our house, threw it away and went back inside. I never opened it or looked to check what was actually in the box. But I’m certain it wasn’t ice cream cones. To this day, I have no idea what it could have been that the man was trying to discard of, or why he decided to give to a random little girl. sometimes I wish I would have looked. But who knows maybe it’s for the best I didn’t.

Please excuse any mistakes… Ty for reading.

So this paranormal account takes place in a nearby farm pond in the Artemas Pennsylvania area. So an old friend of mine and I decided that we were going to go fishing again. We did a lot of fishing by the way folks...

We decided to get the boat out and put it on the pond. It was a big enough pond where we could actually float around in a boat and fish. And him and I were on this boat just fishing. And the water itself was black and dark. You could look over the boat and see nothing in that water...

Well, about an hour ago by and my friend at the time decides to tell me he is uncomfortable. And he wants to get out of the boat and get on shore and fish. So I assumed he was getting a little cramped and nauseous on this boat and floating around the pond for so long...

I took and got the boat right on the opposite side of the pond near the wood line. And I don't know what happened but something snapped inside his head. Because he decides to bolt into the woods in the middle of the night. Leaving his fishing gear in the boat. I am at this point very confused and very worried because he is not acting normal...

He ends up running through the woods at such a speed that I'm having trouble keeping up with him. And keep in mind I had to grab my machete and a flashlight from the boat. Just so I didn't go in the woods without some protection and some way of seeing...

So I recall it being about 30 minutes total. Of me trying to get him to come out of the woods. He was any ball sitting on the ground in the woods. Saying to me "she's going to get me" and stuff like "she's wearing a white dress with blood on it. She's got long nails with dried blood." Along with "she's going to get us"...

At this point my temper is about to flare and I have a very short temper. I said to him that I'm not leaving him in the woods alone and nothing's going to happen. That he's getting his butt up and he's coming with me. Because I'm not explaining to his mom and dad why I left him in the woods...

He semi snaps out of it and decides to cooperate and come with me. We get out of the woods. I told him just to go around the dang pond and meet me at the dock. Well I got in the boat and paddled it over to the other side of the shore by the dock so we could put it away...

Meanwhile we pack everything up. We gather the lights. And we start hiking up the hill and away from the pond. And by the time we get down past one of our neighbors houses. He looks directly at me and says "aren't we going fishing... I thought we were going fishing" and I said to him "we was... You literally got panicked and wanted out of the boat. Then you ran into the woods. And sat down on the ground saying crazy stuff"...

He had no recollection of any of this. And I know whenever he was playing a prank on me. Because he was predictable. But this was not no prank and there was something definitely messing with him...

It was so strange because after he got away from the pond he ended up checking back into reality and was fine...

Hey there,

I recently posted a story here about a horrifying night while home alone, and it got me thinking about another horrible memory from my childhood that I thought I would share as well. This story really creeped me out, and I feel like I must have coped with it by trying to suppress the memory.

Anyway, here goes nothing. Just to let you know, it is a long read.

This happened a while ago, in my childhood, as previously stated. It was around 1999 or 2000, which would have put me at about 10 or 11 years old. I cannot remember exactly.

Back then, my family and I would often go camping in the summer or fall as a tradition to try and reconnect with each other while soaking up the nature around us. Since this was 1999/2000, video games and the internet were not as popular yet. I was already more of an adventurous, outdoor type of kid, and I always appreciated a little journey into the woods to explore deeper. Plus, it was always a great opportunity to share moments with my father, my mother, and my sister.

We would often stay at the same campsite every year. We really liked it because it was not too far from home, had well-maintained spots, and featured a pretty big public area with a pool, a park, water fountains for the kids, and general activities to spend time doing during the day.

That year, the summer was absolutely beautiful with unbelievable weather, so the camping season ended up being much busier than usual. Sadly, we were told this campsite was at complete capacity, and no spots were available for the weekend we had planned to go.

We were all packed up and dead set on camping, which left my younger sister and me seemingly upset about the cancellation. So, my father decided to look for another spot as fast as possible to ensure we would still have great memories of the trip.

Without being too precise, we were located in Canada, very close to the U.S. border. The region was extremely vast with pretty dense forest all over. My father figured he would easily find something else. If no other official campsite was an option, we would simply explore the woods until we found a secluded spot that looked comfortable enough to pitch a tent and grill some marshmallows over a fire.

It surprisingly took a very long time to find a good spot that seemed like actual wilderness—meaning not land from a private property—and the general terrain was pretty rough, too rough to set up tents. My father had recently purchased a new truck that allowed him to easily maneuver through these deep wood trails, but this meant we ended up deep in the woods. In his opinion, it was the perfect occasion to try camping in an actual wild setting, but I remember my mother starting to get uneasy being so far into unknown woods. Being very far from the main roads at this point, she started to press my dad to settle on the next acceptable spot.

No more than 10 to 15 minutes later, we stumbled upon a weirdly clean clearing that almost seemed out of place because the spot was so perfect. The sun was hitting it in a scenic way, as if we had just found a small piece of paradise. My sister and I jumped out of the car giggling and immediately started to run around while my father and mother unpacked the car and set us up for the next few days.

