Blair Bathory
Appearances
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
If you didn't know, my other job full-time is I'm a horror film writer and director. And I'm so excited, like I said earlier, to start telling you about all these projects I've been working on in the shadows. So keep checking all of our socials for updates because I'm going to be sharing a lot of stuff really soon.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
They say los caros, remember the dead, that if you're carrying grief through mountain roads at dusk, something ancient will notice. Yvonne had never believed that. She thought those stories were just warnings for kids who played too far from home, but that was before her uncle died, before the four of them had to make the drive up to bury him.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
It was fall 2003, and the air in the Sierra Madre was already thin with dust and old prayers. They were running late, hours behind the rest of the family. The sun was low and fading fast. The road ahead, twisted like a snake made of dirt and rock. No pavement, no lights. Just the distant shape of mountains, rising like the bones of the earth. She was driving the old station wagon.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
the one her Tio had used to haul lumber back when the town still had work. Now it smelled like gasoline, old plastic, and whatever was left behind from the last ride. In the passenger seat, Rose clutched a rosary behind her fingers, like it might break. In the back, Elsa stared out the window, and Lisa, her younger half-sister, kept muttering to herself in a whisper Yvonne couldn't make out.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
Sometimes it's not the music you remember, but the silence that follows when someone disappears. Like in this story inspired by the famous urban legend of the woman in white. The Cinco de Mayo parade was louder than ever. Drums crack like thunder, trumpets slice through the spring air.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
Maybe a prayer, maybe not. No one was talking, but Yvonne could feel the weight of everything unspoken in the car. The tension rode between them like a fifth passenger. Then the car slowed. Yvonne's foot eased on the gas as her eyes narrowed. Something was standing in the road up ahead. A dog. At least, that's what it looked like at first.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
Scrawny, hairless in patches, its spine curved and in a natural arch. Legs stiff, like it had been walking for a hundred years. But what made her skin go cold was that it didn't move, not even when the headlights hit it. It just stood there, still, watching. What the hell? Yvonne muttered under her breath. The air turned thick, like breathing through a wet cloth.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
A coppery smell filled the car, sharp and sudden. She reached to roll up the window, no buttons in this old thing. Her hand shook on the crank as the glass squealed upward, inch by inch. The others did the same, wordlessly. As they got closer, she realized something was wrong with the dog's face. It was shifting. Shifting. No, splitting.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
Two heads, one turned forward, the other angled slightly back. They didn't move and sink. Each looked around like it was watching a different world. She tried not to look directly at it. Her hands tightened on the wheel until her knuckles whitened. The creature was only a few feet away, close enough to see its gums, black, and peeling back from jagged teeth.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
its eyes weren't cloudy or mad they were calm patient yvonne hit the gas the car jolted forward splitting gravel into the air the creature didn't chase it didn't move at all not even to blink no one spoke not until they were nearly at the top of the pass and the dog thing was behind them buried in the dust and the dusk yvonne's voice cracked the silence a forced attempt at something light
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
Tell me someone else saw that ugly-ass dog. Lisa's voice came quiet, too steady. That wasn't a dog. It had two heads. Yvonne didn't reply. She didn't want to say she'd seen the same thing. She didn't want to name it. By the time they reached the town, the sun had vanished. Smoke curled from the chimneys. The bells of the old mission church tol-
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
low and slow, like they were still ringing from her uncle's death. They parked near the plaza, and as they got out, one of the elder women, Donna, who knew everyone's business before it happened, stared at them from across the square. You girls took the mountain road? She called out. Yvonne nodded. The old woman spit to the side and crossed herself. That thing walks up there this week.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
El Nagal, she said. He wears dog skin when he's hunting. Sometimes jab wire. Sometimes worse. Depends on what you owe. Yvonne swallowed hard. Owe? The old woman shrubbed, he follows guilt like a scent. Maybe your Tio owed him something, or maybe one of you does. That night, Yvonne lay on the cot under a window with no curtain, staring at the shape of the ceiling beams in the moonlight.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
The house was quiet, but not silent. Outside the wind didn't blow, the owls didn't call. It was the kind of quiet that pressed on your eardrums. Then she heard it, a click, then another, like claws on stone. Yvonne held her breath. She wanted to believe it was just a stray dog, or a deer, or nothing, but the sound circled the house. She thought about her uncle, how he died suddenly in his sleep.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
Vendors shouted over one another, selling agua frescas, roasted corn, and neon toys that lit up like firecrackers in the dusk. I wasn't even supposed to be there. I was just tagging along with my friend Maya, her cousins, and her little brother Nico. I like parades the way I liked haunted houses. Fun in theory, but I never fully trusted the crowd.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
No illness, no warning. And how she used to tell stories about the dog with two heads. She never asked what he'd done, maybe she should have. In the morning, Lisa was gone. No blood, no struggle, just an open window and a line of paw prints in the dirt that led to the edge of the trees and vanished like the thing I'd taken to the sky. People searched. The men yelled her name into the trees.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
They blamed a coyote, a bear, anything but the truth. Only Donna said what no one wanted to hear. She saw something she shouldn't have, or remember something she tried to forget. Years later, Yvonne still sees the mountain road in her dreams.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
The headlights, the dirt, the sound of tires on gravel, the two-headed thing in the dark, only now, in the dream, it walks on two legs, and it knows her name. She never drives that way anymore, but sometimes, when she's alone, she hears a soft click behind her, claws, just once, then nothing. They say guilt is a kind of scent, the kind that lingers, the kind you never forget.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
Would you recognize a curse if you drove past it? Or would it follow you home wearing something familiar? Want to hang out with other horror fans and people like you and me? We have a Patreon where we talk about all things creepy, spooky, and weird. And I even go live there. So if you go to patreon.com slash snarled, you can meet up with other horror lovers like yourself.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
And we can talk about all the latest news in the horror community and all the latest and best scary movies out there. So go to patreon.com slash snarled and I'll see you there.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
This week's podcast stories were edited by Sarah Lukasiewicz, narration by Blair Bathory, audio edited and mixed by Fitz Harris, additional audio editing by Calvin Linderman, produced by Anna Villalobos, executive produced by Gil Gilman, music by Sapphire Sindalo and Calvin Linderman. If you have a story you'd like to submit, send me an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
Don't forget to watch the video version of Something Scary over at youtube.com slash snarled. And if you'd like to support the show and everything we do at Snarled, join our Patreon at patreon.com slash snarled. So friends, as always, thanks for joining me. And please let me know in the comments if you like this extended version of the video and podcast.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
We're really trying to connect with you more and I wanna talk to you about all things creepy and spooky. So let me know in the comments what you wanna talk about and what you wanna hear me say. Do you wanna hear more about my filmmaking career and all the horror movie icons that I work with? Do you wanna hear more about the... creepy places that I visit all over the world.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
Let me know in the comments. I read every single one and I try to respond to as many as possible. Trust me, I am listening to you. So I will see you next week. Until then, sweet screams.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
Too many shadows, too many places to vanish into without a sound. We were posted near the riverbank, not far from where the floats looped around. A perfect view, Maya said. She was all glitter and flag stickers, filming every second for her story. Nico sat on the curb, slurping a mango palita. He was maybe nine, stubborn, sweet, and too curious for his own good.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
Everything was noise and movement, a blur of color and sound, until the moment the crowd seemed too thin and the light shifted just slightly. That's when I saw her. A woman in white. Not costume white. Not mariachi white. Old-fashioned, tattered white. She stood apart from the crowd barefoot on the other side of the street.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
My dog began barking at nothing in the night, and when I peeked outside, I saw a tall, shadowy figure standing at the edge of the field. The creature turned toward me, its face a grotesque mixture of man and beast, and it said, You've been warned. Hi, I'm Blair Bathory, and this is the Something Scary Podcast.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
Her hair was long, dark, and matted, like she'd been walking for miles through a rainstorm no one else had noticed. Her head was bowed. Her hands clutched her face like she was sobbing. She looked so out of place, too still, too cold, and no one else seemed to notice her. I opened Maya. Do you see her? That woman right there? Maya turned, scanned the street, and frowned.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
"'There's no one there,' she said. I looked again. Gone. I told myself I imagined it. The music, the lights, the sugar rush from the elote. Maybe it had scrambled something in my brain. But even as I laughed it off, a chill climbed up my spine, and I curled behind my ribs like a warning. And then Nico disappeared. One second, he was on there. The next, he was just gone."
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
We screamed his name, tore through the crowd like a fire had been lit under our feet. I checked vendor stalls, porta-potties, and the grass near the sidewalk. Maya ran toward the floats. No one had seen him, but something inside me knew. I turned to the river. The sounds of the parade rapped and melted behind me, too loud, then too distant, like they belonged to another world.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
The grass was slick beneath my feet, the wind colder here, sharper. and she was there, waist deep in the river, her soaked dress floating around like petals peeled from a rotting flower. Her face was turned up pale, hollow, eyes black as the water. In her arms, Nico. He wasn't moving. I screamed. His name tore out of my throat like it didn't belong to me. She looked at me, opened her mouth.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
Thank you so much for being here, whether this is your first time or you're one of the brave souls who join us every week. Sometimes the stories we hear aren't just tales. They're warnings, warnings from the past, from spirits that linger just out of sight, waiting for the curious to wander too close.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
The sound that came out wasn't a wail. It was a wound, a raw, cavernous cry that ripped through the world and bent it around her. It drowned the fireworks, the cheering, the music. Only I could hear it. I ran toward the water, but someone grabbed me from behind. Security, maybe? Or a cop? I thrashed and screamed and pointed. But when I looked back, she was gone. So was Nico.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
The search lasted weeks. Helicopters, divers, dogs. His face plastered across telephone poles and bus stops. But no one found a trace. Not one shoe. Not one footprint. Just still water and silence. Except me. Three weeks later, Maya sent me a video. I didn't want to show you before, she wrote. But I looked at my stories from that day again and I saw something.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
The clip was shaky, full of motion, music blasting, people dancing. Maya had zoomed in on a float shaped like a giant pinata. But just before the camera pans, you can see her. The woman in white. Not across the street. Not far in the background. Right behind Nico. And her hand is reaching out. I stopped sleeping.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
I started hearing things, soft crying from the shower drain, from the hallway, from under my bed. I burned sage, covered mirrors. I even tried praying. And I don't pray. But one night, I heard her again. Not in my head. Not from a screen. Outside. Between the whoosh of traffic and the buzz of streetlights, I heard weeping. So I went to the river. I don't remember putting on shoes.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
I just remember walking through the dark, drawn like a tide I couldn't resist. She was waiting. Floating just above the surface, her long hair suspended like smoke. Her eyes opened the moment I stepped onto the bank. You heard me, she said. Her voice was low and raw, like something torn from the earth. I whispered. I called for help, she said. No one came.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
I stepped back, cold sweat dripping from my back. Give him back! She reached into the water, something surfaced small, soaked, pale. But it wasn't Nico. It wasn't even real. Just a bundle of cloth and mud like a memory rotted through. I lost my children, she said. rocking in in her arms. So now I find new ones. Ones who hear me. Ones who look. I'm not like you, I said.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
But even as I said it, I knew the truth. I have looked. I have listened. And I have followed. Maya still visits the riverbank. She leaves candles, marigolds, sometimes a toy. People say they hear crying during fireworks shows now. like it's woven into the music. Every year, someone goes missing. A child, a teen, someone who turns their head at the wrong time.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
In honor of Cinco de Mayo, which celebrates Mexico's victory over the French, these dark legends come to life. The line between myth and reality is razor thin. Listen carefully because once you hear them, they'll be seared into your memory forever. First, the screams sound like songs. Followed by, he comes from the stairs. Finally, in our last story, guilt has a scent.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
They say La Llorona walks the parade route now. They say her cry echoes between the trumpet blast. They say if you hear her too close, it's already too late. And I believe them. Because now, sometimes, I cry too. And sometimes, someone answers. How many disappearances have been explained away just because the truth is too terrifying to consider? Would you be able to recognize a ghost in a crowd?
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
Or would she blend in like everyone else until it's too late? Hi, witches. So I am going to start talking to you a little bit more during the podcast, in between the stories, because I want to start getting to know you better. And there's so many things that I have coming up, very exciting things, things that I've been working on for a very long time.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
And I want to start sharing that with you here. One of the things coming up immediately is I will be going to one of the biggest events in the world, and I can't wait to officially announce it. It will involve some of the biggest horror brands and icons. I also will be announcing a project that I wrote and directed about two years ago, and I finally get to talk about that.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
So I can't wait to share some of that with y'all. But for now, let's get into our next story. Sometimes childhood memories are unreliable, but sometimes they're spot on and just too terrifying to believe. Like in this story inspired by Delphine. I was little, maybe six, maybe a bit younger.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
I never remember the exact age, only the feeling of the warm light fading behind the mountains and Nuevo Leon, my dolls scattered in the dirt, and how the backyard always seemed to get so oddly quiet at my grandmother's house. Her house was strange. It was still.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
Two stories, but the second was more like a wraparound balcony, open to the air like a motel, with the staircase climbing up into the shadows. The upstairs had rooms that people would rent out here and there, but I remember them mostly being empty. I was playing alone when he first came down the stairs. He didn't say my name, and I didn't ask.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
Children don't question things that feel ordinary in the moment. And somehow, he felt ordinary, like he'd always been there. A boy about my age, dressed in all white. a long-sleeved shirt and loose pants.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
His hair was black and neatly trimmed, and his face was always in shadow, the backlight from the staircase outlining his figure and hiding any detail, like he stood just behind a curtain of light, not quite, of this world. He asked if he would play with me, and I said yes. We played in the dirt, made up stories for my dolls, whispered secrets to each other in the warm air.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
He laughed sometimes, but the sound felt hollow, like it bounced back from upstairs and didn't quite reach me. He never touched the toys, only watched as I moved around them. Still, I felt less alone. Every evening, just before the house turned to silhouette, I waited. And every time he came down the stairs, same clothes, same unreadable face.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
I never saw him anywhere else, never heard him in the kitchen. He never left footprints, but I was a child. I thought he was magic, maybe. or just a quiet friend. My mother met someone, an American. She packed us up in silence and tears. I left my dolls behind. My grandmother kissed my forehead and said we'd be back. I remember looking at the staircase one last time before we pulled away.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
There was nothing there, but I swear the upstairs felt expectant. Years passed. I forgot, or thought I did. Life in America was bright and loud and busy. I watched cartoons. I buried myself in technology. I stopped going outside to wait for things. But something changed when I started visiting my grandmother again, when I was old enough to travel by myself. I was maybe 11 or 12.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
I didn't play in the backyard anymore, but I would pass by the staircase, sometimes glance up and feel a tension in my neck. like a string pulling me to look closer. There was always something about the way the light fell through the upstairs hallway, how it never reached the bottom step. One evening, out of nowhere, I remembered him. The boy, I said casually to my grandmother.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
Before we get to our stories, I wanted to say hello to all of our new listeners. So excited for you all to be here and sending love to all of our fans and listeners around the world without whom we couldn't be here. Do you have a story you want to share? Send me an email at somethingscaryatsnarl.com. So, wanna hear something scary? La Llorona's deadly wrath.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
What happened to the boy who used to come play with me? She blinked at me, confused. What boy? The one in white. He came down the stairs every night when I was little. She shook her head. Miha, you always played alone. I laughed at first. I thought she was teasing me, but she didn't smile. Just turned back to her sewing with a faint look of worry, tightening her mouth.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
I asked my cousin that night. She remembered him too. Said she saw us playing once and didn't want to interrupt. My little brother remembered his voice. Said it made his ears ring. I thought I was vindicated. until I realized something was wrong, deeply wrong. If we all saw him, why did no one ever ask who he was? That night, I couldn't sleep.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
I kept staring out the small guest room window that faced the backyard. Around midnight, I saw movement, a figure on the stairs. Then slow. He stepped down just like before. Same clothes, same hair. But this time he didn't pause at the bottom. He kept walking. Past the edge of the house, into the grass, into the dark. I pressed my face against the glass.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
He stopped in the middle of the yard and turned his head toward me. I saw his face for the first time. It wasn't a child's face. It was wrong. Swollen. Pale. Like soaked paper. His eyes were black, not dark, not shadowed, just black, wide and full of something I didn't understand and still can't name. He didn't blink. He didn't smile. He lifted a hand and pointed at the stairs. Then he was gone.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
Not like he walked away. He blinked out, like a glitch in an old video game. I left the next morning and didn't say anything. I didn't want to know. I didn't want my grandmother to tell me again that I'd been alone. But the nightmares followed, of empty staircases and little hands that turned cold when they touched you.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
I saw myself in the dream playing alone, and then the camera of my mind pulled back, and I wasn't alone at all. He was behind me, not playing, watching, always watching. The last time I went to the house, something felt different. The upstairs had been walled off. My grandmother said no one was allowed up there anymore. They closed it, I asked. No, she said. He did.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
I asked her what she meant, but she waved it off, muttering that the house was too old, that I shouldn't ask questions. But in her voice, I heard the same unease I had felt all those years ago, the same lump in my throat. Sometimes, when I'm falling asleep, I hear the soft sound of footsteps on the stairs, slow, deliberate. And I know they're not mine. I don't think he ever left.