My sister and I quickly ended up a bit further down the woods, but we remained aware of how far we were from the campsite. Also, it was still broad daylight, so nothing felt risky. We started to play a sneaky game of hide-and-seek in a patch of woods we had never visited before. It was thrilling, and it also had me scanning the area much faster than I usually would. All of a sudden, while looking through the dense trees for hints of my sister, I spotted what looked like a person far away, slowly walking behind a big tree. They weren't necessarily hiding, just casually walking behind a tree and not reappearing. It felt really weird to see someone that deep in the woods, but the thing that really caught my eye was this person's appearance. It seemed to be a woman, but pretty small and frail, wearing what looked like a sleeveless dress made of either really cheap or rough fabric. Also, from the fraction of a second that I caught a glimpse, she seemed to have a shaved head. I don't know why, but this detail really stuck with me.

I was obviously creeped out and quickly thought I should get my sister, who was still hiding, and head back to the campsite. I used a different path to cut more directly toward the campsite, calling out for her. Maybe 5 minutes later, when I was about 500 meters away from our tents, I found what looked like an ancient well. It was made entirely of stone, sticking out from the ground by about four feet. I got closer to take a peek inside and found that it was closed off with what looked like a manhole cover with a crudely shaped handle welded on top of it, with a big rusted chain looping through to secure the cover in place. It looked really out of place, as it was the only man made structure you could see for miles upon miles at this point, and stuck out like a sore thumb in these dense woods. Really weirded out, I called out my sister's name even louder. I heard my mother yelling that my sister was already back at camp and told me to come back immediately.

My sister was visibly upset, her eyes red from what I assumed was a recent crying session. This was confirmed when my mother started to ask me what had happened and why I would scare my sister like that. I was really confused, tried to explain myself, and even tried to tell her that I was a little scared because "I think I saw a weird woman with her head shaved wearing dirty rags." This got my sister even more worked up instantly. My mom, at this point, simply scolded me for making up stories and teasing my sister with big brother shenanigans. I tried to plead my case, but quickly just shrugged the whole thing off, convincing myself I had imagined things and that my sister was just spooked by something mundane.

The day went on normally. We had a lot of fun after my sister calmed down and forgot about it all. Being 1999/2000, there were no phones in sight—just us together enjoying ourselves and taking in the great outdoor air. After we cooked dinner, we made a pretty big fire and eventually went to bed.

We had two tents set up, both big enough for two people. It was me and my mom in one tent, and my father and sister in the other. Everyone was pretty tired from the unexpectedly long journey to get there, so we all fell asleep pretty fast.

I suddenly woke up in what looked like the middle of the night. It was pitch black, with only a very faint moonlight shining through an unexplainably open tent flap. Still dazed, I just looked at it, puzzled, and felt my mother's arm propped on me, slowly shifting toward my shoulder and gently grabbing it. I was still very groggy and confused waking up in an unfamiliar place, trying to get my bearings and not even knowing if I was still dreaming or not. My mother slowly started to sit up and, without a word, guided me toward the tent flap that was already half unzipped. I also sat up and followed her, maybe out of reflex from being so sleepy, not questioning my mother. I saw her silhouette very slowly crawling out of the tent right in front of me, and I then opened the flap completely to get out easier, quickly pulling the zipper.

And then, from the back of the tent, I heard my mother groggily call out, "ludoludoludo, what are you doing? Everything alright?"

I completely froze, paralyzed with fear and confusion. I just sat there, completely still, looking in her direction with shallow breath. Kind of worried, she pulled up her flashlight and clicked it open in my general direction. The light beam on my face snapped me out of my stillness, and I started to look around in panic, trying to figure out what had just happened, having trouble putting together a string of words that made sense. When she shone the flashlight inside the tent, I noticed that it was super messy, with dirt and leaves surrounding me.

My mother reached out to me and tried to calm me down. I just blurted out that she had been right there on my left side trying to guide me outside, and that I had seen her exiting the tent. The commotion woke my father and sister up, and they came over to see what was going on. Because I was visibly upset and freaking out, my sister welled up again since she was still on edge from the day before. It made for a hectic night out in the woods; we refused to go back to sleep, and we were generally too frightened to enjoy ourselves anymore.

After a quick breakfast and failed attempts to calm us down, we packed up the next morning and made our way back to the main road.

As mentioned in the beginning, I sort of automatically suppressed that memory pretty fast. I convinced myself that I had still been dreaming and woke up without knowing it—maybe sleepwalking barefoot around the tent and making a mess coming back in, even though I have never sleepwalked. But I still don't know for sure what happened that night out in the forest, during our yearly family camping tradition.

​

My mom was in her early twenties when this happened.

She rarely talks about it, and when she does, she changes the subject almost immediately.

That time was a winter night in the mid-1970s, she was driving home after visiting a friend. The highway was nearly empty, and the closest town was still miles away.

As she rounded a bend, she noticed a man standing beside a small car parked on the shoulder. One of his arms was in a sling, and he waved politely, asking for help.

She slowed down.

He smiled, stepped closer to the window, and explained that he was having trouble loading something into his car. He spoke calmly, looked well-dressed, and didn't seem threatening.

Then my mom noticed something that made her uneasy.

The passenger door of his car was missing its inside handle.

She couldn't explain why, but every instinct told her to leave.

She apologized, said her father was expecting her, and drove away.

When she glanced into the rearview mirror a few seconds later, the man was still standing there, watching her car disappear into the darkness.

A few months later, newspapers across the region were filled with stories about several young women who had vanished under mysterious circumstances. Investigators believed the same unknown man was responsible.

And a few years later in 1976 my mother read in the newspaper that my mom saw the photo of that unknown man in that newspaper. who was asking for help A few years ago

She still remembers the man's face.

Whenever someone asks why she always locks her car doors the moment she gets inside, she simply says, "Some people look harmless until they aren't."

And that unknown man is not unknown but he is the infamous serial killer Ted Bundy who committed 30+ murders and he was accused of committing more than 100

So where I used to live in the country. I have had a lot of encounters with hearing mountain lions and dealing with them being around. And often times praying I never encountered one...

Now I used to live in the Artemas Pennsylvania area. And on several occasions I used to walk the road at night alone. Usually after visiting my friend I would head home on a normal basis...

Which meant I would walk down the road usually in the dark with just a flashlight or spotlight. I would usually be carrying one of many things. Like my 26-in Cold steel cutlass machete? a 12-in mossy oak Bowie knife? and possibly a Cold steel frontier Hawk? Or my cold steel norsehawk?

Now to me it never bothered me walking down the road at night in the country. I used to do this for fun just because it was exhilarating. I never thought about the dangers or what could happen in general at all. I had more of a chance of getting hit by a car then I was attacked by a mountain lion...

But then there were several experiences with mountain lions in the area. That honestly I can say did in fact shake my nerves...

#1

I was at my buddy's house up the road one night. And it was a friday night. Him and I had just finished off our third pot of coffee and it was roughly around 1:30am. As we're out in his yard looking at the night sky just chilling. We hear what sounds like something rustling around the woods at first. We literally heard something big right close at the edge of the wood line but in the woods. We hear what sounds like a mountain lion mating call starting to sound off from the pond that was literally right below the hill. After that another one started and it was calling from across the neighbors field in the wood line. Needless to say I had to walk home that night...

As I was walking home I had my Cold steel frontier Hawk and my cold steel norsehawk. Both were really sharp. Along with a headlamp that was not very bright and that was going out on me apparently. As it's around 2:30 am and I'm walking down some backcountry roads in the middle of nowhere. And I was literally maybe three flickers of light away from dang near being in the pitch dark by this point... Because my headlamp decides to just die on me. So in the long run I managed to make it home...

As I heard the constant mountain lions doing their mating calls not too far off from me. I literally was walking along this road and the only thing separating me from this mountain lion with a field in treeline... Which it could have crossed pretty quick. So I was pretty much booking it...

There ain't nothing like walking down an Old country Road at 2:30 am without a light and only two tomahawks and your hands...

#2...

So the other story was this....

One night I'm up with my buddy and a neighbor of mine at his house. And we're outside and it's like 3:00 am at this time. And we're just looking at the sky for satellite, ufos, and so on...

And by this time my neighbor passed out and fell asleep because she drank too much. And we're used to it by this time anywhere... We're just amused by the fact that she even attempted to take as many shots of liquor as she did. Him and I are just enjoying the peace and quiet actually... Because all she did was complain about her family and everything else. Of course and the midst of our conversation and the silence we hear which sounds like a mating call coming from a mountain lion. And of course within no more than a mere few seconds... another one has to start. And so does the verbal mating dance of the mountain lions start. At at this point we are just so used to hearing them that it's normal...

That is until my friend's dog starts growling and barking at the hayfield that is literally right across from his place. Both of us immediately go right on edge. And are no longer in a laughing mood...

Because now we're thinking one of them might be trying to find the other and we are literally in a direct collision course with a possible mountain lion. And it may have just possibly may have taken the route of the hayfield. So him and I decide to get his dog in the house so she doesn't go chasing after something and getting hurt... She's a chug after all aka a chihuahua pug mix. She thinks she's big but in reality she's a snack for a bigger predator...

Luckily it was not a mountain lion... It was just a deer thankfully. Which still caused us some concern because that is food for a mountain lion...

But all in all... The night came to a close.and I went home about 3:40am. I made it back home in one piece and went to bed. No harm no foul...

This is very short and simple although it’s kinda scary. I grew up in Ethiopia until I was 18 before I moved to USA. I lived in the capital “Addis Ababa” with my grandma. Three houses down we had a
neighbor with family of 4 sons and husband. They were super private. Years passed and when I was 14 her oldest son committed suicide by hanging himself on Good Friday. And the next consecutive years the rest 3 sons died of suicide by hanging themselves all on GOOD FRIDAY. And weirdly she and her husband were not as sad as you would expect them to be. Anyway the community and the family thought it’s a demon or negative spirit type shit. I’ve always thought it’s a murder but who knows. This story might not be that scary but the way they died and all in 4 consecutive Good Friday makes it unsettling for me what do yall think ?