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
I think he's waiting. Maybe for me. Maybe for someone else. If I can ever get my grandmother to open up about it, I'll share with an update. But one thing I know for sure, I never learned his name. And that was his choice, not mine. He is the one who is in charge, not me. What happens to the spirits we forget? Do they forget us too?
Something Scary
La Llorona’s Deadly Wrath
If you spent years playing with someone only to learn they never existed, would you trust your memories or fear them? Let me know in the comments what horror movies you're watching right now. And follow me on Letterboxd to see the movies that I'm watching right now. I recently saw Sinners and I absolutely loved it. It's so good. If you get the opportunity, go see it in theaters.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
The next morning, when Gabriela awoke, she looked over at her sister, who was sleeping soundly, unaware of the horror that had unfolded the night before. Suddenly, she heard her mommy scream from downstairs, waking Maria up. The two girls sprinted downstairs to find her mamacita in a pool of blood. Their mommy cried beside her.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
And the bead garland that had protected Gabriela lay tightly clutched in her mamacitas' hands. Gabriela nahm es, hielt es nahe zu ihrem Körper, Tränen in ihren Augen. Sie bemerkte mit einem schweren Herz, dass sie ihre Schwester schützen würde, so wie ihre Mama Sita sie gegen den Hunger von El Cuco schützte.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Glaubst du, dass einige Familienversuche wirklich unvermeidbar sind, egal wie hart du sie versuchst, sie zu entdecken? Hat deine Familie einen Versuch? Hi Witches, I'm here to remind you that we're doing a monthly film club live every month on Patreon.com. This month we're talking about Presents, January 30th, this Thursday at 6pm EST. Don't forget to go to Patreon.com to sign up now.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Some things are not meant to be captured, especially when they follow you home. Like in this story inspired by Sarah. Es begann mit einer Fotografie. Zuerst hat niemand viel davon gedacht. Ein Gruppe von Freunden hat sich in Central Park auf eine briske Winterabend gegründet.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Ihre Lachen wurden perfekt von der goldenen Lichter des Sonnens ausgeschlossen, die aus dem erneuernden Schnee ausgeschlossen sind. Die Bildung war verpolstert, fast zu perfekt, nichts Ungewöhnliches. Aber als die Leute etwas Falsches in den Hintergrund bemerkten, eine pale Figur, die sich von der Gruppe entfernt stand, A man tall and unnaturally thin. His back turned.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
His features lost in the shadow of the trees. His skin was far too pale. Almost as if he had blended into the snow. Something about him felt wrong. But it was subtle. So subtle that no one could immediately pinpoint it. The photo spread quickly online, shared and reposted across social media. The figure remained barely noticeable.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
But something about his presence kept the conspiracy theorist on Reddit busy. Es war, als ob er nicht da sein sollte. Seine Stillheit, seine unnatürliche Präsenz haben das sonst glückliche Sehen unermesslich gemacht. It wasn't until the next photo surfaced that people began to ask questions. A selfie taken in a crowded subway station on the G-Train.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Two sisters laughing, their faces lit up by their phones. But there, again, just beyond the edge of the frame, a figure, the same tall, pale man standing in the shadows. His skin was too ghostly white, his body too thin, his eyes dark and unblinking. He was always there, lurking on the outskirts.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Zuerst haben die Leute es verabschiedet, ein Verrückter, eine AI-Veränderung, um eine urbane Legende in der Vergangenheit zu erschaffen. Aber dann begannen die Verschwörungen. Two college students vanished within three days. Both had been active on social media, constantly posting updates, selfies, photos of their lives.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Morgan, one of their closest friends, was the first to notice the connection. On her feed, there was a photo from a party just days before they disappeared. And in the background, just out of focus, the same figure. She stared at the image. A sick feeling came over her. She tried to push the thought aside. It was nothing. Just a coincidence. Maybe a viral stunt.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Aber als mehr und mehr Fotos, Gesichter, die sie nicht erkannt hat, Anwesende im Hintergrund anderer Menschen, ihre Skepsis begann zu krachen. Jedes neue Bild brachte mehr Angst, mehr Ungewissheit. Es war kein Trick, es war kein Verrückter, es war etwas Reales. Morgan konnte es nicht länger ignorieren. Die Angst war an ihr. Sie begann, durch die Fotos zu gehen.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Obsessiv, um jede Verbindung zu finden, jede Begründung, die es erklären könnte. Als sie jede Foto, jede Begegnung betrachtete, begann die Figur zu werden klarer. Er war alt, zu alt, und seine Gesichter, gaunt und hallo, sahen sich in den Schatten zu verändern. Zu Beginn waren seine Bewegungen kaum bemerkenswert, aber mit jedem neuen Foto, der Figur nahm sich näher, hielt sich in die Främe.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Es war, als ob er wusste, dass er sie beobachtet. The next disappearance hit too close to home. Morgan had stayed up late, scrolling through the timeline, replaying the photos over and over. The next morning she woke to a notification. Body found under the Brooklyn Bridge. Her heart sank. The body was Kellys.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
The girl from the party, the one who had been in the background of the photo with the pale figure. Die Polizei beurteilte es mit einem Unfall. Sie ist in den Fluss gefallen. Sie sagten, sie habe ihren Nacken auf einem scharfen Stein oder einem Stück Metall im Wasser gebrochen. All das Blut hat sich von ihrem Körper in den Ostfluss gebrannt, als sie sich aufgewacht hat.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
So, wanna hear something scary? Deadly Appetite Manchmal kann die Stille des Abwechslungs Horrors verstecken, die niemand vorstellen kann. Wie in dieser Geschichte, inspiriert von Lorianna.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Aber Morgan konnte das nicht glauben. Kellys letzter Post war eine Fotografie, die sie vor wenigen Stunden entfernt hatte. Die Figur war jetzt klarer. Sein Gesicht schlug sich in Richtung der Kamera mit seinen Augen. Seine Augen sahen. Das war nicht nur ein Bild. Das war kein Trick. Es war etwas Deliberates. Er oder sie war etwas Schlechtes.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Als die Tage passen, begann Morgan den Schiff in sich selbst zu fühlen. Zuerst war es klein. Eine seltsame Sensation, wie ein Tappen auf ihr Schulter, als jemand da war. Ein Geräusch in den Ohren, als das Zimmer leer war. Aber es grew. Seine Reflexion sah falsch aus. Blutig um die Ecke. Like it was just a version of herself. And then one night after days of sleeplessness, it happened. She saw him.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Sie blinkte. Und als sie ihre Augen öffnete, war er weg. Sie hat sich überzeugt, es war nur Entzündung. Ein Trick ihres Geistes, gedrückt durch die Entzündung von schlaflosen Nachts. Aber tief unten wusste sie besser. Er war nicht nur in den Fotos mehr. Er war sie hundern. Dann kam die Botschaft. Seine Freundin Sarah hat sie getextet. Ich habe ihn heute Abend gesehen. Er hat mich auch gefolgt.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Die Fotos hatten stoppt. Keine mehr Bilder der pale Figur. Die Angst, aber, war noch da. Es fühlte sich mehr real als vorher an. Morgan konnte seine Präsenz näher ansehen. Er war da draußen. Und er war real. In einem Moment des Desperations hat sie sich damit konfrontiert. Armt nur mit ihrem Telefon stand sie vor dem Fenster und nahm sich eine letzte Foto von sich selbst. Ein einfaches Bild.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Ihr Gesicht, ihre breiten Augen, voller Angst. Sie erwartete niemanden, sie zu glauben. Aber sie wollte Beweise. Sie wollte etwas hinterlassen. Als das Foto veröffentlicht wurde, sah sie es. In der Reflexion, genau hinter ihr, stand die Figur näher als je. Seine langen, skelettischen Hände riefen für sie. Seine Mund war offen, aber es kam kein Geräusch.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Sie wusste, in diesem Moment wäre das ihr letzter Atem. Die letzte Sache, die sie sah, war seine Hand, ausgestreckt, als es für sie in der Reflexion reichte. Und dann, die Dunkelheit hat sie geworfen. Die Fotos standen online, kürzlich teilt, unbekannt von den meisten, aber immer noch in der digitalen Welt. Morgans Verlust wurde Teil der Legende, der Mythik der pale Figur.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Mehr und mehr Menschen begannen, die seltsame Figur im Hintergrund ihrer eigenen Fotos zu bemerken. Und trotzdem wartet er, immer in den Schatten, immer näher als vorher, in den Körnern jedes Bildes, nur auf die Wartung für seine nächste Gefährtin. Habt ihr jemals jemanden oder etwas seltsames im Hintergrund eurer eigenen Fotos bemerkt? Wollt ihr jetzt wieder zurücksehen?
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Wenn ja, erzählt uns eure Geschichte, sendet uns ein E-Mail an somethingscaryatsnarl.com. This week's podcast stories were edited by Sarah Lukasiewicz, narration by Blair Bathory, audio edited and mixed by Fitz Harris, additional audio editing by Calvin Linderman, produced by Anna Villalobos, executive produced by Gil Gilman, music by Sapphire Sindalo and Calvin Linderman.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
If you have a story you'd like to submit, send me an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com Don't forget to watch the video version of Something Scary over at youtube.com slash snarled And if you'd like to support the show and everything we do at Snarled, join our Patreon at patreon.com slash snarled
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Kommandeur Elena Drake flog leise in den krampften Gefängnissen ihres Flugzeugs, Solitude 1, die barren, eisenhafte Oberfläche Europas, um die Erde zu überprüfen, um Zeichen mikrobiologischer Leben unter ihrer zerbrochenen Kruste zu beurteilen. Die Reise war isolierend, aber Elena hat sich für die Solitude vorbereitet. Was sie nicht vorbereitet hat, war etwas anderes.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Es fing an, am dritten Tag ihrer Orbit. Elena katalogierte Daten aus den externen Sensoren des Schiffes, als der Proximity-Alarm leise klingelte. A quick glance at the console showed a minor anomaly, an object, small and metallic, drifting near the ship. Space debris, she thought. She marked it for further observation and returned to her work.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
But an hour later the object was still there, hovering unnaturally close to the ship. Strange, Elena muttered, frowning. Sie hat die externen Kameras aktiviert, um einen besseren Blick zu bekommen. Die Füße flickerten kurz vor dem Stabilisieren, zeigte eine dunkle, elongierte Form. Es war kein Debris.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Das Objekt war schmutzig, mit einer Oberfläche, die wie ein Liquid rippelt, unter dem feinen Licht von Jupiter. Und dann hat es gewechselt. Elena's breath hitched. The object slithered closer to the ship, its form undulating like a snake swimming through water. It stopped just outside the airlock, hovering motionlessly. Her heart thudded as she stared at the screen, her mind racing.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
This wasn't an asteroid or debris. It was alive. Suddenly the ship's lights dimmed, plunging the cabin into shadow. The hum of the engines wavered and the air felt heavier. Elena scrambled to the control panel, her hand shaking. System diagnostics, she commanded, the screen flickered displaying a single chilling message. Identifiziere dich!
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Sie schlug, obwohl die rationalen Teile ihres Erachtens wussten, dass kein Mensch da draußen sein könnte. Die Tappen stoppten. Für einen Moment gab es Stille. Und dann flickerte die Airlock-Konsole auf das Leben. Die externe Kamera-Feed zeigte das Ding. Besser jetzt. Seine Form drückte sich gegen die Airlock-Winne. Es war keine langsame Form mehr. Es hat sich verändert.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Tausende von dünnen Stöcken, die von ihrem Körper ausgestattet wurden, probierten die Ecke des Luftschlosses. Seine Oberfläche blimmerte, reflektierte die dünnen inneren Lichter. Elenas Atem, die sich auf das Tier befand, schlug ihre Hände nach der Kamera. Obwohl es keine Augen hatte, fühlte sie, dass ihr Blick sie zerstörte. Ein langsamer, resonanter Geräusch füllte den Kabin.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Vibrierend durch ihre Beine, führte sie sich weg, aber das Tier begann, sich an den Luftschloss zu bewegen. Das Metall grunzte unter der Druck. Her breathing quickened. Each gasp a shallow panic draw. She floated backward, unable to tear her eyes from the monitor. Then, as if sensing her retreat, the creature's appendages froze.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Slowly, one tendril extended, pressing against the airlock's outer seal. It tapped once, twice. Each sound echoed through the cabin, sharp and deliberate. It was toying with her. The realization gripped her like ice. She wasn't alone. Das Ding war wissend, intelligent und es hatte sie entschieden. Nein, sie schrie, ihre Stimme trübbelnd. Das ist nicht wahr. Aber es war.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Die Lichter des Schiffes flickerten wieder, die erotischen Schatten, die wie Phantomen auf den Wänden tanzen. Ihre Ohren rangen mit dem Hupen, jetzt steigend und in Pitch. Elenas Griff schlug sich auf die Ringe, als eine Wave von Nausea sie schlug. Sie trainierte sich für Erkrankungen an. Aber keine Präparation konnte sie dafür stehlen.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Sie wurde gestoppt, getötet von etwas, das Verständnis verleugnete. Sie drehte sich von dem Monitor weg und fliegte in Richtung des Cockpits, hoffte, dass sie sich und das Kreatur entfernen. Jedes Geräusch, das Geräusch der Luftwind, das Geräusch der Metall, wurde verärgert, jeder ein möglicher Zeichen von Intrusion. Ihre Gedanken riefen. Sollte sie versuchen, zu kommunizieren?
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Würde sie es überhaupt verstehen? Another clang reverberated through the ship, this time from above. Elena froze mid-motion. Her eyes darted to the ceiling, where the vibrations of the impact had left faint ripples in the dim cabin lights. It was moving around the hull, testing her from all sides. She felt its intelligence, its calculated patience. This wasn't a mindless predator.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
It was a predator that enjoyed the hunt. Elena's pulse pounded in her ears as she floated to the cockpit console. Seine Finger standen über den Kontrollen, ihre Hände schluchzend. »Emergenz-Lockdown«, stammelte sie. Die Systeme des Schiffes antworteten schlagartig, als ob die Präsenz der Kreaturen ihre Funktion zerstört hätte. Dann flickerte das Konsolenscreen.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Für einen fliegenden Moment zeigte es ihre Reflexion, zerstört und geistig. Und hinter ihr, einfach über ihrem Schulter, sah sie es. Eine Schattel. Sie schlug herum, aber der Kabinett war leer. Seine Atmung wurde schmerzhaft. Sie schluchzte die Schnauze tiefer. Seine Knöchel weicherten. Der Geräusch war in ihr jetzt. Nicht nur im Schiff.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Es schlug unter ihr Haut, resonierte in ihrem Gehirn wie ein Geräusch, das sie nicht auslösen konnte. Imagen begannen in ihrem Gehirn zu flaschen. Alien-Werke blühten in violettem Licht. Ungewöhnliche Strukturen riefen sich ins Dunkel in den Skiern. Und die Kreatur selbst, schwingend, schwingend, schwingend, ihr Formen nie zerstörten. Halt!