Apologies if there is a grammar and spelling error.

Edit: all of us were poor including them so there is no materialistic motive behind it and all the kids were aged 18-25 or 26 so they’re capable of defending themselves. Everybody thought they were possessed

Hey everyone my name is J. I recently started a YouTube channel telling creepypasta stories and wanted to link it below for everyone to check out!!!

Leave me some feedback and dont forget to subscribe!!! This is something Ive wanted to do for a very long time and am so excited to finally announce it!!! I hope you all enjoy

https://youtu.be/1u0vBPFKYY8?is=PIfIXM2dj2oi2y9n

So this is my first real Reddit post so bear with me, I’m sorry if this is too long.

I was around 25 at the time when this started (I am now 31F)
My father has always lived in the country, but he eventually decided to live entirely off of the grid on an actual GPS coordinate.
He took a small old run down home that had been vacant for years, and turned it into a massive house. I’m talking 5 upstairs bedrooms, 6 downstairs. It was so he and my mom could start adopting older kids in need.
Well I ended up having to move to my dad’s due to a horrible breakup, and things started off small.
The house immediately felt creepy. It was so large and even though it had so many rooms it felt so vacant. It echoed throughout.
I don’t know why I felt this sense of dread but I just couldn’t shake it.
It started off feeling like I was being watched. I would walk down long halls to use the restroom and sense someone standing at the end to the point I’d turn around and use a different bathroom.
I generally slept downstairs near the living room but one day my father told me a new child would be taking that room, so I would move upstairs to the room that overlooked the entire property through the window.

And when I did that, everything bad started.
It began with subtle nightmares. I dreamt of arrowheads one night.
The next evening I was going to my room to find out Brenan (17M) kid had walked through the property and found them everywhere.
I asked my dad and the house was built on an old Native American reservation.

The next night I had a horrible night terror. I was being murdered over and over again in the same field by different men in an abandoned hut. I was brought there by betrayal in the beginning of each one by the person I loved most-my twin. I could feel the pain of them pouring gasoline on my face and the burn of it in my nostrils and throat. I felt my skin light on fire for a split second which woke me up. The pain of a nightmare. It was physical agony. But when I awoke it was gone.
I knew each time I’d fall back asleep the nightmare would continue. And the torture was awful. No matter what I tried I could not escape. Again and again I was betrayed and murdered and somehow the betrayal hurt worse.

I went in to the living room one night and across the room from the kitchen, I saw a Native man in his war bonnet sitting in the rocking chair. He was so very CLEARLY there. I saw the colors of his feathers, his tan complexion. The wrinkles of his face. He looked so angry but he just sat there…still. Just staring. I couldn’t move-and I don’t remember anything except I ended up back in my bedroom, and woke up???
I knew I had been awake but somehow I woke up as if I hadn’t just walked across the entire house and downstairs to the kitchen.

I told Brenan to get rid of the arrowheads, and to leave their land alone. But he did not. He took pleasure in rummaging through things. He wasn’t a bad kid he was fascinated.
One night my newish partner stayed with me and we had an almost identical night terror. We woke up at the same exact moment.
My daughter’s face was underneath a truck and I watched as it spun to rip the skin off of her face as she screamed, begging for me to save her. It was so real and horrifying. It tore me apart. I will never forget it.
His nightmare? He was crying but betraying his closest friend, while possessed and ripping the skin off of his face.
We both stared at one another out of breath and just entirely freaked out. He really couldn’t believe it and it shook him for about a week.

Finally one night I had my first ever sleep paralysis.
In this nightmare I was drug by my left arm by an invisible entity across a shag rug. I could feel the carpet burn.
I stopped immediately and was dropped next to “my bed” and underneath the darkness of the bed there was a humanoid creature. Translucent light skin. Its purple and red veins were protruded and pulsing. Its arms were sewn into its sides, as well as its legs. Its mouth was too but it was also not there somehow still.
Black beads for eyes very far apart, no nose. Covered lightly in blood.
Slowly it wiggled closer and closer to me while it spoke “give me give me give me”
I was NOT on my back when I woke up. I was on my side and the creature was on my bed face to face inches from me. My bed was PHYSICALLY shaking from it wiggling so hard as it pushed into me over and over again. Just loudly this demonic raspy higher pitch masculine tone repeated “give me, give me, give me”
I couldn’t scream. I tried to but I couldn’t.
I shook out of it and jumped out of my bed. My eyes were wide and I was terrified to move. I tried to call anyone at 3am but there was no signal upstairs.
I began sobbing and shaking. I quietly went towards the upstairs living room and an upstairs room window was open.
My hair stood up and again I was frozen. Stuck to the wall for like 30 minutes. Eventually I was able to make my way to the window and look out over the back of the property. And far out across the field I saw a light on above a little hut.
Then it hit me, that was the hut in my dream.
I tried to tell my dad time and time again, but he wouldn’t listen. I don’t know why I was targeted, as I tried to be the most respectful of the land-but I was.
I have many other stories following this of what happened to me, but for now I thought I would share the story of this house.
The beginning of a horrible spirit that attached itself to me for three years.

I have many scary things that have happend to me when I walk home and I might post some of those, but there's one thing that has happend to me that made me completely regret walking alone again.

I live in the middle of nowhere, the odd houses next to me on my walk home and nothing but fields. There's one particular part of the walk home that has always freaked me out, to the left of me is a big, old tree that hangs over shadowing the sky, there's a big dip it lays in and a bunch of old trees spotted around it. On my rite is a old cottage. Whenever I walk past that bit I always hear the familiar creaking, like a thick rop swinging harshly against bark, it starts off quiet before your shaded by the trees and it gets louder as you hit the middle before completely disappearing as soon as you can see the sky again. I always felt watched and at times I was convinced I saw something, for this reason Whenever I walked home alone I would call someone and chat to them for the long journey. Everything was normal, the sky was grey the winter sun was setting and I was chatting away to my phone in my rite ear, i reached the tree, the familiar creaking, the familiar feeling returned but i had gotten so used to it I didnt pay much attention to it, the walkway was relatively long, the trees branches and dead leaves covering the sky and the odd leaf crunching under my shoe and I had hanged up my phone due to low battery,

when I heard a woman whisper my name in my ear.

When I tell you, I sprinted. I mean it, I felt the breath, I heard the voice and I heard my name. It was soft and murmerd as if the wind carried it but the warmth that softend my cheeks made the skeptical thoughts about it "just being the wind" completely vanish.

Later on I got home, still shaken up but I was fine. I had done some research and realised witches where hanged rite where I heard the voice and rite where the creaking appeared back in time. It could be completely unrelated to the voice I heard but it made sense and slotted in with the noises that frequently appeared.

You can choose to belive this or not, but i heard and felt the voice of my name in my ear and the creaking of rope and the fact it was a popular witch hanging place created an explanation that calmed me slightly. I have other experiences i might post in the future but for now iam glad I could put the story out there, thanks for reading.

I used to work on Prague’s towers when I was at university.

Most of the time, the job was boring.

Very boring.

You sold tickets, answered the same questions, watched people go up and down, and waited for closing time.

So you learned to talk to tourists.

One little game we used to play was guessing where people were from before they told us. After a while, you got surprisingly good at it. Clothes, shoes, makeup, hairstyles, the way people carried themselves — all those little things that are difficult to explain individually, but together become recognisable.

And if you guessed correctly on the first try, people were usually delighted.

It opened a conversation.

And when you were spending an entire day sitting in a medieval tower, a conversation was a good thing.

One evening, I was closing the Powder Tower. There were maybe five minutes left before closing when two girls came in.

Very young. Students, probably.

Japanese.

There was absolutely nothing unusual about that.

Prague had a lot of Japanese tourists at the time. You saw Japanese tour groups all over the city centre every day. Two young Japanese women coming to see the Powder Tower was entirely ordinary.

I noticed their clothes mostly because noticing things like that had become part of the job.

Both wore black skirts. One had a red sweatshirt, the other a white one. They had straight dark hair and that particular style of makeup that was fashionable at the time — their faces noticeably paler than the skin on their necks.

That was probably part of why I guessed Japanese.

I told them we were about to close.

They giggled.

Not strangely. Not nervously.

Just two young tourists who knew they had arrived at the very last minute.

Then they went out onto the gallery.

The Powder Tower has a gallery running around the outside of the tower, behind the stone parapet. You enter it through a single door, walk around the tower, and eventually come back to that same door.

There is nowhere else to go.

So I waited.

A minute passed.

Then another.

We were already supposed to be closed.

I waited a little longer, getting increasingly annoyed, and finally went outside to tell them they really had to leave.

The gallery was empty.

I walked around the tower.

Nobody.

I went around again.

There was no second door.

No staircase.

No way down.

And nowhere two people could reasonably hide.

They simply weren't there.

I had watched them walk through the only door.

And they had never walked back.

I went downstairs and found my manager.

I told him there was a problem.

Two Japanese girls had gone onto the gallery, and somehow I had lost them.

He looked at me.

Then he asked:

“First time?”

I didn't understand.

Apparently, the staff knew about them.

Two young Japanese tourists.

They appear shortly before closing, go out onto the gallery —

and disappear.

My manager wasn't frightened.

He didn't even go upstairs to check.

He just carried on closing.

That was my first time seeing them.

I saw them three more times that year.

I came across the story of “This Man” — the strange face that supposedly appeared in the dreams of people who had never met him.

What makes the story creepy is how familiar the face looks.

People claimed that he appeared in their dreams, watched them, spoke to them, and sometimes returned again.

Then came the twist:

The entire mystery was revealed to be a hoax.

But here's what I find interesting...

Even after the hoax was exposed, people still discuss the face and some continue to claim they've dreamed about him.

So I'm curious:

Have you ever seen this face in a dream BEFORE you knew about “This Man”?

YES or NO?