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Sie schluchzte, drückte ihre Hände an ihre Tempel, aber die Sehnsüge stoppten nicht. Sie intensivierten sich, jeder mehr witzig als der letzte. Die Kreatur war in ihrem Geist, tiefer mit jedem passenden Sekunden. The ship's lights dim further until only the faint glow of the control panels remained. Another clang, this time from the airlock. Then the hiss of a seal breaking.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Hi Witches, I'm Blair Bathory and this is the Something Scary Podcast. Thank you so much for being here. Whether this is your first time or you're one of the brave souls who join us every week. And of course, if you're here on YouTube, you can see I'm coming to you from video once again. Und ich hoffe, ihr habt sie genossen. Wir arbeiten wirklich hart, euch diese jede Woche zu bringen.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Elena knew what was coming next. She forced herself to move, drifting toward the storage bay, where the emergency escape pod was located. She didn't make it. The airlock hissed open behind her and the hum became a deafening roar. She felt the rush of air as the ship's atmosphere vented into space. But she didn't need to turn around to know the creature was there.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
The tendrils, cold, smooth and unyielding, wrapped around her ankle, pulling her back into the void. Her screams echoed briefly before being swallowed by the silence of space. Have you ever been isolated but felt like you were not alone? Are you safe just because you can't hear danger? What would you do if there was no one to call for help? Hi, witches.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
You have to check out our brand new cozy blanket that you can get in our new Camp Scary line on somethingscary.com. I love mine. There's all these really cool symbols and spooky things on it, which you can't really see on camera, but it's really cool. Take my word for it. Go to somethingscary.com to check it out now.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Sometimes the hunger of ancient things runs so deep, it'll stop at nothing to satisfy it, even if it means feeding on your soul, like in this story inspired by Devon Guna. Gabriela's younger sister Maria squealed with delight as her mother settled down on the couch in the living room, where she usually sat to share a bedtime story with Gabriela and Maria. They looked forward to it all day long.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Today I will tell you about El Cuco. Mami replied with a wicked smirk on her face. That was enough for Gabriela to know that her mother had come up with yet another pointless horror story. Mami begann die Geschichte und Gabriela und Maria zogen nahe. Während der Geschichte schiffte Gabriela ihren Blick von ihrer Mami und ihrer Mamacita und war auf ihrer Schuhe und schlug einen Barsch.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Ihre Mamacita hatte noch nie mit jemandem gesprochen, seit Gabriela geboren wurde und Gabriela hat immer gespürt, ob es wegen ihr war. Aber Mami hat ihr versprochen, dass es wegen ihrer Mamacita war, weil sie eine sehr leise Figur war. Gabriela guckte weg von ihrer Mama Sita und schlug ihre Meinung an ihre Mami. Als Mami die Geschichte beendet hat, begann Maria zu trübbeln und zu fragen.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Ist El Cuco wirklich Mami? Natürlich ist es sie. Maria. Mami schnarrte. It is said that El Cuco mainly likes scourging on children." She paused for dramatic effect, her voice lowering to a whisper. "... grabs young children who do not believe in his existence, takes them away and makes them his servants in his den, feeding off their fear and hunger."
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Gabriela, die zwölf war, war zu alt, um sich an solche Dinge zu erinnern. Als sie ihre Schwester erschreckte, schlug sie und sagte, Maria, Mami ist nur Lügen. Es gibt kein El Cuco. Es ist nur Müll. Der Moment, als sie beendet hat, hat Gabriela die kühlen Finger auf ihr Handgelenk gesetzt und sie gejagt. It was her Mamacita, and from here, she could see her Mamacita's features up close.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Und lasst mir in den Kommentaren wissen, was ihr von mir in der Zukunft sehen wollt. Ich liebe es, was ihr sagen müsst. Und wenn ihr nur Audio hört, dann schaut bitte auf unsere Video-Version des Podcasts jetzt auf YouTube. Wir alle haben einen bestimmten Druck in uns. Einen bestimmten Hunger, der uns motiviert. Aber manchmal ist Hunger mehr als ein Bedürfnis.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Her skin was crumpled and her hair stark white. Her Mamacita opened her eyes wide, locking them onto Gabriela's and hissed, El Cuco is real, and it is here. Gabriela was appalled. She opened her mouth to scream when her Mamacita shoved her down. Maria began to weep, and her Mami rushed to take both her girls to their rooms.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
As they walked upstairs, Gabriela glanced at her mamacita, who had resumed weaving as if nothing had happened. It took so much effort for her mommy to convince Maria that there was no such thing as El Cuco, that it was just a fantasy. After mommy left the room, Gabriela stared at the white wall, dimly lit by the moonlight coming through the window.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Maria was fast asleep, but Gabriela kept pondering the strange scene that had unfolded downstairs. El Cuco is not real, she told herself. She had read books and watched movies about such things when she was younger, but never really believed in them. Just stories to make children behave. Gabriela soon fell asleep, but within minutes. She felt someone tugging her legs.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Assuming it was Maria, she groaned. Go to sleep, Maria. The tugging stopped, but after a few moments, it resumed. Irritated, Gabriela firmly whispered, Go to sleep, Maria! But it was not Maria. A black shadow loomed, bigger than Maria could ever be. The shadow moved forward, inches away from Gabriela's face.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Its yellow eyes glowed in the dark, its sagging face twisted in hunger, its mouth loosely open, dripping with anticipation. Gabriela was about to scream, but she could not utter a word or move. She was trapped, frozen in place. The creature bellowed.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Die Worte trugen einen ehrlichen Hunger, als ob sie Jahrhunderte lang aufwärmen musste, um sie zu zerstören. Seine Bedürfnisse waren unerwartet. Sie streckten ihre langen, schmalen Finger an Gabriellas Rüste, zwischendurch langsam, um ihre Unheilbarkeit zu spüren. Jedes Bewegung war unerwartet, um ihre Bedürfnisse zu zerstören. Ihr Hunger wuchs mit jedem Zwischen.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Gabriela fühlte den Schmerz, aber sie konnte nicht schreien, sie konnte nicht wieder kämpfen. Sie war schmerzlos. Just as the creature's fingers began to snap her wrists, the door slammed open. Gabriela's Mama Sita entered, raising a bead garland high, chanting an ancient incantation. El Cuco screeched in agony, its body writhing as the garland's power burned it.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
The creature recoiled, its eyes glowing with rage and hunger, but also fear. Fear of it being deprived of its prey. It blindly dashed toward the window, its body collapsing against the table before it tumbled out of sight. Gabriela rutschte in die Fenster, überrascht, dass sie wieder gehen konnte. Sie schlug aus, aber sah nichts. Nichts.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Zurück zu ihrer Mama Sita, rannte Gabriela zu ihr, schlug sie mit der Hand. Was war das? Du weißt etwas, nicht wahr? Ich will wissen, was das war. Ihre Mama Sita schlug in Gabrielas Augen. Nicht mit Furcht, sondern mit Schmerz und Schmerz. Das war El Cucco, schlug sie. Und es hat unsere Familie für Generationen verletzt. Es hat einen unerwarteten Hunger. Einen, der nie zufrieden sein wird.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Es ist eine insatiable Kraft, die uns an die Ecke des Wahnsinns fährt, durch Barrieren von Grund, Distanz und sogar Zeit. Wenn man sich mit solchen primalen Wünschen befindet, blüht die Linie zwischen Fisch und Pest, leaving us with one chilling question. Who or what will be consumed next? First, the void stalker. Followed by a curse of hunger. Finally, in our last story, lurking in plain sight.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Es fügt auf die Seelen der Mädchen, die in unserer Blutlinie geboren werden, um ihre Zerstörung zu versichern. Unsere Angehörigen machen Rituale, um uns zu schützen, um den Skarland zu erschöpfen, um es auszuwärmen. Ich wusste, dass dieser Tag für dich kommen würde, wenn du zwölf bist. Es wird für deine Schwester kommen, wenn sie zwölf ist.
Something Scary
Deadly Appetite
Ich habe einen Wunsch genommen, dich zu sterben, um dich beide zu schützen, egal was passiert. Mit diesen Worten hat ihre Mama Sita das Zimmer verlassen, die Tür hinter ihr geschlossen. Gabriela starrte an der Tür in Unglaublichkeit. Sie sank auf ihr Bett, hoffte, dass das alles nur ein schlimmer Traum war.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
Hospital shrugged. My mother, exhausted, moved me downstairs to the cold den, the one with the sunken floor and heavy curtains. She said I needed space to sleep. I think she just didn't want me in the room anymore. I don't remember falling asleep. I remember the shadows.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
At 3.08 a.m., I woke to the sound of my dog barking, pacing in frantic circles, whining like she'd seen something she couldn't unsee. I pulled her onto the couch beside me and closed my eyes. But I felt something. Not the dog. Not a draft. A presence. Thick. Watching. When I opened my eyes, I saw someone at the foot of the couch. Someone shaped like me. Same pajamas, same posture, same face.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
Except she looked older, and her smile stretched too wide, like it had been carved into her skin. Her eyes didn't blink, just stared. I tried to speak... Hello? But no sound came out. I ducked under the blanket like kids do, because fairy tales tell us blankets are safe. But they lie. Because when I peeked again, she wasn't at the foot of the couch anymore. She was beside me.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
Her face inches from mine, watching, smiling. I couldn't breathe, couldn't scream. I tried reaching for my iPad on the table, anything to feel real. But the second I reached out, she touched my arm, eyes cold fingers, rigid, unhuman. I blacked out. When I woke, my mother was shaking me awake for breakfast. Sunlight spilled through the curtains like none of it had happened.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
But the bruises on my arm, five round indentations, told a different story. I showed them. She dismissed it. You probably rolled off the coffee table. I told them everything. My parents smiled that tight smile adults do when they think you're just being dramatic. They said I had an overactive imagination. They never mentioned it again.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
But she came back, not every night, just when I started to forget her. She'd watch from corners, behind glass, in the dark blur between waking and dreaming, always smiling, always waiting. By the time I was nine, I'd learned not to tell anyone, not when I saw her outside my school window, not when she mirrored my movements in the bathroom mirror, but a beat too late. Like she was lagging behind.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
Not when she stood at the edge of my bed whispering things that weren't in my voice. Things like, you are the copy. You're the one who doesn't belong. She started mimicking people I knew. My mother calling my name from outside the door while I heard her actually washing dishes in the kitchen. My brother asking to play games from the hallway even though he was asleep. Then never noticed her.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
Only me. That was the worst part. I was alone. When I turned 11, I asked my grandmother Nana about it. She was the only one who took me seriously. She didn't laugh. She didn't tell me it was a dream. Instead, she looked me dead in the eyes and said, If you see yourself, you must never speak it, never follow it, and never ever believe what it says.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
When I asked why, she crossed herself and whispered, Some mirrors don't know reflections. They show replacements. That year, I started wearing the red cord she gave me. Blessed, she said. Protection. I wore it to bed, in the shower, to school. And for a while, things were quiet. Until the cord snapped. It didn't fray. It tore like something had bitten through it.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
That night, I saw her again, in the hallway, staring at my bedroom door, not moving, just waiting. When I tried to close the door, it was stuck, not jammed, held. I couldn't sleep, couldn't even blink without seeing her wide, static smile burn into my eyes. I prayed, not because I believed, but because I had nothing else left, and something answered, not in words, in dread.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
Now sitting, Shiva for her dead dad, alone in the empty apartment. She wanted to throw a chair at the wall just to hear something crash. No one had come. No awkward neighbors. No Minya. Just her. Her father had died alone, slipping in the bathtub of all places. No angels, no divine plan, just cracked tiles in the irony of a rabbi who drowned just like anyone else could have.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
The next morning, there was a note slid under my door, torn notebook paper, shaking, handwriting I didn't recognize, and it said, You're getting blurry. Let me help. And it was signed, Me. I tried to tell myself someone was playing a trick. That this was all a long nightmare I hadn't woken from. But that day at school, my teacher asked why I kept staring blankly into space. Except I hadn't.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
She said I spoke to her in class and acted strange, but I don't remember any of it. That night, I stared into the mirror for a long time. I wanted to catch her behind me, but when I blinked, she was in front of me instead. We locked eyes. She smiled, whiter than before, and mouthed the words, ready to trade. I screamed, smashed the mirror, bloodied my hand.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
My parents found me sobbing, surrounded by glass. They said I was sleepwalking, that I needed therapy. They said my mind was making it all up, but they were wrong. Because after that night, the world felt different. My reflection stopped syncing with me entirely. It lagged. It blinked when I didn't. Sometimes it would just stare frozen while I moved.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
I stopped looking in mirrors, stopped trusting them. And then one morning, I saw my brother watching me eat breakfast. Only my real brother was still asleep. The one watching didn't blink. I ran. I don't know when the real world stopped, or if it ever existed. All I know is I'm 13 now, and sometimes, I feel like I'm her. Sometimes I laugh without meaning to.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
Sometimes I look in the mirror and don't recognize the way my face moves. My parents don't notice, but my dog does. She doesn't come near me anymore. And the other night, I found a note on my pillow, folded. Familiar, shaky handwriting. And it said, You said it would never work. But you believed just a little.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
The worst part? I don't remember writing it. But it's signed with my name. Have you ever caught your reflection doing something it shouldn't? What would you do if someone who looked exactly like you started living your life? Had this ever happened to you? Tell us your stories by sending me an email at somethingscaryatsnarl.com. This week's podcast stories were edited by Sarah Lukasiewicz.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
Narration by Blair Bathory. Audio edited and mixed by Fitz Harris. Additional audio editing by Calvin Linderman. Produced by Anna Villalobos. Executive produced by Gil Gilman. Music by Sapphire Sindalo and Calvin Linderman. If you have a story you'd like to submit... send me an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
Don't forget to watch the video version of Something Scary over at youtube.com slash snarled. And if you'd like to support the show and everything we do at Snarled, join our Patreon at patreon.com slash snarled.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
The university gave her a two-week leave. She hadn't touched a breaker or attended rounds since the call. But grief doesn't care about rational systems. It drags you down like a tide. For Leah, it pulled her to her father's office, where yellowed books leaned like tired old men and the wax from forgotten Shabbat candles formed strange, melted figures looking like monsters standing on the desk.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
She found the manuscript behind a stack of unopened mail, wrapped in oilskin that left a bitter smell on her hands. Tied with red thread, no label, no title. She almost tossed it, but when she opened the first page, the air in the room was sucked out, like someone had just stopped breathing.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
Inside, she saw a hand-bound book, thin as skin, brittle edges, a name across the top in her father's script. Shafir Harazim. She remembered hearing that name. Whispers through half-closed doors. Her father's voice low and tense. Part prayer, part warning. A book of angelic secrets. Curses. Blessings too strange to be holy.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
Written by at user xdarkwolf. Hi, I'm Blair Bathory, and this is the Something Scary Podcast. Thank you so much for being here, whether this is your first time or you're one of the brave souls who join us every week. Sometimes it's not the stories we're told that haunt us, but the ones we inherit without hesitation. The prayers whispered in the dark. The trinkets worn without asking why.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
The scientist in her, fluent in nerve signal pathways and how to sterilize a scalpel, snorted. Another relic from a world she'd left behind. until she saw the margin notes in her father's handwriting. Symbols marked, names circled. One of them was hers, Leah, next to a passage in Aramaic she couldn't fully translate. But she caught enough, a ritual to summon wisdom, to speak to angels.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
She blamed it on exhaustion at first, or the way silence starts to hum if you sit in too long. But the air had weight now, like the room was holding its breath, like it was watching. She waited until night to try it. Not because she believed, but because doubt, left too long in the dark, curls into curiosity. She drew the circle in shock, shaky, uneven lines, like her hands had forgotten geometry.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
She lit seven candles, the wax spitting angrily as they caught. She fasted, as the notes instructed. Didn't speak a word until the hour turned, just after 3.07 a.m. She spoke the names as best she could. Her voice cracked. She stumbled over consonants, one syllable she had to say three times. The moment she finished, the room seemed to exhale.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
The candles pulled inward, flames bending toward the center, then stillness. Leah blinked. Nothing. She stepped out of the chalk circle, brushing at the wax on her arm. And when she saw it, a handprint on the mirror, small, smudged, like a child had pressed their palm into the glass and waited. She wiped it away, heart thudding. The next morning, it was back. So were the dreams.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
Her father silent at the kitchen table, his mouth moving. But no sound came. His hands were coated in gray ash. The room around him pulsed, shadows dancing at the edge of her vision. When she woke, her sheets were damp, and her arms bore red marks shaped like letters she didn't know. She stopped sleeping. She stopped eating, but she kept reading.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
The book grew warmer, at first subtly, like it had absorbed her body heat. But then it pulsed under her fingers. The brittle pages softened. Symbols began to make sense. Words she didn't know spilled from her mouth when she read aloud. And then the voice began. It came from behind the mirror. Not Hebrew. Not Aramaic. Just thought. It whispered the same thing every time. At first, she ignored it.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
Then one night, she whispered the name back, half a dare, half a prayer. That night, the handprint on the mirror doubled. Two palms, pressed side by side. She called Lila, her father's old assistant, and asked her if she was working on anything. Weird. Lila hesitated. She had been different than last year. He was working on a correction. He stopped teaching. Even stopped going to shul.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
Leah asked if he ever mentioned the chauffeur. Lila's voice dropped. Only once. He said he'd opened something, and couldn't close it. Leah flipped back to the book. Finally, she found a page folded over twice and crusted with old wax. A correction ritual. No blood, no flesh, just a sacrifice of belief. She had to give something up, something she believed completely, speak it aloud, let it go.