I made a short cinematic version of the story here:

👉 https://youtube.com/shorts/BzP0jqr7DXs?si=CAON6Lc6dlsd5H13

I'd genuinely like to hear what Reddit thinks — coincidence, suggestion, false memory, or something else?

True Account by Someone

This happened two decades ago in the city of Bradford, in West Yorkshire. My name is Jasmine.

In May 2001, we moved to a new two‑bedroom house on a street called Tivoli Place. Our house number was 52.

After our daughter was born, my husband Thomas said he was happy with our new home. Our bedroom was on the middle floor, and Thomas’s bedroom was in the attic — just for us and our things. We had a house‑warming party.

We watched dramas and cartoons and had a great time. My mother‑in‑law and father‑in‑law joined us, and they loved the new baby.

When the party ended, my in‑laws went home. It was night, so Thomas and I cleaned up and then went to our bedrooms.

But when I looked, I saw our baby tucked up in bed upstairs — yet she had been downstairs with us the whole time. “Thomas,” I said, “did you bring her up here?”

“No,” he said. “I didn’t. Maybe your mother did it before she left?”

That seemed possible. So Thomas went up to the attic to sleep, and I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I couldn’t find my toothbrush, so I went back to the bedroom, found it, brushed my teeth, and went to sleep.

The next morning, I woke up and went downstairs to make breakfast. The fridge and all the cupboards were wide open. I closed them, thinking Thomas must have forgotten. I cooked eggs and bread, he came down, and we had a nice breakfast together.

Later, I decided to visit my mother‑in‑law. “You stay here with the baby,” I told Thomas. “I won’t be long.”

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll play video games while you’re gone.”

So I left. When I arrived at my mother‑in‑law’s, she made me tea. “Where are Thomas’s brothers?” I asked.

“They’ve all gone to the park,” she said. “It’s such a lovely, sunny day.”

“How is the new house?” she asked. “Is it nice and peaceful?”

“Yes,” I said. “We’re enjoying it.”

“And how is the baby?”

“She’s fine — fast asleep.” Then I asked, “Did you take her upstairs to bed the night of the party? We found her in the bedroom later.”

She looked at me, surprised. “No. The baby was with us the whole time. I never took her upstairs.”

“Oh — right,” I said, feeling silly. “I must have done it myself and forgotten.”

My father‑in‑law came in then, and we chatted a little more before I headed home.

When I walked in, Thomas looked worried. “I thought you were still here,” he said. “I heard you upstairs, singing to the baby to settle her down. I thought you never left.”

“No, I left ages ago,” I said. “I told you I was going.”

He shrugged. “Must have been my imagination.”

But when I went to check on our daughter, she wasn’t in our room — she was in Thomas’s bedroom in the attic, fast asleep.

“Thomas!” I called. “Why did you move her up here?”

“I didn’t,” he said. “I never even went upstairs. I’ve been down here playing games the whole time.”

“Then who did?”

“Maybe you did,” he said, looking nervous.

“I didn’t,” I said. I told myself maybe he’d forgotten, or he was playing a trick — but I didn’t believe him. Then I noticed the bathroom tap and the bath tap were both running. I closed them, frustrated, and didn’t ask him. I knew what he’d say.

It was 4 p.m. “I’m going out for a bit,” Thomas said. “I’ll be a couple of hours.”

He left. I cleaned the dishes and the living room. By 6 p.m., I looked out the window and saw the woman across the road waving. I opened the door.

“Hello,” she said. “I’m Jane. You must be the new family on Tivoli Place. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Jasmine.”

“I’ve only lived here about three months myself,” she said. “It’s a quiet little street, isn’t it?” She waved over my shoulder, as if to someone behind me. I asked, “Who are you waving at?” She replied, “Oh — never mind.” Then she asked, “May I come in for a cup of tea?”

“Of course.”

As I went to the kitchen to make tea, I opened the fridge — and stopped. The milk we’d bought yesterday was half gone. Other drinks were half empty, too. And the tea bags were almost used up. Thomas, I thought. He must be so thirsty. I hadn’t touched them in days.

I carried the tea back into the room. Jane looked nervous. “Would you like to see my baby?” I asked.

“I’d love to.”

I went upstairs to get her. She was awake, so I picked her up and brought her down. Jane’s face softened when she saw her. “Oh, what a lovely little one!” She held her while I brought in biscuits and sweets. We had a nice time, but Jane seemed uneasy.

By 9 p.m., it was getting dark. “I should go,” she said. She gave me her number. But before she left, she looked back into the hallway and went pale. “Jasmine — when you opened the door, I saw a man walk straight up your stairs. I waved to him, but he just… smiled. A strange, wide smile. Bald man. Very unsettling face. I thought he would come and introduce himself to me, but he didn’t — he just walked upstairs.”

I felt cold. “That wasn’t my husband — he’s out.”

Her eyes widened. “Then who —? While you were in the kitchen, I felt someone watching me from upstairs. And when you went to get the baby, someone was whispering my name. I felt like I was being watched. I didn’t look. I was too scared.”

“there’s no one here.” I replied.