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Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
She sat in a circle again, didn't bother with candles, just the book, just the dark. She whispered, There is no God. The whisper behind the mirror laughed, then silence. Then every candle in the apartment blazed to life. Then a wind tore through the study, knocking over books. But the chalk circle held. The mirror shivered, warped, then melted to black. From inside, something looked out.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
Belief can be a comfort until it isn't. Because when something is passed down for so long, you stop knowing where faith ends and fear begins. First, mirror marks won't fade, followed by inherited horror. Finally, in our last story, you're getting blurry. So, wanna hear something scary? Grief makes ghosts of us all.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
No face, no figure, just presence. It pressed on her chest like deep water. She couldn't move. Could barely breathe. Then she heard her name. Not in the whisper. Not in her father's voice. In her own. Leah. She looked down. The book had changed. New words curled across the page. Lines that hadn't been there before. Fresh ink, still wet. Her name beside it. Mikor Amunah. Source of faith.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
And beneath that, her father's last note. To believe is to fear. To fear is to understand. The next morning, she wiped away the chalk circle. She didn't return to school. She went to shul, sat in the back, buried under layers of incense and murmured prayers and whispered Kedesh, not just to her father, for herself.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
When the service ended, an older man approached, didn't speak, just handed her a folded note inside a drawing of a handprint and beneath it, in her father's handwriting. The door can be opened by doubt, but only faith can close it. She looked up. The man was gone. But in the reflection on the synagogue's last door, she saw a pale palm, gentle, pressed against her own, just for a moment.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
Have you ever dismissed something as superstition only to feel it watching you later? Did you sense a change was taking place, but you couldn't explain it? Tell us your stories by sending us an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com. So we get lots of emails from you all every week.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
Sometimes people are asking us to tell certain legends from a specific place, or sometimes someone will share a story about something that happened to them. We receive more stories that we can adapt for the show, so we thought it would be great to just share them informally and read some of them to you now. Here is a story from PETA. This story is from my mom's sister, Mozzie.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
The story goes like this. My Mozzie used to work in an all-girls college in India. She was a teacher. Since it was all girls, they only had girls' bathrooms and one stall. A girl walked into the stall and felt like someone was in there with her. She felt a hand on her shoulder. She screamed and fainted. Another girl rushed in and came out crying.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
Thankfully, the other girl had gotten back up but was also crying. They called the headmistress, who ordered the bathroom to be closed. The girls couldn't talk and were in shock. They finally told everyone that there was an angry presence there, a ghost. They pointed to a faint mark of a hand on her shoulder. They were all superstitious, and so a priest was called in to pray for us.
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Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
It didn't do much. She still works there and says no one uses the washroom. Thanks, Peta, for sharing that. Bathrooms can be scary for many reasons, and we made a video about a toilet goddess a couple of years ago. But if you want to check that out, it's on one of our playlists on youtube.com slash snarled.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
Sometimes the things meant to protect us are the ones that leave the door open, like in this story inspired by Mariela. We don't talk about what happened the year my Nana died. My father says it was grief that made us unravel. My brother thinks it was just bad luck. But I know better. It started with the bracelet. Nana had given it to me when I was 10.
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Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
A thin red cord knotted tightly around a single glass bead painted with the evil eye. Malakio. I didn't know then how serious she was about it. To me, it was just one of the many little charms she pressed into her palms when she came to visit. Crosses, vials of holy water. But the bracelet felt different. It was warm, even when I left it on the windowsill.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
After Nana passed, we flew back to her house in Calabria to help clean it out. Everything was heavy with dust and silence. The air inside her bedroom had an old weight to it, like incense left too long to rot. Her prayer books were still open on the nightstand. A half-burnt candle sat in a dish beside a bowl of salt gone gray. I found the bracelet in a shoebox at the back of her closet.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
I hadn't even realized I'd lost it years ago. But there it was, still knotted. The red slightly faded. The eye in the center cracked just slightly down the middle. That night, I dreamt of her. She stood at the front of my bed, arms stiffed at her sides. Lips parted just enough to whisper something I couldn't hear. Her eyes were glassy, watching me too closely.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
I woke with a taste of copper in my mouth and three deep scratches on my shoulder. I told myself it was nothing, a weird dream, sleepwalking maybe. We flew home. My father boxed up the few things she'd left to me. Rosaries, old photos, a small ceramic dish that always smelled faintly of camphor. I kept the bracelet in my room, I'm sure, if I wanted to wear it. That's when things began to shift.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
The accident started small, a glass sliding off the counter without touching it, a candle tipping over when no one was near, my cat refusing to enter my bedroom even when I coaxed him. Then, the static. It buzzed through the walls at night, faint but constant. I thought it was electrical, maybe something with the wiring, but it wasn't. The power company found nothing. No faulty circuits.
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Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
Sometimes the scariest thing isn't what you summon, but what becomes of you afterward. Like in this story written in honor of Jewish American Heritage Month by Sarah. The apartment smelled like old wax and peeled onions, familiar and vaguely rotten.
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Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
No surges. Still, the sound grew louder every night. It wasn't just buzzing anymore. It pulsed, like breath through teeth. I tried to sleep with earplugs, with the TV on. Nothing worked. That's when I remembered what Nada used to say when we were kids. When the bracelet breaks, something has seen you. I checked the one I'd found in the closet. The crack in the eye had widened.
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Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
The cord was fraying. One morning, I found the bead sitting by itself on my desk. The thread had come undone entirely, and that night it saw me. I didn't sleep. I couldn't. Around 2 a.m., the air went still. The buzzing stopped suddenly. Everything was too quiet, like the house was holding its breath. Then the mirror in the hallway turned black. Not shattered, not fogged, just dark.
Something Scary
Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
The reflection had been drained from it, like a screen that had powered off. I stared at it from the end of the hall. Something moved inside it. Not a shape exactly, but a smear of motion, the way oil distorts in water. I didn't go near it. The next day, the lights flickered whenever I walked past. My phone refused to take photos inside my room.
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Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
They came out warped, static-lined, as if something was pressing against the lens from the inside. I started carrying the broken bread in my pocket, like maybe it could still protect me. But every night, the darkness inside the mirror spread, reaching from the hallway to the living room, pulling beneath door frames. My father said I was pale, asked if I was eating.
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Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
I nodded, though I barely touched food in days. Every time I sat at the table, the salt clumped in its shaker. The candles blurred with blue flames. I stopped praying. I couldn't remember the words. Instead, I went back to Nanna's things, searching for anything I had missed. Inside the ceramic dish beneath the cracked rosary, I found a folded paper. A prayer I didn't recognize. Not Italian.
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Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
Not Latin. Just strange syllables. The bottom of the note had her handwriting barely legible. If it follows you, burn the thread. If it stays, offer your blood. I have one more letter from a fan I'd like to read to you this week. It reads, I would love to hear everyone else's thoughts on the topic, a snarl fan, Florence. I don't know. That's a really weird thought.
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Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
But I do have to say the twins I have met do freak me out a little bit. And of course, the twins from The Shining are classic horror twins. So I think you're onto something, Florence. Please keep sending us letters by emailing somethingscaryatsnarled.com and I might read them on the podcast. Sometimes it's not who you see in the mirror that's terrifying. It's who's seen you back.
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Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
Like in this story inspired by Avery. The year I got sick was awful. My mother says it was the flu. My father says it was just stress. But I know better. It started the night I saw myself standing at the end of the couch. I was seven when the sickness began. Not just a stomach bug. Not a cold. It was something deeper. Something with eyes. I vomited for days without fever or cause.
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Grief Makes Ghosts of Us All
Leah Klein hadn't been back in almost four years, not since she walked away from her seminary program and traded Talmudic texts of Jewish studies for molecular biology. Science makes sense, she told her father. Miracles don't. She hadn't argued. He just said, when the world stops making sense, you'll miss miracles. She used to roll her eyes at that.
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A DARK HARVEST
Whatever had clung to him was still there, still watching. ... Still waiting. As I closed the door behind me, I couldn't help but feel like something was standing just on the other side. Listening. Watching me as I whispered to myself, He's gone. But somehow, I knew he wasn't. And every time I visit, every time I pass that darkened hallway, I feel it. A chill that seeps into my bones.
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Bevor wir zu unseren Geschichten kommen, wollte ich fragen, ob Sie einen Moment nehmen würden, um diesen Podcast zu senden, zu jemandem, den Sie kennen, der Horror liebt. Wir wissen, dass es hunderten von Podcasts gibt, und der größte Einfluss auf das, was die Leute hören, ist, was ihre Freunde empfehlen.
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And a voice I'll never forget. Have you ever felt an unexplainable chill or presence in a seemingly empty space? How would you feel if a child suddenly started talking about a presence you couldn't see? Not all family secrets stay buried, some linger. Waiting for the right night to return, like in this story inspired by Reba.
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A DARK HARVEST
One Thanksgiving, we decided to spend the holiday at our uncle's house. He lived alone in a massive old house, almost like a mansion, surrounded by strange, luxurious artifacts that made the place feel like a haunted museum. Even the drive up was creepy, with flickering lights across the yard and an occasional darkened car passing by, moving slowly, almost watching. But we didn't mind.
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We were determined to have a good time, no matter how unsettling the house felt. When we arrived, my uncle seemed out of sorts. He looked different, not just older, but somehow haunted. His skin was pale, sickly looking, and his eyes seemed hollow, as if something had drained the life out of him. When he finally spoke, his voice was a hoarse whisper.
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A DARK HARVEST
Dann, kurz nach 11 Uhr, hörte ich einen hohen Sturz in der Halle. Ich flog, mein Herz schmerzte, um zu hören. Der Krieg von Fußgängen folgte, sehr hoch in die Halle. Ich schlug zu meiner Tür und schlug sie öffnen. In der dünnen Licht, konnte ich meinen Onkel ausmachen, der nach dem Ende der Halle stürzte, etwas unter seinem Atem zu muttern.
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A DARK HARVEST
Sie können auch den Podcast auf Spotify und YouTube raten und kommentieren, also lasst uns wissen, was Sie denken. Ich lese alle Ihre Kommentare und versuche, so viele wie möglich zu antworten. Vielen Dank, wir sind unglaublich dankbar für alle unsere Zuschauer weltweit. So, wanna hear something scary? A Dark Harvest Some family secrets are better left buried, but not all of them stay that way.
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A DARK HARVEST
Er schlug ein Bildschirm über und als er es wieder hochheb, sah ich, dass seine Hände mit etwas Schmerzem verbreitet waren. Mein Stomach drohte. Blut. I whispered, barely audible. He turned toward me and I saw his face fully for the first time. His eyes were empty, milky white, as if they'd been drained of anything human.
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A DARK HARVEST
Blood trickled from the corners of his eyes, thick and dark, staining his cheeks. He opened his mouth, but the only sound that escaped was a low, raspy moan, something raw and otherworldly. Terror sieht mich. Ich habe die Tür geschlagen, bin unter den Koffern gesprungen und habe meine Augen gespürt, als ob es nur ein Traum war. Minutes tickt by, each one stretching painfully long.
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A DARK HARVEST
Then I heard it, a faint creak, the unmistakable sound of my door slowly opening. My heart froze as a shadow drifted into the room. The air grew colder, prickling my skin, and a raspy breathing filled the silence. My bed began to shake, trembling as if someone were pressing down on it. I bit back a scream.
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A DARK HARVEST
The next morning I stumbled downstairs, exhausted and still trembling from the night's horrors. The family was gathered in the living room, faces tense and somber. The air felt heavy, filled with an unspoken dread when I asked what was wrong. They all looked up, eyes hollow with grief when my mother said my uncle was gone. They couldn't find him anywhere. A chill ran through me.
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A DARK HARVEST
Verletzt in Weisen, die kein Kind verhindern sollte. Als er gestorben ist, war sein Geist hier verbunden mit diesem Haus. Er markiert diejenigen, die ihn zerstören. Zuerst mit Blut, dann mit Angst. Ich schüttelte, erinnernde mich an die Blut auf dem Türschrank, die schrecklichen Augen meines Onkels. But why would he come after Uncle? She sighed, looking away.
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Your uncle was the last to inherit this house. We warned him to leave, but he wouldn't listen. He wanted to see if the legend was... Before she could say more, I turned and fled upstairs, a strange desperation clawing at me. I needed answers. I threw open the attic door, calling into the darkness. Uncle, are you here?
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A DARK HARVEST
The attic was silent, filled with shadows that seemed to breathe, shifting slowly as I stepped further in. My voice echoed faintly back to me. Then, from somewhere in the darkness, a voice, rough and raspy, whispered, I'm not going anywhere without you. The words crawled over my skin like ice, paralyzing me. It wasn't my uncle's voice.
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A DARK HARVEST
It was something deeper, ancient, as if it came from a place beyond the grave. Kommt in die Lichter. Es schrie, eine zwischende Anrufung, die den Schmerz verursachte. Wir werden Spaß haben. I staggered back, the shadows seeming to close in, forming a shape, a twisted boyish figure with empty white eyes. Lips stretched into a grin that was too wide, too dark. I didn't wait to see more.
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A DARK HARVEST
I turned and ran, slamming the attic door shut. The echo of his laughter followed me, reverberating through the empty hallways. Bis heute kann ich immer noch seine Stimme hören, schweigend aus den Schatten jedes Weihnachtsabends, beckern, beckern, seine rastigen Worte, die in meinem Gehirn klingeln. Komm mit mir in die Licht. Habt ihr jemals eine unermüdliche Erfahrung in einem alten Haus gehabt?
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Was ist passiert? Any strange rules you had to follow in one of your relatives' houses? This week's podcast stories were edited by Sarah Lukasiewicz. Narration by Blair Bathory. Audio edited and mixed by Fitz Harris. Additional audio editing by Calvin Linderman. Produced by Anna Villalobos. Executive produced by Gil Gilman. Music by Sapphire Sindalo and Calvin Linderman.
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Like in this story inspired by Malachi Morales. Malachi Morales Liam sat alone on a quiet bus, surrounded by endless fields of corn. The only other passenger was the old greasy bus driver, whose occasional coughs and sighs echoed through the silence. Liam was on his way to a small town in Ohio to stay with his Uncle Dan for Thanksgiving break.
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If you have a story you'd like to submit... Send me an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com Don't forget to watch the video version of Something Scary over at youtube.com slash snarled. And if you'd like to support the show and everything we do at Snarled, join our Patreon at patreon.com slash snarled. As always, thanks for joining me, witches. Until next time, sweet screams.
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A DARK HARVEST
His parents were visiting friends in Louisiana and staying for business. They insisted the trip was too long for him to stay alone in New York. Liam hat sich damit schon gewohnt. Seine Eltern waren Geschäftspartner. Sie waren immer zusammen unterwegs, um Arbeit zu machen und ihn zu verlassen. Er war nicht überrascht über diese Reise.
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Es war schon seit sechs Jahren, seit er seinen Onkel gesehen hat, der praktisch ein Fremder war. Suddenly, the bus came to a halt in front of a tall brick building. Liam thanked the driver and stepped off with his luggage. The bus rumbled away, leaving him alone in the quiet, isolated town. A small sign labeled Bus Terminal hung above the door of the building.
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Just as Liam reached for the door, he heard his name called from across the street. Looking up, he spotted a man he didn't recognize, a heavyset guy with a black matted beard and sweat-stained gray t-shirt that barely fit. His long greasy hair was slicked back, similar to the bus drivers. The man waved, sending a ripple through his body.
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Well, we've got a whole week to catch up. Can't wait to hear all about New York, Uncle Dan chuckled, his excitement seeming almost too eager. After a silent car ride through endless cornfields, they arrived at a small white house, perched on a hill. Beside it stood a decaying barn, neglected for what looked like centuries. A heavy chain and padlock secured its door.
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The sight of it made Liam's stomach twist uneasily. They entered the modest house as Uncle Dan tried to make excuses for its humble state. It's not much, but it gets the job done. Sorry if it's not as spacious as your place in New York, he said, flipping a switch to reveal a dimly lit interior. Liam smiled politely, thanking him for letting him stay.
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You're welcome, Dan replied, his expression shifting to something serious. I only have a couple of rules while you're here. Don't do anything you wouldn't do at home. And don't go near the barn or into the field. You could get lost. And that barn's rotting. I don't want to send you home in a body bag. Liam chuckled nervously, unsure if his uncle was joking.
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A DARK HARVEST
Dan bewegte Liam, um ihn auf die Stiefel zu folgen. Er führte ihn in einen kleinen Wohnraum mit einem einzigen Bett und einem Fenster über dem Kornfeld. Als Liam ausgesucht wurde, bemerkte er etwas Ungewöhnliches im Feld. Drei Schrecklinge. Seine zitternden Kleidung flappte leise in den Wind. Liam schwindelte, um sie besser in der fehlenden Lichtsicht zu sehen.
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Seine Füße sahen sehr lebendig aus, als ob sie an jedem Moment blinken könnten. The straw stuffed into their eyes and Maus created a grotesque, silent scream. Lost in thought, Liam couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Scary, aren't they? Uncle Dan's voice broke the silence, making Liam jump. Liam nodded, unsettled. Yeah, they are. Why do they look so real?
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Don't let the faces fool you. They're just old Halloween masks I put on to scare the birds off. Vicious little creatures, those birds. Dan's voice softened. Call you when dinner's ready. Wir haben Steak und Kartoffeln. Liam sah, als sein Onkel aus dem Raum ging, dann rückte er sich zurück zu den Schmuckern. Einer von ihnen sah sich direkt auf ihn an. Er blinkte und schaute wieder.
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Aber der Schmuckern stand nicht in Bewegung, sein leerer Blick auf den Feld fest. That night, Liam struggled to sleep. He was used to the city's sounds like sirens and bustling streets. Here, the silence was oppressive. As he tried to drift off, piercing screams shattered the quiet echoing through the fields. He shot up, heart pounding, and rushed to the window.
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The moon cast an eerie glow over the fields, but he saw nothing out of place. As he turned to go back to bed, he heard it again. This time a man's scream, full of agony. Chills raced down his spine, summoning his courage. He crept downstairs, finding his uncle watching a movie in a darkened living room. Uncle Dan? Liam's voice shook. Did you hear those screams?
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Dan turned to him, smiling strangely. Oh, sorry about that. Probably just the horror movie. I'll turn the volume down. Liam wanted to believe him, but the screams had sounded so real, so close. Back in his room, Liam lay awake, his mind racing. He couldn't shake the memory of the screams, nor the image of those lifelike scarecrows in the field. Die Zeit ist vorbei. Seine Nerven sind auf der Ecke.
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Als er einen weiteren Schrein hörte, war dieser lauter, näher, unmissverständlich real. Entschuldigt, schlug er ruhig nach unten und führte nach hinten. Kaltes Nachtwasser warf sich über ihn, als er draußen steckte, um das ungewöhnliche Gefühl, das ihn seit seinem Anruf gegrümmt hat, zu erhöhen. Er folgte dem Geräusch, sein Herz schluchzte, bis er sich in der Vorderseite des roten Hauses befand.
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Hi Witches, I'm Blair Bathory and this is the Something Scary Podcast. Thank you so much for being here. Whether this is your first time or you're one of the brave souls who join us every week. Sometimes Thanksgiving isn't about giving thanks. It's about surviving the feast. Beneath the warmth of family gatherings and traditions lurks something darker.
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Er rief aus, bemerkte, dass der Padlock nicht fertig war. Mit trimmelnden Händen drückte Liam die Tür öffnen. Der Stent schlug ihn zuerst. Er war schmutzig, dick, genug, um ihn zu schmutzigen. Innerhalb saß Bales of Haze in ehrlicher Ruhe. Aber ein dunkles Blut schlug über den Boden, leading to a horrific pile of limbs, decomposing and sworn by flies.
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A sudden jolt of pain shot through his head as something struck him. He looked up, dazed, and saw his uncle's face before blacking out. When he awoke, he was lying in the field, cold earth pressed against him, and shadows danced around him. He struggled to stand, but a chilling rustle sounded nearby.
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He turned, only to see three figures approaching, three scarecrows, their faces sewn with a grotesque precision. They loomed closer. Their black, straw-stuffed eyes empty yet watching him. One of them looked eerily familiar, and as he squinted, realization dawned. It was his uncle.
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You should have stayed away, Liam, his uncle rasped, his voice muffled by the straw spilling from his mouth revealing his true form. Now you're going to join us. Liam tried to scream, but his throat filled with straw, choking off his voice. Der Schmerz schlug durch seine Lippen, als seine Rippen gepinnt wurden. Seine Beine krachen, seine Haut zerstörte.
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Seine Mund war mit Stahl verpackt, bis er nichts mehr als Stoff und Dirt spüren konnte. Als die Dunkelheit ihn bezeichnete, war sein letzter Blick auf seinen Onkels lebendiges, geschlossene Augenblick, gefüllt mit kranker Zufriedenheit. Days later, when Liam's parents returned to pick him up from his uncle's, they found an empty house.
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A missing persons report was filed, tip lines set up, and police scoured the countryside near his uncle's farm. But all they found were lifeless scarecrows scattered in a field of dead corn, one with a familiar face, stitched with chilling precision. Have you ever felt uneasy visiting a relative's house by yourself? Does a quiet, isolated place make you nervous?
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Have you ever looked back at a memory and realized something was unusual about it? Sometimes the shadows we hide from linger closer than we think. Waiting to play a game we can never escape. Like in this story inspired by Nora. Weihnachten in meinem Großvater-Kondos war normalerweise präsentierbar. Gutes Essen, berühmte Gesichter und das seltsame Komfort eines etwas schmutzigen, dünnen Gebäudes.
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Das Jahr haben wir, wie immer, zusammengekommen und mit uns war meine Cousins Tochter, Ava. Sie war zwei. Ein kleines Bündel von Wurzeln und Lachen. Und sie hat einfach gelernt, die Freude von Halt und Suchen. After dinner, she toddled over to me, tugging at my sleeve with a serious look in her eyes. She whispered, as if we were the only two people in the world.
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Figuring I could keep her entertained for a bit, I followed her out onto the hallway, just the two of us. She led me to a big chair, and we crouched behind it, her tiny hand gripping mine. Her eyes scanned the hallway, focused on something I couldn't see – A few moments passed before she whispered, He's gone.
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I frowned, looking around, but the hallway was empty, just quiet stretches of carpet and walls lined with dim lighting. I told myself it was nothing, just her imagination. But when we moved to the next spot, Ava did it again. We crouched, she'd glance around, and then she'd whisper. Each time she let out a little sigh of relief.
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It was strange, unsettling even, but I figured kids have their own way of playing. Then we crouched behind a chair at the far end of the hall and something changed. Ava froze, her eyes going wide, her tiny body rigid. She stared down the hall, her little mouth trembling, as if she was looking at something too terrifying to comprehend. And then she screamed.
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Family secrets, ancient curses, and harvests that should have stayed buried. It's a warning to us all that even a holiday of gratitude can hide cruel intentions. So grab a seat at the table, but beware of what's being served. Zuerst ein unerwähntes Gäste, dann ein Schrei für Hilfe. Letztendlich in unserer letzten Geschichte, ein Haus des Todes.
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Nicht ein kleines Kindesgewebe oder Wimpern, sondern ein voller, gutturaler Schrein, der in der Halle klingelte. Ich spielte herum, aber es gab nichts. Nur den feuchten, karpeten Korridor. Ein kräftiger Verlust schlug über mich. Und Ava schlug zu mir, schräg. Ihr Gesicht war mit Tränen gespürt. Aber sie würde nicht von dem feuchten Raum in der Halle aussehen. Der Kälte in der Luft war unbegabt.
Something Scary
A DARK HARVEST
Mein Körper klingelte. Und ich konnte einen schiefen Schmerz in meinen Beinen fühlen. Eine, die nicht weggehen würde. Ich habe Eva aufgeschoben und bin zurückgekehrt in mein Großvateres Konto. Seine Stöße, die sich in Wimpern bewegen, ihre kleinen Finger, die in mein Shirt eingenommen sind. Als ich die Tür hinter uns geschlossen habe, fühlte ich mich, als hätte ich etwas Dunkeles geschlossen.
Something Scary
A DARK HARVEST
Etwas, das nicht gehörte. Everyone noticed Ava's distress as I tried to calm her down and convinced myself it was just a game gone wrong. I kept telling myself that she was just a kid with a wild imagination. But the chill lingered. That night, as everyone was leaving, my grandma casually mentioned something that made my heart skip a beat. Did you hear about Mr. Lynch? she asked, her voice soft.
Something Scary
A DARK HARVEST
They found him in the hallway last week. Poor man passed away just sitting there in his chair, right down the hall from us. He was such a quiet man, so sad. Mr. Lynch, I'd only seen him a few times, a quiet, elderly man who kept to himself. But the mention of his chair sent a jolt through me. The same chair where Ava had started screaming, staring into the empty space.
Something Scary
A DARK HARVEST
The feeling of that icy chill gnawed at me, something I couldn't shake, even though I tried to laugh it off. To convince myself it was just a strange coincidence. Months went by, but the memory stayed with me. Each time I visited my grandparents, Ava seemed to act strange around the condo, avoiding certain corners or bursting into tears for no reason.
Something Scary
A DARK HARVEST
My family chalked it up to toddler quirks, but I knew that chill too well to write it off. One afternoon, during another family visit, I slipped into the hallway, almost without thinking. My feet carried me to the same chair, where we'd crouched together, where she'd whispered, He's gone. My eyes drifted to the wall across from it, and that's when I noticed something that made my skin crawl.
Something Scary
A DARK HARVEST
A framed photograph, one I'd never seen before, hung on the wall. It was black and white, faded with age, showing a solemn man I recognized, Mr. Lynch. He was standing right outside my grandparents' door. His face turned slightly toward the hall, his expression lost and vacant. But it wasn't just Mr. Lynch in the photo. In the shadows behind him, barely visible, was a second figure.
Something Scary
A DARK HARVEST
My heart raced. I took a step closer, squinting at the image, trying to understand how she could be in this photo. Ava hadn't even been born when Mr. Lynch was alive, let alone standing in the hallway with him. Before I could process it, a wave of nausea hit me, icy and unrelenting, like a hand reaching out from that old photograph.
Something Scary
A DARK HARVEST
I staggered back, tearing my gaze away, and when I looked again, the frame was empty. Nothing but the faintest outline left on the wall, as if it had never been there. My pulse thundered as I stumbled back into my grandparents' condo, unable to shake the feeling that something from that hallway had followed me, that it lingered in the shadows. I knew that Mr. Lynch wasn't gone. Not really.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
A weight pressing down on his chest, squeezing the breath from his lungs. Then the news. A crash on the highway. The same one they were stranded on. Multiple vehicles, multiple fatalities. His stomach knotted as he read the names and showed pictures. The older couple had died in the wreck. Their guardian angels. They had been driving home from visiting their son and daughter-in-law.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
Their truck had been caught between two semis. He stared at the screen, blood rushing in his ears. They had been spared. The old couple had not. The house felt lighter after that. The strange occurrences faded. The shadows weren't as hungry, as if whatever had been waiting had finally moved on. He wanted to believe it was a coincidence, that it was all in their heads.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
But deep down, he knew better. Some things weren't meant to be understood. Some things were warnings. And some things were meant to be feared. If something is watching you from the darkness, how do you know if it's meant to protect you or hurt you? Have you ever had an encounter with the Mothman? Tell us your story by sending us an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
Beware the house that keeps its secrets buried beneath the floorboards, like in this story inspired by Mary. When I was five, I lived in a nice two-story house in Greenwood, Florida. It was a small town, quiet and surrounded by thick woods that made everything feel a little more isolated. I loved it. At least I thought I did.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
It wasn't until years later, when I was 14, that I understood how evil that house was. I don't know why spirits were drawn to me or why I was drawn to them. But even as a child, they found me. Before we moved to Greenwood, I had an imaginary friend. Her name was Katie.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
I don't remember when she first appeared, just that she was always there, whispering in my ear, watching from the corners of my room. At first, she was my comfort, until the bruises started appearing on my arms and I woke up with scratches on my legs. My mother, a deeply religious woman, blamed demons and cast her out.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
She burned sage, read from the Bible, and prayed over me every night until the bruises stopped appearing. I thought she had saved me, but when we moved into the two-story house, I realized something worse had been waiting for us. At first, the house felt normal, cozy even. My bedroom overlooked the backyard, where a massive oak tree stretched its limbs toward the sky.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
But then, strange things started happening. People in town would ask my dad strange questions. "'How's your wife? Has she been aggressive? Has she hurt you?' The first time, he laughed it off, but it kept happening." Why would I be aggressive? My mom snapped when he mentioned it. I'm your mother. I would never hurt anyone. But we all noticed the shift in her.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
Some days, she was the mother I knew, warm, affectionate, humming hymns as she cooked. Other days, her face changed, her eyes dulled, emptied. She stared at me too long, like she had forgotten who I was. Her voice would drop an octave mid-sentence, stretching like it wasn't entirely her own. My parents started fighting all the time.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
When the fights got worse, I started hiding in my playroom for hours. The air in the house felt thick, pressing against my skin, making it harder to breathe. And then, I started seeing them. At first, just glimpses. Something tall and white standing at the edge of the backyard, barely visible through the trees. Then, dark figures in the windows, watching from the inside when I knew no one was home.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
Ellie I turned over expecting to see my mom but the room was empty the whisper came again this time from the closet I didn't move I didn't breathe the door creaked open an inch I screamed my mom came running but when she flicked on the light there was nothing there just my stuffed animals lined up neatly on the top shelf except for one a small porcelain doll I didn't recognize sat in the center of the floor staring at me with wide glassy eyes
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
Where did you get that? My mom asked, her voice shaking. I didn't know, but something in my gut told me I had seen it before. I just couldn't remember where. Then my mom started having seizures. The first time, she collapsed in the kitchen. Her body convulsing violently before going completely still.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
Her hands were twisted into claws, her mouth slightly open, as if she had been in the middle of speaking when someone stopped her. Mama? Mama? Mama, wake up. She didn't. I sat with her for hours, too afraid to leave, too afraid to touch her. Then she gasped awake. Her head snapped toward me. And for a moment, just a moment, her eyes weren't her own. They were black. One night, I was hungry.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
I called out to her. Mom, can you make me some fries? No answer. I walked upstairs and froze in the doorway of her room. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her body rigid. In one hand, she clutched a cross. In the other, she held something invisible, her knuckles white from the pressure. The air was wrong. My breath came out in a mist.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
Despite it being the middle of summer, and in front of her, so close I swear I saw its breath ruffle her hair, stood a shadow. It was grinning. I ran, straight down the stairs, straight out of the house. I waited for my dad to get home before we went back inside. I just pretended like I had been playing out there. When we went inside, my mom was in the bathroom, cleaning deep cuts on her hands.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
Mama, are you okay? She smiled. Mama's fine. Just hurt my hands. Later, I found out the truth. She had been clutching something glass and it had turned to powder in her palm. For five years, we lived like that. The house never let up until we finally moved. For the first time in years, the air felt lighter and my mother seemed better, although she was different.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
When I first arrived at my new college, I was buzzing with excitement and a bit of anxiety. It felt like stepping into a whole new universe. The campus was massive, filled with old brick buildings and towering trees. Everything felt so big, too big, like I was a tiny speck in a world I wasn't sure I belonged in.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
When I was 14, I finally asked my mother about the house. It had been so long I couldn't remember details, only the sense of dread. My mom sat me down and sighed. You're old enough to know now, she said. That house, it had spirits. They attacked the women who lived there, made them aggressive, dangerous. The husbands always left, or worse. I stared at her. So that's why you like that?
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
She nodded, her hands trembling. I'm so sorry I wasn't a better mother. I forgave her, because the thing in that house, it wasn't her. We still drive past it sometimes when we visit Florida. The house looks different now. The new owners changed the color, added a porch. But every time we pass, I swear I see someone standing in my old bedroom window, watching, waiting.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
I hope the new woman in the house is strong enough. I hope she sees the signs before it's too late. Because once you let it in, it never really leaves you. Can a place really change someone? Or do the things that haunt us always come from within? Did you ever have an imaginary friend?