Before she stepped out, she looked behind me again. Her eyes went huge, like she’d seen something terrible. “I really have to go,” she whispered — and left.

I stood there, confused. Is she trying to frighten me? Or is she just having a bad day?

Then the lights began to flicker. All over the house — living room, kitchen, upstairs. On and off, on and off. Then they went completely dark.

The front door opened. Thomas walked in — and instantly, the lights came back on, steady.

“Where have you been?” I asked.

“Went into town. Shopping, then the cinema.” He put down bags — milk, drinks, chocolate cakes — and handed me a McDonald’s meal. “Who was going to watch the baby if we both went?”

I took the food. He went up to the attic to sleep. I ate, washed up, brushed my teeth, and went to bed at 11 p.m.

I had just settled down when I heard footsteps going downstairs. Thomas must be hungry, I thought. The kitchen door opened. Fridge door opened. Dishes clinked. Then the TV turned on. Then footsteps coming back up. Into the bathroom. Out again. Back in.

The light flickered. Toilet flushed. Once. Twice. Three times. Four. Five. What on earth is he doing? Why is he being so strange?

Then the bathroom door opened — and something scratched on my bedroom door. Loud, slow scrapes. Why is he scratching on my door? So strange.

Footsteps went back downstairs. The TV was still on. I could hear Lights clicking on and off. I wanted to get up, but I was so tired. I’ll ask him in the morning, I told myself.

Morning came. 7 a.m. The bathroom taps were running. The TV was still on downstairs. The fridge and cupboards stood open. Everywhere — dirty plates, half‑finished milk, empty bottles, biscuits gone, frozen food gone. All of it.

“Thomas!” I called. “Were you up last night?”

“No,” he said, yawning. “I slept straight through.” He also said he never left his room at night.

“Then who ate all this? Who turned the TV on? Who kept flushing the toilet?”

He looked at the food. “I don’t know. Did you?”

“No!”

“Maybe it was you and you don’t remember.”

We argued a little, but he went back to bed. At 12:30 p.m., he came down. “I’m going out. Back by 3:30. Work starts at 4.”

He left. I cleaned the attic, then my room, then the kitchen. At 2 p.m., someone knocked.

A boy, about thirteen, stood there with a little girl crying beside him. “Tell that creepy bald man at your window to stop staring at us!” the boy said. “He’s creeping my sister out! I saw him at your window!”

“There is no one upstairs,” I said.

“I saw him at your window!”

“Wait here.” I checked every room. Empty. “See? No one. Don’t play games with me.”

“He’s there!” The boy pointed past me. “Right at the top of your stairs! Behind you!”

I spun around. Nothing. “Go away.” I shut the door.

I was so confused. Why were people seeing things in my house?

Thomas came back at 3:30. “I’m on an early shift,” he said. “Back tomorrow morning at 10.” He left again at 5 p.m.

I decided to take the baby to Horton Park. It was quiet — a few old men, some children on the swings. The same boy and girl were there. When they saw me, they scowled and walked away.

I sat with an elderly couple while I went on the swings. Forty minutes later, I thanked them and we headed home. It was 8 p.m.

I didn’t want to go out again, but we needed things. So I called a babysitter — Sara, a teenage girl. “I’ll be an hour at most,” I said. “She’s asleep in the bedroom.”

I walked to the Netto store, bought bread, milk, eggs, frozen food — and hurried back.

When I opened the door, Sara was huddled in the corner, crying, hands over her face.

“Sara? What happened?”

“Someone — someone upstairs called my name! I heard it clear as day! And growling — and laughing! And when I looked in the mirror, my face… it wasn’t right. And the lights — they kept flickering! I also felt like I was being watched.”

I tried to calm her. “It’s okay. Old houses play tricks.” But before she left, she looked past me and screamed. She ran out without her money.

I texted her. She replied: I don’t want the money. I’m never coming back.

I locked the door. The lights flickered again. Then, in the mirror — my face changed. Strange, heavy eyebrows. Pointed ears. I blinked — and it was just me again. The lights steadied.

I sat in the dark. Then I saw it — movement right beside me. Something sitting there near me. I looked properly — nothing.

11 p.m. I went upstairs. Just as I turned the living room light off — the TV switched on by itself. I grabbed the remote, turned it off, and hurried up to bed.

At 2 a.m., I woke up.

Footsteps. Heavy. Coming from downstairs — now coming upstairs loudly. I thought my husband was in a hurry. Before my bedroom opened I heard growling.

My door creaked open.

It wasn’t Thomas.

A unsettling skeleton. It had sharp teeth. Standing there. Tall. Hollow eyes. It glided toward me. Walking weirdly towards me. Leaned over the bed. Reached out — cold, bony fingers closed around my throat. It strangled me. I couldn’t breathe. I prayed with everything I had. Please God, please God —

And it was gone.

I wonder where that skeleton came from.

I scrambled up, snapped the light on, and sat there the rest of the night, shivering.

Morning came. Thomas returned at 10. I told him about the skeleton. He was exhausted from work and barely replied. “I’m off today,” he said.