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
This week's podcast stories were edited by Sarah Lukasiewicz, narration by Blair Bathory, audio edited and mixed by Fitz Harris, additional audio editing by Calvin Linderman, produced by Anna Villalobos, executive produced by Gil Gilman, music by Sapphire Sandalo and Calvin Linderman.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
If you have a story you'd like to submit, send me an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com Don't forget to watch the video version of Something Scary over at youtube.com slash snarled. And if you'd like to support the show and everything we do at Snarled, join our Patreon at patreon.com slash snarled.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
I was eager to dive into this new chapter of my life, but my excitement faltered the moment I met my roommate Clara. She had an unsettling presence. Her black clothes clung to her like they were part of her skin. Her hair, long and tangled, fell over her face, almost completely obscuring it.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
When I walked into our room, she didn't even look up, just sat there, hunched over a book covered in strange symbols. Her fingers were tracing the pages in a way that seemed like she wasn't reading, but instead was feeling the words. "'Hey, I'm Lisa.' I said, my voice a little too bright and perky. She barely acknowledged me. She lifted her gaze just enough for her eyes to meet.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
Her eyes, dark, glassy, unreadable, felt like they were studying me, cataloging me in some way I couldn't understand. Lisa? She whispered, as if testing the sound of it. She didn't look back up. I told myself she was just shy. Shy people are awkward, right? Maybe she just needed some time. But that night, as I lay in bed, the whisper started.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
soft at first, so soft that I almost convinced myself it wasn't happening, but then I couldn't unhear it. It was like the words were sliding across my skin, brushing against the air around me, unintelligible, but close, too close. My heart picked up, thudding in my chest.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
I wanted to ignore it, to chalk it up to the creaks and groans of the old building, but the feeling of being watched, it wouldn't go away." I told myself it was just her, talking to herself in her sleep. But the next night, it was worse. The chanting started again, rhythmic, almost hypnotic. I could hear the faint hum of it under my skin.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
The air in the room felt thicker, like something unseen was pressing in on me from every corner, folding the space around me until there was no escape. The walls weren't still, they were alive. Watching. I couldn't breathe right. It wasn't just the heat of the night. It was something else. I tried to push it out of my mind. I tried to pretend everything was normal.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
But one night, when I turned over in bed, I caught a glimpse of Clara's notebook lying open. The symbols on the pages were not just strange. They were shifting, barely, but not enough to make my stomach drop. The edges seemed to pulse, like they were breathing. I asked what it was, keeping my voice steady, even though my hands were suddenly clammy.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
There are places you shouldn't go, questions you shouldn't ask, and things that watch when you think you're alone. But if you're here, it's already too late. The walls have eyes, and they've been waiting for you. The following stories are all based on real accounts. First, you let them in, followed by borrowed time runs out. Finally, our last story, the walls have eyes.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
Clara didn't even flinch, just said it was a personal project. I don't know why, but something in me couldn't let it go. Maybe it was just curiosity, or maybe it was something darker, gnawing at me, telling me to know more. I started staying out later. I kept my distance, found new friends, tried to convince myself I didn't need to spend all my time with her.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
But no matter how far I went, no matter how many different places I sought refuge, there was always something pulling me back. A force I couldn't shake. It wasn't just the room or her. It was something else, something that followed me. One night I returned, determined to grab my textbook and leave, but the second I opened the door, I felt it.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
The air shifted heavy, thick, like the pressure in the room had doubled. I felt my skin tighten, my breath caught in my throat, like the room itself had its hands around me. Clara stood by the window, her back to me, so still she could have been a part of the wall. They like you, Lisa, she murmured, the words soft but pointed. A cold hand gripped my chest. Who?
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
My voice was barely a whisper, like I was afraid to ask. She turned slowly, her neck cracking unnaturally as she did. The movement wasn't right, too slow, too deliberate. And when her eyes locked onto mine, they weren't just dark. They were empty. Hollow. Like they had swallowed everything. And there was nothing left. No light. No soul. Just void. They want to meet you.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
Hi, witches. I'm Blair Bathory, and this is the Something Scary podcast. Thank you so much for being here, whether this is your first time or you're one of the brave souls who have joined us every week. Sometimes the world isn't as solid as it seems. Shadows stretch where they shouldn't. Whispers creep through locked doors, and the familiar becomes something else entirely.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
The candles in the room flared, their flames stretching higher than they should have. My breath turned to mist, freezing in the sudden cold that filled the air. I couldn't move. I don't want to meet them, I said. Clara's smile was different, wider, more teeth. That's what I said at first. The door slammed shut. I ran for the doorknob, my pulse pounding so loud I couldn't hear anything else.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
It wouldn't budge. I shook it, my fingers slipping on the cold metal. No, no, no, no, no. Then I felt it, a cold brush against my neck. It was like ice, sharp, alive, and it dragged slowly down my back. I jerked away, but the air didn't let me. It felt like there were hands in the air, pressing me down, holding me. I spun around. There was nothing there, but there was something.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
The shadows on the walls, they were moving. They stretched, bending in ways that shouldn't have been possible, not with the candles flickering. The darkness itself seemed to have a life of its own, crawling, reaching, twisting toward me. Lara, please. My voice was weak, tremulous. She tilted her head, eyes unblinking, too wide. Her smile stretched. You're already a part of it.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
Something brushed my ankle. I jerked back, but the shadows seemed to grow longer, faster, thicker. They poured toward me like they were living things, hungry. And out of the corner of my eye, I saw it. Something crawling out of the dark corner of the room. It wasn't walking. It was crawling.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
Its limbs jerked unnaturally, twisting, bending at impossible angles, like someone had snapped it into a shape it shouldn't have been able to make. Its body was wrong, too long, too angular, too twisted. It had no eyes, but I knew it was watching me. And when it opened its mouth, I saw the teeth, too many teeth, jagged and grinning.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
I opened my mouth to scream, but the sound was smothered by the whisper, the voice. It came from everywhere, a chorus, layered, multiple voices. Let's in. The thing in the shadows grinned, and for a split second I understood it. The pull, the temptation, a promise of power, of belonging, everything I had ever wanted all at once, without question. For just one second I almost let go, almost.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
But then a thought broke through, a sharp, desperate refusal. No. No. I wrenched myself free, pushing past Clara, stumbling toward the door. The shadows screeched, uncoiling, unraveling as I shoved myself into the hallway. The door flung open as though the house itself couldn't hold me any longer. I didn't look back. I ran straight to Jenny's room, slamming the door behind me.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
My whole body was shaking, my breath ragged and erratic. I spilled everything to Clara. The chanting, the shadows, the thing. But Ginny didn't laugh. She didn't smile. Her face darkened. You should have never talked to her, she whispered, voice low. She doesn't let people go. I barely slept that night. And though I moved in with Ginny the next day, I knew Clara wasn't done with me.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
A couple of things before we get to our stories. Go to somethingscary.com and check out our merch. If you don't see something you like, let us know by sending us an email from the site and we'll do our best to get it for you. And join us on Patreon because we love our super fans and want to chat with you over there.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
Books still fell from shelves whenever I passed my old room. Lights flickered when I walked alone at night. And in the silence, I still heard them whispering my name. Because for one terrible moment, I had considered saying yes. And they knew it. Can we ever really ignore the things that haunt us? Or do they follow us, waiting for the right moment to try again?
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
Have you ever got any stories that have happened in your college dorms?
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
You never really escape death. It's there. It watches, waits, and makes sure you understand that fate has a way of catching up. Like in this story inspired by Christopher. The road stretched ahead in an endless ribbon of asphalt, its double yellow lines glowing under the bright lights of a car's headlights.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
The desert night in Arizona was quiet except for the hum of the car and the howls of coyotes that seemed to be creeping closer and closer. The sky above was a deep, endless black, flecked with stars, vast and all-consuming. And then the engine sputtered. A hollow silence swallowed the car as it rolled to a stop on the shoulder. Hazard lights flickered in the dark.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
Daria gripped the wheel tight as she let out some explosives. Christopher exhaled sharply, already bracing for the argument. "'We talked about this.' "'No, you talked about this.' Her voice was clipped as she reminded him that she wanted to stop for gas. She told him they were running low, but he insisted on waiting to find cheaper gas." He scoffed, telling her that she was driving.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
If they were really that low, she could have just stopped to get the gas. Well, we didn't. She snapped. That was it. They were screwed. Stuck on the side of the creepy, deserted desert road. The hazard lights clicked. She shut her eyes and sighed. No service. No town for miles. Just an open stretch of highway cutting through a desert that felt suddenly endless. Then, headlights. Headlights.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
Before we get to our stories, I wanted to let you know that after this episode, Something Scary will take a much needed spring break. We have loved to bring you these podcasts and videos for almost 10 years, but the business has changed and we are looking at new ways to bring you the scary stories, legends, and tales of the paranormal that we all love. And from the bottom of my heart...
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
It had been at least an hour when a van approached, slow and deliberate, its high beams flooding the road. She didn't move. Neither did he. The truck pulled up behind them and idled, engine rumbling. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the door creaked open. A man stepped out, tall, broad-shouldered, slow-moving. Dario's pulse thumbed in her ears.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
He was coming toward them, face shadowed beneath a baseball cap. She reached for the door lock. Neither of them knew what to do. The man knocked on the window. She flinched. He gestured for them to roll it down. After a long pause, she cracked it an inch. You two all right? His voice was rough, but not unkind. He swallowed, ran out of gas. The man turned, motioning toward the truck.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
The passenger door swung open, and an old woman climbed out, wrapped in a thick cardigan. "'My husband's got a gas can in the back,' she said. "'We can give you enough to get to the next station.' Relief hit like a gut punch. Minutes later, the old man poured the last of a red can into their tank. His wife patted her arm, telling her they were lucky they showed up when they did.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
Christopher thanked them, profusely, promised to pay it forward. And just like that, they were all back on the road." Daria mentioned they never even thought to ask their names, but they were truly guardian angels. The road stretched ahead once more, and the desert swallowed them whole again. Then it happened. A massive shadow plunged from the right, blotting out the world.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
Something slammed against the windshield. Not a strike, but an impact that felt intentional. Wings unfurled, stretching farther than they should. The headlights flickered. For a split second, he saw them. Eyes, not animal eyes, not reflective like a cat's. Black, bottomless voids too large for its face. And worse, they were looking right at him.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
The car jolted as she swerved, tires screeching against the pavement. Then, just as suddenly, it was gone. The headlights cut into the empty stretch of highway again, nothing but the road ahead. Neither of them spoke. Finally, a few miles down, she broke the silence. Did you see that? He exhaled slowly. Yeah. They spent the rest of the drive trying to rationalize it. A bat? No, too big. A bird?
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
Maybe. But what bird was that big? A quick search suggested one real possibility, the California condor. But condors didn't fly at night, and they didn't move like that. They left it at that, a strange moment, a wrinkle in reality. What a bizarre night. But the story wasn't over. A few nights later, the air in their home felt thick, electric. Then came the knock at the door.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
She froze, looked at him. Another knock, louder this time, urgent. He hesitated before moving toward it. The air around him felt wrong, too still, too dense, like something was holding its breath. He pulled it open. Her mother and brother stood outside, eyes wide, breathing hard. They pushed inside without waiting for an invitation. There was something outside the house, her mother said.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
Huge, black, fast. Her brother swallowed. It swooped past us, barely missed the car. We thought it was on the roof when we got here. It reminds me of... He trailed off. But they insisted. Then he told them it looked like... The Mothman. You know, the harbinger of disaster. An omen of impending tragedy. Christopher cut him off. He knew the legend of Mothman, but just never thought it was true.
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The Walls Have Eyes
Thank you for letting me be your host for the three years that I was. It's been an honor and a privilege, truly. Stay tuned, and of course, stay scary. And from me, sweet screams. So, wanna hear something scary? Sometimes curiosity leads you to places that should never be explored. Like in this story inspired by AB Cake 25.
Something Scary
The Walls Have Eyes
What could he have been warning of? What tragedy? The room felt smaller, older. They all felt the same thing. This wasn't over. The nights grew longer, heavier. Shadows stretched wrong. Objects moved. Footsteps creaked in the hall when no one was there. Then came the dreams. Not nightmares. Something worse. Flashes of wings unfurling. Wide, unblinking eyes.
Something Scary
Borrowed Skin
Somewhere out there, the real Eve, Mary and Claire, were still missing. And last night, after all these years, I heard a sound outside my window. Tap, tap, tap. And when I looked, Eve was sitting on the broken tree branch, smiling. If something looks like you, talks like you, is it still you? Would you notice if someone you knew had been replaced? Do you know someone who was?
Something Scary
Borrowed Skin
Tell us your story by sending us an email at somethingscaryatsnarl.com Did you get a t-shirt or a blanket at our merch sale? Send us a photo of yourself and your new Something Scary merch and we'll post it on IG. They say the mind is the first to betray you, but sometimes it's your own reflection that lies. Like in this story written by Sarah.
Something Scary
Borrowed Skin
It began with a glimpse, a fleeting shadow caught in the periphery of Eleanor Chang's vision. But it lingered. It was there, then gone, like the whisper of a thought you couldn't quite recall. She told herself it was exhaustion, the kind that piled up from late nights at the office. Stress from work deadlines, the weight of long commutes. She ignored it.
Something Scary
Borrowed Skin
The hollow, gnawing feeling that something was wrong had to be her imagination. But the unease didn't fade. It festered. The first real encounter came unexpectedly. Eleanor had just stepped into the office, her coworker, Daniel, waving at her with that too friendly enthusiasm, his grin a little too wide. Back again? He asked, eyes squinting with an odd confusion. I just saw you leave.
Something Scary
Borrowed Skin
Her stomach twisted. No, I just got here, she replied slowly, her voice trailing off in disbelief. He stared at her, an uncomfortable silence hanging between them. His brows furrowed. No, Eleanor, I swear. I saw you walk out the door five minutes ago. You were wearing the same coat, same everything. Sie konnte nicht sprechen.
Something Scary
Borrowed Skin
Die Raum seemed to tilt around her, the floor beneath her suddenly unsteady, as if her feet weren't quite connected to it anymore. Are you okay? he asked, suddenly concerned. But Eleanor couldn't respond. The walls closed in on her, the air growing thick, stifling. That night she opened her phone to distract herself, scrolling absentmindedly. A new post from her friend Rachel caught her eye.
Something Scary
Borrowed Skin
A group photo from their dinner last week. Eleanor smiled at the image, her reflection in the glass shimmering under the restaurant lights. A perfect moment captured. But as her eyes drifted to the edge of the frame, she froze. There it was, another version of herself. Barely in focus, standing just outside the range of attention.
Something Scary
Borrowed Skin
Same coat, same hair, but the eyes, they were too wide, too empty, like hollow pits staring directly at her. Her stomach churned. It couldn't be. She scrolled through the comments. What's that in the background? The question was posted by someone she didn't know. The rest of the comments were all confused, asking the same thing. And no one had an answer. Her hands shook as she set the phone down.
Something Scary
Borrowed Skin
Aber auch die Luft um sie herum fühlte sich schwerer, dicker. Am nächsten Morgen steckte Eleanor in ihr Bad. Seine Reflexion grüßte sie mit der gewöhnlichen, ruhigen Freude. Aber als sie sich in die Brüste geschnitten hat, hat sie etwas bemerkt. Einen kleinen Krack. Nur eine kurze, hübsche Linie, die das Glas im Fenster verteilt.
Something Scary
Borrowed Skin
Sie hat sich instinktiv ausgeschlossen, ihre Finger auf die Oberfläche geschnitten, und eine Wave von Nausea hat sich in sie geschlagen. Und für einen furchtbaren Moment. Seine Reflexion ging nicht mit ihr. Es stand perfekt still. Augen geschlossen auf sie. Eine Fragung von einem Sekunden zu spät, bevor sie ihre jede Bewegung beobachtet. Sie schlug eine Waffe schnell.
Something Scary
Borrowed Skin
Ein Bein, das in ihrem Mund rief. Etwas war falsch. The cracks in her reality deepened. The photos kept appearing. A street camera photo she didn't even remember being in. She wasn't supposed to be near that part of the city. And yet there she was, standing on the corner, her eyes locked on the camera, watching herself. Sie hat versucht, es auszuwählen. Es war ein Fehler, eine Missinterpretation.
Something Scary
Borrowed Skin
Aber ihre eigene Stimme, die sie am 3 Uhr wiedergibt, war anders. Soft zu atmen, rhythmisch und langsam, als ob jemand nur hinter ihr stand, ihr jeden Ausdruck. Dann begann der Geräusch. In the middle of the night, when the world was swallowed in silence, Eleanor would hear it, her own voice, muttering from the darkness, whispering her name. It wasn't a trick of the wind.
Something Scary
Borrowed Skin
It wasn't the hum of the city. It was her voice, repeating words she had never spoken, sentences that made no sense, taunting her in her own voice, mimicking her thoughts. She stopped sleeping. She stopped eating. The terror consumed her. Then it came, the thing that wore her face. Elinor kam spät abends nach Hause, das Gewicht des Weltes schwer auf ihrem Körper.
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Like in this story written by Caitlin Kay. Meine Eltern sind sehr vertrauensvolle Menschen. Das kam sowohl als Heilung als auch als Verzeihung. Während meiner Sommerabend haben sie entschieden, dass wir einen Ausländer für Ausländer anbieten sollten. Ich war ein wenig müde von der Idee, aber meine Eltern haben insistiert.
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Der gewöhnliche Ruhe ihrer Wohnung hat gewechselt, das Wasser dick und schwer, als ob es auch auf dem Atem hängt. Sie fummelte mit den Türen, ihre Hände trübbelnd, und als die Tür öffnete, grüßte sie eine Flut von Licht, obwohl sie sicher war, dass sie das Gebäude schwarz geblieben hätte, als sie weg war. Da war es, sitzen auf ihrem Bett, das Ding. It was her, but it wasn't.
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It smiled, a grin too wide, too unnatural, stretching unnervingly at the corners of its mouth. The skin seemed too taut, the muscles jerking awkwardly like a puppet being forced into unfamiliar movement. The thing's eyes locked onto hers, its grin twitching. You took too long. It said, its voice raspy and hollow, distorted like a recording on the verge of breaking apart. I...
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Elinor schlug sich auf, ihr Hals schlug sich auf. Nein, nein, sie schlug sich auf. Stumbling backward, her pulse pounding in her ears, the thing rose from the bed, moving too smoothly, too deliberately, as though it had studied her every movement. Let me in, it whispered, its voice low, almost tender. Untertitelung des ZDF, 2020 Everything felt normal.
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She rubbed her eyes, blinking away the last remnants of her nightmare. The ache in her bones told her she hadn't been sleeping well. Her body was exhausted. Had it been a dream? A hallucination brought on by too many sleepless nights? Sie schlug ihre Beine aus dem Bett, ihre Beine an der kalten Fläche. Ihre Hand schlug, als sie für ihr Telefon reichte.
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Eine berühmte Bedrohung einer Routine, die versucht hat, sie zurück in die Realität zu schlagen. Aber das Passwort, es hat nicht funktioniert. Sie versuchte es wieder, die Zahlen blühten unter ihren trübselnden Fingern. Falsch, wieder und wieder. Die Panik schlug in, kalt und scharf. Etwas ist falsch. Ihr Telefon schlug aus ihrer Hand, klatternd auf den Boden.
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Sie hat sich in die dunkle Tür gelegt. Und da war sie. Seine Reflexion. Sie hat sich zurückgegrillt. Diese Zeit war sie nicht lachend. Was würdest du tun, wenn du deine eigene Reflexion nicht vertrauen würdest? Glaubst du, dass wir die Dinge, die uns verletzen, wirklich überleben können? This week's podcast stories were edited by Sarah Lukasiewicz. Narration by Blair Bathory.
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Audio edited and mixed by Fitz Harris. Additional audio editing by Calvin Linderman. Produced by Anna Villalobos. Executive produced by Gil Gilman. Music by Sapphire Sindalo and Calvin Linderman.
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Also habe ich mich bequem in meinem Raum gearrangt, um Raum für den neuen Gast zu machen. The day she arrived is one I can never forget. I heard my mother call my name from downstairs, urging me to greet our new family member. As I walked over to the door, Malia stood there with a wide smile, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm as she exchanged pleasantries with my parents.
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The moment I met her, I felt an odd, unsettling sensation in my stomach, though I couldn't pinpoint why. Was it just my nerves? But before I could think any further, my parents ushered her inside, giving her a tour of the house. My mother flung open the door to my room, pushing us to step inside. She gestured to the bed and informed Malia that this would be her space.
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Malia schlug mich an, ihre Stimme voller Dankbarkeit, als sie mich bedankte. Mein Stomach schlug. Das war nicht, was ich überhaupt wollte. Sie bemerkte, wie seltsam diese Situation sein muss, und ich bemerkte ihr, dass es gut wäre, obwohl mein Unruhe an mir schlug. Meine Mutter, mit einem letzten Lächeln, steckte aus dem Raum, leaving Malia und mich allein.
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I sat down on the bed, closing my eyes for a moment to collect my thoughts. But when I opened them again, Molly was standing just a foot away from my face. Her smile still wide, without warning. She leaned in until our foreheads were touching. Her voice was calm, almost too calm, as she whispered, Watch your back, Evelyn. This is my home now.
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Sie schlug sich langsam zurück, saß auf ihrem Bett mit dem selben unerfüllten Lächeln auf ihrem Gesicht fest. Ich starrte sie in störendem Gelächter, nicht möglich zu bewegen. Nach einem langen Moment stand ich endlich und begann, Richtung Tür zu gehen, nie Augenkontakt zu brechen. Aber bevor ich gehen konnte, stoppte Mollys Stimme mich. Sie schlug ihre Hände, eine ruhige Warnung in ihrem Ton.
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I'm gonna warn you once. Don't tell our parents. I nodded, too stunned to say anything, and quickly walked out of the room, my heart pounding in my chest. My mind raced as I ran down the hallway to the bathroom, but all I could think was, what the hell was that? At the time, I convinced myself to pretend it never happened, but looking back, I know that was a huge mistake.
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The night of Malia's arrival was sleepless for me. I was laying in my bed, eyes wide. I could hear the breath of Malia on my left and I wanted to cry. Malia had threatened me and I did nothing about it. Suddenly, I heard movement from Malia's side of the room. I froze, listening as I heard the sheets rustle. Then, her face appeared over me, but this time without that eerily large smile of hers.
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She had a blank expression as she stared down at me. Oh, du bist wach. Seine Gesichter verschwanden von meiner Vision und ich konnte hören, dass sie zurück in den Bett kam. Ich konnte meinen Augen starten zu waschen. Was hätte sie getan, wenn ich nicht wach gewesen wäre? Als die Tage passen, schaue ich Malia vorsichtig.
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Hi Witches, I'm Blair Bathory and this is the Something Scary Podcast. Thank you so much for being here. Whether this is your first time or you're one of the brave souls who join us every week. And Witches, I just wanted to come on quickly and say how thankful I am to have been your narrator for the last two and a half, almost three years.
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Sie hat nicht maliös gegen mich gefolgt, aber sie hat das seltsame Verhalten gehalten. Sie hat angefangen, meine Kleidung anzuziehen, obwohl sie ihre eigene hatte. Sie hat auch ihre Haare ausgeschnitten, um mir zu passen. Auch ihre Sprache hat sich sehr ähnlich zu meiner verändert. Wir wären bis jetzt identisch gewesen, wenn sie nicht einen Möwen unter ihrem Auge hatte.
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Dieses Verhalten wäre nicht so seltsam gewesen, wenn sie nicht den Komet am Abend ihres Aufkommens gemacht hätte. Es fühlte sich an, als ob sie versucht hätte, mich zu sein. Eines Abends, etwa drei Wochen nach der Aufkommens von Malia, ist es passiert. Ich bin in mein Zimmer eingefahren, um mit Malia zu treffen, um ihr Bett zu machen. Ja.
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Ich habe dieses Verhalten seit Wochen ignoriert, also war ich nur normal im Schlafzimmer. Ich hörte Mollys Schlafzimmer schrecken und ich fühlte ihre Präsenz über mir wieder einmal. Ich öffnete langsam meine Augen, wurde von ihrem breiten Lächeln gebeten. I believe my work will pay off. You've been a real help, Evelyn. I stared at her in confusion and she began to giggle.
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Well, I suppose that's my name now. I blinked. What the hell are you talking about? I sat up quickly, hitting my head against hers. She stumbled back a bit, grabbing her head. I held my own as I watched her closely. She looked up to face me, her eyes filled with malice. She grabbed for something within the bundle of blankets on her bed and then quickly lunged at me.
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I tried to grab her wrist, but her movements were too fast. I felt a sharp pain in my chest as she plunged something into it. Her smile was so large, it looked like the corners of her mouth were going to split. Sie hat das, was ich gesehen habe, als einen Kopfknife, aber schnell wieder geschlagen.
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Sie hat ihre Hand tief über meinem Mund gehalten, mich zu schüchtern, als sie ihre Angriffen weitergab. Endlich habe ich die Bewusstheit verloren, Mollys Plan zu vervollständigen. Von dieser Nacht an lebte Malia ihr Leben wie ich, wie Evelyn. Sie hat meinen Eltern gesagt, dass Malia verloren ging, ohne Folgen zu finden. Sie haben nach Malia gesucht, aber der Fall lief am Ende kalt.
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Hauptsächlich wegen der Tatsache, dass keine von Malias Ursprünglichen Kontakten tatsächlich existierten. Was mich am meisten erschreckt, ist nicht die Tatsache, dass Malia mein Leben verbracht hat, sondern die Tatsache, dass meine eigenen zwei Eltern nicht erkannt haben, dass ich diejenige war, die verloren ging. 3000 Actionfilialen in Europa.
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It's really been a privilege for me to tell you scary stories every week. It's been great working with all of the writers and the team to bring you weekly episodes. I've done over 100 now and countless scary stories. So thank you so much for being here. I really can't say that enough. Anyway, we have three new stories for you this week. Let's get into it.
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Have you ever left a comment for the podcast? If not, then how about doing that today? After you finish listening, rate and review right where you're listening. Or maybe share with a friend. Letting people know how much you enjoy something scary is the best way to share the love. And thanks for doing that. Sometimes we lose things and it's better if they're never found.
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Because when they come back, they're never quite the same. Like in this story inspired by Tiffany. Als ich ein Kind war, hatte ich imaginative Freunde, zumindest das, was die Älteren sie genannt haben. Geflüchtete, unbeleuchtete Playmates, Figuren einer aktiven Imagination. Aber als ich vier oder fünf Jahre alt war, hat sich etwas verändert. Meine Cousins haben auch angefangen.
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One night, my aunt needed a babysitter, so my mother set up a sleepover in my room. There were five of us, my cousin Olive and her three younger sisters, plus me. My baby brother stayed in the nursery. The youngest girls, Eve, Mary and Claire, shared the queen bed, and Sue and I, the oldest, slept on the floor. That was the night we met Blank.
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I never gave him a name, or maybe he never had one, but you'll understand why soon enough." Für den Moment nennen wir ihn Blank. Er war ein Magenta-Dragon, der Kind, den ein Kind träumen könnte. Zu rund, zu weich, mit kleinen, gefälschten Wingen, die ihn nicht tragen sollten. Seine rote, fettige Haare steckten in wilden Blüten aus und seine Augen, seine Augen waren seltsam.
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Nicht furchtbar, nicht gruselig, nur alt. Älter als ich. Älter als der Apfeltree außerhalb meines Fensters. I used to think he was just another imaginary friend, but that night I learned the truth. It started with the tapping. A faint, rhythmic tap-tap-tap against the glass. The sound wormed its way into my sleep, pulling me toward wakefulness. It's an emergency, Blank whispered.
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His voice was muffled, like it came from the bottom of a deep well. I rolled over groggy. Go away, Blank. We don't want to play. Olive nudged me, but it wasn't her touch that made me sit up. It was her sharp, gasping breath. The bed was empty. The floor was empty. Eve, Mary and Claire were gone. A sickening silence filled the room, heavy and unnatural.
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I could hear my own heartbeat, the whisper of my breath, the shadows stretched too long, pulling in places they shouldn't. Outside, the night was too dark, as if the world had been swallowed. Blank was crouched on the windowsill, perched like a forgotten stuffed toy. Beside him, the wind rattled the branches of the apple tree, the limbs swaying in some unfelt breeze.
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Ein tiefer Schmerz verschloss sich über mir. Die Luft fühlte sich zu dünn an. Mein Körper blitzte mit etwas, was ich noch nicht verstanden hatte. Angst. Ja, aber etwas Schlimmeres. Rekognition. Ich erinnere mich nicht daran, dass ich die Entscheidung gemacht habe, ihn zu folgen. Nur plötzlich stiegen wir aus dem Fenster auf seine Rücken. Der Boden war weit unten und die Nacht riechte anders.
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Manchmal ist das, was uns bekannt ist, nicht das, was es scheint. Ein Verliebter singt eine Lieder, die sie noch nie gehört hat. Ihr Lachen klingelt falsch. Seine Geräusche fühlen sich falsch. Doppelgänger, Doppelgänger. Das sind Namen, die wir den Menschen geben. Die Dinge, die in unsere Leben unerwünscht fliegen. Die Gesichter, die wir gebraucht haben. We tell ourselves it's just in our heads.
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Thicker, als ob die Luft Gewicht hatte. Dann kam ein Wurf. Nicht durch den Raum, sondern durch etwas tiefer. Wir landeten irgendwo, das nicht existieren sollte. Die Welt hier war sauber. Kein Wind, kein Rattern, kein Rattern in meinen Händen. Es war, als hätte ein Geräusch ausgelöst. Die Luft war dick, schmutzig und zu still. Als ob wir nicht wirklich bewegen, sondern stattdessen bewegen.
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Schatten streckten sich an unnatürlichen Angeln, flickern wie Kandellichten. Und in der Distanz war es ein Geräusch. Soft, aber wachsend. Ein rhythmischer Klicken, als ob etwas von innen im Dunkeln tappte. Dann sahen wir sie. Eve, Mary und Claire standen in einer Reihe. Zu still. Ihre Augen weit und glasig. Seine Haut sah normal aus, aber streckend. Die Farbe war zu fest über etwas anderes.
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Eve, I whispered. Slowly. Mechanically, her head turned. So did Mary's. Then Claire's. Their movements were too smooth, too precise. Like marionettes responding to invisible strings. A moment passed. Then Eve smiled. It wasn't relief. It wasn't recognition. It was calculation. Olive took a sharp step back. Something was wrong with them.
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Something was behind them. A shape shifting in the dark. Too many limbs unfolding. Eve took a step forward. But it wasn't a step. It was like she glided. I choked out, grabbing her arm. It was ice cold stiff, but she followed. They all did, but it was too easy. The thing in the dark didn't follow, because it didn't need to. We weren't stealing them back. We were bringing something else out.
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We scrambled back through the window, Eve, Mary and Claire clambering inside, their hands too sure, their breathing too quiet. I didn't think about it. I couldn't. My mind felt slippery, like something was erasing the details before I could hold on to them. I was the last one through. Olive was already inside, shaking, staring at something behind me. At the tree line, I turned.
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There, standing between the twisted branches, was a second me. She didn't move. She only smiled. I slammed the window shut. Blank stood at the sill, his strange eyes unreadable. The wind made his red feathers quiver. Ich habe dich vermisst, sagte er leise.
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I had a dream last night. About blank. A cold weight settled in my stomach. Me too. She remembered something. Something she didn't think she was supposed to. And then she told me. Eve, Mary and Claire. The cousins we brought back. They weren't the same. They look like them. They talk like them. They lived their lives like nothing had changed. But there were little things.
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But sometimes we know deep in our gut, the person beside us isn't the person we know. And they're definitely someone we cannot trust. First, some visitors never leave. Followed by it wears her smile. Finally, in our last story, it's already inside. So, wanna hear something scary? Borrowed Skin. Not all guests are invited and some have plans to never leave.
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The way they hesitated before answering simple questions. The way their eyes would sometimes linger too long. They were studying how to act human. The way they stopped dreaming. And then, one by one they moved away and cut ties with the family. They never came home for the holidays. They never seemed to miss us. Blank hadn't saved them, he had replaced them.
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Sometimes the cheerful holiday spirit is hiding dark shadows you can't escape. Like in this story inspired by Lorelai. The first night of December, the worst night of the year, I huddled in the corner of my bed, pulling the blanket tight around me like it could shield me from what was coming. Midnight had struck, and the air felt heavier.
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The house was alive, creaking and groaning in ways that set my nerves on edge. The sound crawled through the hallway, just beyond my door. My chest tightened as I held my breath, trying to make myself small, invisible. It wasn't enough. It was never enough. I froze as the tapping grew louder. My hand instinctively reached for the edge of the blanket to cover my face.
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But before I could, something grabbed my arm. I bit back a scream, heart pounding so hard I thought it would burst. Tom, Jax whispered, his voice low but firm. I could barely see him in the faint light of his flashlight, but I knew that look on his face. He was scared too, even if he wouldn't admit it. Get up, we have to go. I shook my head.
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Every year this happened, every year we played the game and every year it got worse. But no matter how much I wanted to stay hidden, I knew he was right. Jax handed me a flashlight and I gripped it like a lifeline. The moment we opened the door, the house felt different. The air was thicker, the shadows darker. The tap echoed down the hallway, fading and reappearing as if mocking us.
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Its voice came from everywhere and nowhere, high-pitched and grating like a broken toy. My stomach churned. The rules hadn't changed. We had to find it before sunrise. If we didn't, I didn't want to think about that. Jacks nudged me forward and we crept down the hallway. The floor creaked beneath our bare feet, each sound making me flinch.
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The flashlight beam trembled in my hands, illuminating the long corridor ahead. I tried to focus on the familiar surroundings, the family photos of the wall, the clock at the end of the hall, but even those seemed warped, distorted in the unnatural darkness. We checked the living room first. The tree was already up, its ornaments glinting faintly in the flashlight's glow.
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A journalist fresh out of college, I was eager to prove myself. My first major assignment seemed destined to thrust me into the thick of intrigue. A series of unexplained disappearances had gripped the nation. Prominent figures, not political dissidents, but oligarchs, celebrities and cultural elites vanished without a trace. I stepped out of the airport into the teeth of a Russian winner.
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I half expected to see the elf perched among the branches, grinning that awful grin. But the room was empty, silent except for the faint hum in the walls. The kitchen was next. Jax moved quickly, pulling open cabinets, yanking out drawers. I stayed close, scanning the corners, the shadows. My chest felt tight, like I couldn't get enough air. The clock on the microwave blinked 1237, still early.