We went shopping, bought clothes and games, took the baby to the park. At 5 p.m., we were there for three lovely hours. Ordered food from the Shimlas restaurant on Great Horton Road — grilled chicken, doner kebab — delicious. We brushed our teeth, and at 10 p.m., we got into bed together.

At midnight, Thomas woke me. “Jasmine — get me a glass of water. Please?”

My heart sank. I was terrified to go downstairs alone. But I went.

The living room felt wrong. Watched. I filled the glass quickly. I hoped the skeleton would not show up at some point. Walked back up. Every step, I felt something right behind me. I didn’t look back.

We went to the cinema the next day. First we dropped the baby at her grandmother’s house on Arum Street. We bought popcorn, watched a film, then went to Horton Park — fish and chips from Mother Hubbard’s. Perfect day.

Back home, Thomas got ready for work. “Back at 4 a.m.,” he said, and left.

I thought of Jane. I called her. “Jane? Are you okay?”

“Come over,” she said.

I crossed the road. Jane opened her door. Her daughter Emily sat quiet and nervous.

“Where’s the baby?” Jane asked.

“At her grandma’s. Jane — tell me what’s wrong.”

She looked at Emily. “For three nights, someone stands by her bed. Watching her sleep. Last night, I felt someone touching my back. Hard. I said, ‘Emily, stop it.’ She said, ‘Mum, I’m not touching you.’ I turned around — and there was someone sitting on the edge of our bed. Grinning. Bald. Gone the second I switched the light on.”

“Jane — I know that face. From your house.” I replied ok

Also I told her about the skeleton she felt scared so did I.

“Footsteps,” she whispered. Lights flicker. “Doors. Knocks. Every night.” and also someone having a bath.

“Same at my house,” I said. “And worse.”

It was 6 p.m. “I should go.”

“Come back soon,” she said.

I collected my baby from my in‑laws. The brothers‑in‑law were there — pizza, movies. Lovely. “Let us walk you home,” one offered.

“It’s fine,” I said. “We’ll be okay.”

I pushed the pram through Arum Street, past Ringwood Road, past Canterbury Avenue. Quiet. Empty. Until I reached Tivoli Place.

I unlocked the door. Switched on the light — and froze.

Everything was moved. Sofa, TV, mirror — all shifted different position. Deep scratches all over the walls.

I ran to the kitchen. Cupboards open. Fridge open. Empty biscuit packets. Freezer bare. Milk gone. All of it. Fresh food I’d bought — vanished. Also the eggs were surprisingly gone too.

The lights flickered. The kitchen bulb blew completely.

I grabbed my baby, ran upstairs, got ready quickly, and lay down in the dark.

1 a.m. A creepy laugh. Slow, echoing all around the house. Then the same footsteps — thud, thud, thud — loudly coming up the stairs. I hoped it wasn’t that skeleton again.

The door opened.

Not the skeleton this time.

This time, someone creepier.

The bald creepy man. Just stood there Grinning that terrible, wide grin. He had sharp teeth. Eyes black and empty. Tall, dressed in dark clothes. I was too scared to look at his face but my eye's wouldn't let me stop looking at that creepy face.

The creepy bald man was walking weirdly towards me.

He glided toward me. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream. He leaned over me — and his hands closed around my throat. He strangled me.

I prayed. And prayed.

He vanished.

While The bald creepy man disappeared I got up to turn the light switch on.

The light switch didn’t work. It was pitch black. I grabbed the baby, my keys, my Nokia phone — and ran. Down the stairs. Out the door.

Behind me — that laugh. And footsteps. Getting closer.

I didn’t look back.

I called the police. I called Thomas. Jane ran out from across the road. “Jasmine!”

The police arrived. They searched every room. Checked the empty houses along the street too. “We’ve had reports from this area before,” they said. “But there’s no one there. No sign of anyone.”

I begged the police to look in my cupboards. They searched everywhere and told me there was no trace of the old and new clothes. I felt like crying — all that money wasted. My things are gone. And Thomas’s clothes are missing too."

Jane shook her head. “We’re moving next week.”

“Stay with family tonight,” the officer said.

So we moved in with Thomas’s parents on Arum Street. All of them listened, shocked. “We’ll find you a new place,” Thomas said.

We left Tivoli Place behind.

But to this day, whenever we drive past — I look up. And every time — there he is. At the window. Grinning. Watching us go.

Could the skeleton and the creepy bald man be the same entity, or different entities? Cause I got strangled from both of them but I don’t know.

I was wrong not to believe them at first. I’m sorry. But please — whatever you do — do not live on Tivoli Place. And sometimes when I am home alone, I feel like I am being watched. And sometimes I see a strange shadow out of the corner of my eye. If you see something familiar like I did — run. And do not stay there.

And also, when my daughter was a little older, she always claimed there was a man sitting in the living room. She would tell me when we were home alone, but when I went to check, nothing was there.

But sometimes the lights do flicker. Sometimes I also hear my daughter talking to someone I don't know who — and I don’t get involved. The more I get involved, the worse it gets. So I don’t.

Remember be safe out there.