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I stumbled, my knees hitting the cold tile. My hands shook so badly I dropped the flashlight, the beams spinning wildly. Jax hauled me up, his grip firm despite the panic in his eyes. He didn't say anything, just shoved the flashlight back into my hands and kept moving. We searched the entire first floor, then climbed the stairs to the second. My legs felt like lead.
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My head throbbed with every step. The voice laughed at us, echoing from the walls. Sometimes, I thought I saw it. A flash of red in the corner of my vision. a shadow darting past. But it was always gone when I turned to look. By the time we reached the basement, Jax was limping. Blood smeared his shin, though I didn't know how he'd gotten hurt. He wouldn't stop, and I couldn't either.
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The flashlight flickered as we opened the door to the basement. The stairs groaned under our weight. The air down here was heavier, colder. I could barely breathe. Jack's motion for me to follow as we began searching the cluttered space, the beams of our flashlights bounced across the room, catching the edges of forgotten boxes and old furniture. A sharp laugh cut through the silence.
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It taunted, the words dragging like nails down a chalkboard. I'm so close. A sob caught in my throat. I wanted to scream, to run, to do anything but keep going. But I didn't. I couldn't. We searched the basement, tearing through piles of junk, but there was no sign of Elf. The laughter grew louder, closer. My flashlight flickered again, and for a moment, the room plunged into total darkness.
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I heard Jax's sharp intake of breath. The light returned, dimmer now, but enough to see the terror on his face. He grabbed my arm and pulled me up the stairs, back into the house. The living room was silent, still, too still. My legs trembled as we staggered inside. I could see the faintest hint of light through the curtains, the first fragile glow of dawn.
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Relief flooded me, but Jax's face stayed tight. Something's wrong, he muttered. The curtains ripped open with a violent gust, and I gasped as the room was bathed in pale golden light. For a moment, everything was quiet. Then I saw it.
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It stood in the middle of the room, its plastic face grinning, its beady black eyes staring straight at us, its limbs twitched unnaturally, moving like a puppet with invisible strings. Jack screamed. The sound shattered the silence, and then the house exploded with noise. The walls shook. The air filled with a chorus of screams, mine, Jax's, and others I couldn't place.
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The last thing I saw was the elf moving toward us, its grin widening. Then everything went black. I woke to silence. Morning light filled the room. But when I looked over, Jax was gone. As I slowly moved through the house, I followed a red trail that led to the attic. I climbed, shaking, and found Jax in the corner. He was pale, frozen, and surrounded by them, the elves.
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The lead elf hissed at me, its voice sharp and cold. I ran. Outside the house was still, but I knew the truth. They weren't done with me. It was only the first day of December. What would you do if a simple holiday tradition turned into a nightmare? Have you ever felt like something innocent was watching you, waiting? This week's podcast stories were edited by Sarah Lukasiewicz.
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Snow fell in thick sheets, muffling sound and making the sprawling city eerily quiet. A biting wind cut through layers of clothing, and the streets felt devoid of warmth and humanity. I checked into a modest hotel, where the receptionist's clipped tone and indifferent glance heightened the gnawing sense of unease. That night, I lay in bed listening to the room settle.
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Narration by Blair Bathory. Audio edited and mixed by Fitz Harris. Additional audio editing by Calvin Linderman. Produced by Anna Villalobos. Executive produced by Gil Gilman. Music by Sapphire Sindalo and Calvin Linderman. If you have a story you'd like to submit... send me an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com.
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Don't forget to watch the video version of Something Scary over at youtube.com slash snarled. And if you'd like to support the show and everything we do at Snarled, join our Patreon at patreon.com slash snarled. Happy Horror Days and spooky screams to all of the witches out there and to all my spooky friends that join us every week.
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Thank you as always for being here and thank you for a great spooky 2024. I'll see you next year.
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A faint draft whispered through the cracks of the window. In the dim light, I noticed a spider weaving a web in the corner of the room. My grandmother used to say spiders brought luck, but its deliberate movements felt ominous, as though it spun a trap, not a home. Sleep did not come easily. At some point in the night, I awoke to whispers.
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They were faint, like a conversation drifting through walls too thick to allow sound. I sat up, heart pounding, but the room was empty save for the shadows stretching unnaturally long under the weak moonlight. I chalked it up to jet lag and an overactive imagination.
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The next day, I followed a tip to an unexpected lead, Anya Yickelbuff, daughter of Alexander Yickelbuff, one of the missing oligarchs. Anya was infamous for her extravagant lifestyle and penchant for drama on social media. Rumors suggested she might know more than she let on. Ani agreed to meet me at her family's luxurious apartment that evening. The walk to her address was surreal. St.
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Petersburg, a city I had always imagined bustling with life, seemed frozen in time. The streets were almost silent, the snow absorbing even the faintest sound of footsteps. Frost-encrusted windows glowed dimly, but no faces peered out. When I arrived, the penthouse was a monument to decadence, its marble floors and gold accents an almost obscene contrast to the icy desolation outside.
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We were talking about the substance and we dissected it and we discussed my love for this movie. Seriously, if you haven't seen it, go watch it. For those of you who want to join on our next month's Film Club stream, sign up now for the Storyteller Experience on Patreon. Go to patreon.com slash somethingscary.
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Mania greeted me with an air of bored detachment, her icy blue eyes scrutinizing me like a specimen. She was beautiful in a way that felt sculpted, almost artificial. We sat in a room dominated by a crystal chandelier, its light refracting onto the walls in sharp, angular patterns. My father, she said, twirling a strand of platinum hair. He's gone. People vanish all the time here.
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It's nothing new. Her tone was flippant, almost mocking. She seemed to relish my discomfort, her smirk widening when she noticed me shivering. I tried steering the conversation back to her father, but her answers became increasingly evasive. Finally, she stood abruptly. "'Come,' she said, slipping on a fur-lined coat."
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The thought of navigating the silent, snow-covered labyrinth alone was unappealing, so I followed. The streets were darker now, the faint light of street lamps distorted by falling snow. Shadows moved with the wind, stretching and contorting. I glanced back several times, convinced we were being followed. But each time I turned, the street was empty. "'You're nervous,' Anya said."
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her voice carrying a trace of amusement. I shrugged. My unease deepened when she stopped abruptly, her eyes fixed on my necklace, a simple silver cross that had belonged to my grandmother. That's beautiful, she said, her tone shifting to something sharper. Give it to me. I hesitated, taken back by her sudden demand and said it wasn't for sale.
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Her smile faded, replaced by an expression that chilled me more than the wind ever could. She said I didn't understand and tried to take it from me. Before I could react, a gust of wind swept through the street, carrying with it a whisper that seemed to come from all directions. Anya's face went pale, her eyes wide with terror as she turned.
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A figure emerged from the shadows, impossibly tall and draped in tattered robes that billowed against the wind. His face was gaunt, his skin deathly pale, and his glowing blue eyes fixed on Anya.
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Hi, witches, I'm Blair Bathory, and this is the Something Scary Podcast. Thank you so much for being here, whether this is your first time or you're one of the brave souls who join us every week. I wanted to say that we had a great time at our first Spooky Film Club livestream. For those of you who were with us, thanks so much.
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Whispering a distressed no, she backed away. The figure raised a hand, and frost began to creep around the ground, reaching for her like a living thing. When it touched her boots, she screamed. The frost climbed her legs, turning her veins an unnatural shade of blue that pulsed like frozen rivers beneath her skin.
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She writhed in agony as the ice consumed her, her skin cracking audibly, her body contorted. her cries fading into the howling wind. When she crumbled, it was as though her very essence shattered, glittering shards carried away like dust in the air. I stood frozen in place, too terrified to move as the figure turned his gaze to me.
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Silent Frights
His eyes were not angry, but sorrowful, as though he pitied me for witnessing what I could never unsee. "'Go,' he said, his voice reverberating in my chest."
Something Scary
Silent Frights
While so many of us are focused on celebrating the holidays with family and friends, we might not see the darkness creeping in, hitting when you least expect it, whispering from shadows, lingering in the cold, or brushing against you just as you turn your head. It's in the stillness of a quiet house that holds secrets we can't shake. Beware what waits in the silence.
Something Scary
Silent Frights
And then he was gone, leaving only silence and the oppressive cold. I stumbled back to my hotel, my breath fogging in the frigid air. The room felt no safer than the streets. Shadows seemed to flicker just beyond my vision, and the spider's web in the corner now glistened as if coated in frost. I tried to sleep, but the whispers returned, louder this time, and I could swear they spoke my name.
Something Scary
Silent Frights
At some point... I thought I saw Anya's reflection in the window, her cracked, frozen face staring back at me. Her lips moved silently, forming words I couldn't understand, but knew I didn't want to. When dawn came, it brought no relief. The spider's web now bore my silver cross, its delicate strands woven around it like a shrine. Beneath it, etched in frost, was a single word.
Something Scary
Silent Frights
Would you trust a stranger in an empty, snow-covered city? Would you leave behind everything to escape a haunting you can't explain? Who was the stranger that emerged to save the journalist? Sometimes the weight of history lingers in the quietest places, waiting for the light to reveal its shadows. Like in this story written by Sarah. Snow fell steadily in Kazimierz Dolny, an old town in Poland.
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Silent Frights
The air was quiet and cold. Bits of the cobblestone street peeked out from under the snow and glistened in the streetlights. The town had an air of timelessness, which was the very reason Hannah Kagan chose to move her family there, but she didn't expect it to feel so detached from everything.
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Silent Frights
The house was charming in its way, though its age showed in the creaking floorboards and the way the windows rattled in their frames when the wind passed against them. It had been vacant for years, long enough for its history to settle into the bones of the building. The Cagans, eager for a fresh start, had paid no attention to the stories their neighbors were reluctant to share.
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Silent Frights
Inside, the family busied themselves preparing for Hanukkah. The menorah, a polished brass heirloom handed down through Hannah Kagan's family, was placed in the front window. Its presence, a beacon of tradition and faith. The first candle was lit, its warm glow cutting through the cold and darkness. As the flames flickered, Hannah's thoughts lingered on the town's silence.
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Silent Frights
It felt deeper than the snow's muffling effect, as though the quiet stretched back decades, resting heavily on the house. She didn't like it. She brushed the feeling away, thinking they just weren't settled into the house yet. She turned her focus to the laughter of her children, Leah and Aiden, as they played dreidel by the fire.
Something Scary
Silent Frights
But later that night, after the candles had burned low and the family went to sleep, Hannah stirred uneasily. A sound, soft yet deliberate, drifted through the house. She wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and peered out the frost-rimmed window. At first, she saw nothing but the snow-covered street. Then, just beyond the glow of the streetlamp, a figure emerged.
Something Scary
Silent Frights
It was dark and indistinct, standing still among the falling snow, almost blending into the shadows. Hannah's breath caught, but when she blinked, the figure was gone. She turned away, her heart pounding. It's just the shadows playing tricks, she told herself, though the unease lingered. The second night of Hanukkah brought the same sense of being watched.
Something Scary
Silent Frights
After lighting the menorah, Hannah couldn't shake the feeling of something being out of place. The flame cast flickering shadows on the walls. She glanced at the window and froze. The figure had returned. She stood closer now, just beyond the glass, a dark silhouette blurred by frost. Its presence was oppressive, as if it carried the weight of countless winters.
Something Scary
Silent Frights
Some things are meant to be left undiscovered. First, snowbound vengeance, followed by the watcher hides in the light. Finally, in our last story, elves don't play fair. So, wanna hear something scary? Silent Frights. Sometimes even a thick blanket of snow can't cover blood and vengeance. Like in this story inspired by Robert of Tula. It was the winter of 2015 when I arrived in St. Petersburg.
Something Scary
Silent Frights
Hannah's hand trembled as she stepped back, her heart pounding. The flames on the menorah sputtered, as though responding to the figure. When she dared to look again, the figure was gone, leaving only a faint impression in the snow. By the third night, her unease turned to dread. She kept the children close, forcing cheerfulness into her voice as they lit the menorah.
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Silent Frights
The figure appeared almost immediately, looming outside the window, unmoving yet palpable. This time, Hannah thought she saw its head tilt, a slow, deliberate motion that sent a rush of blood through her veins. "'Sam?' she whispered, gripping her husband's arm. "'Do you see that?' Samuel frowned, peering out the window. He saw nothing.
Something Scary
Silent Frights
Maybe it was the frost or the reflection of the flames, but Hannah wasn't convinced. As Samuel turned away, the figure's hand rose, pale and skeletal, pressing against the other side of the glass. She gasped, startling her husband. When he asked what was wrong, she pointed, but the figure was gone." Hannah's doubt clawed at her. Was it real? A trick of the light? Or something worse?
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Silent Frights
Something tied to the house's long buried secrets? Or was she just losing her mind? The fourth night brought answers she hadn't sought but could no longer ignore. After Hannah hurried the family to bed early, She crept to the living room to sit by the almost extinguished candles. As the menorah's glow filled the room, the air grew heavy.
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Silent Frights
The temperature dropped, and she felt prepared to face whatever was coming. The house seemed to breathe, its silence broken by a low, mournful voice. Hannah froze, the voice threading through her like icy water. It spoke to her of a family that had once lived in that house and was torn apart during World War II.
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Silent Frights
They had been betrayed, their faith used against them, their lives extinguished in an act of cruelty that left its mark on the house. One name lingered in the air, Samuel Adler. Hannah's breath quickened. The voice grew louder and filled with sorrow. The flames on the menorah flared wildly, casting grotesque shadows that seemed to take on life of their own.
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Silent Frights
The figure outside the window was no longer still. It pressed its face against the glass. Its features blurred yet unmistakably human. A man's face, etched with despair. The frost on the window melted where it stood, leaving streaks like tears. A loud creak shattered the silence, and the door to the children's room swung open, Hannah ran, her pulse pounding.
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Silent Frights
To find Leah and Aiden huddled together wide-eyed, Leah whimpered, Someone is whispering in our room. Hannah held them close, her mind racing. She returned to the living room to find the figure gone and the frost reforming on the glass. The voice had faded, but its final words lingered in her mind. Light the way.
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Silent Frights
The Kagan family continued their Hanukkah celebrations with a deeper sense of purpose. The menorah's light, reflected in the frosted window, became a symbol not only of faith, but of remembrance, a way to honor the lives lost and to ensure their stories were never forgotten.
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Silent Frights
Though they never saw the figure again, Hannah sometimes felt a presence in the quiet moments of the night and would hear whispers in her sleep. It no longer scared her. It acted as a gentle reminder. The Watcher was gone, but his spirit had left behind a promise. That light, even in the darkest places, could endure. Would you keep lighting candles if a figure got closer to your house every time?
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Silent Frights
Do you believe you could tell the difference between a good presence and an evil one? Have you? If so, tell us your story by emailing us at somethingscaryatsnarl.com.
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Buried Screams
Didn't include that pre-branch or that moss-covered rock. Wenn der Wald entscheidet, schifft er sich langsam, patient, bis jeder Weg tiefer innen führt. They never found Alex, but a new video surfaced recently. It was posted from her old account, years after it had been deactivated. No description, no tags, just a black screen and the sound of leaves exhaling.
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The timestamp read April 22nd, but the year was next year. What if nature isn't just alive, but aware? Would you know if the ground beneath you was watching you? And if you love horror like we do, join us at patreon.com slash schnarl to get even more spooky fun. Sometimes when you disturb the darkness, the darkness follows you home. Like in this Guyanese urban legend inspired by Amarita.
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Buried Screams
The younger hunter crouched silently in a makeshift platform he had constructed in a tree, several feet above the forest floor. It was a deep night in the jungle surrounding Santa Mission, Guyana. und die Dunkelheit um ihn herum war fast komplett. So dünn, dass es fühlte sich an, als ob die Bäume Licht bewegen. Aber es war ein guter Abend.
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Buried Screams
Er hatte bereits zwei Labas getötet und war optimistisch, dass er noch einen vor der Nacht fangen könnte. Nur 22 Jahre alt, Joseph Brown war bereits ein verabschiedeter Hüter. Geboren und geboren in der Kirche von Santa Mission, hat Joseph erwachsen, das Wald wie eine zweite Sprache zu lesen.
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Buried Screams
Finally, my last story, some eyes don't blink. So, wanna hear something scary? Buried Screams. It's not what you hear in the woods that should scare you. It's who hears you. Like in this story inspired by Marcus. Als wir im vierten Jahrgang waren, gingen wir auf eine Klassenreise nach Islandwood, einem pflanzlichen Bildungszentrum, der sich in den schwarzen Wäldern von Bainbridge Island befindet.
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Und jetzt, er wurde sogar von einem legalen Firmen in Georgetown bezahlt, um Wildmehl für ihre Kunden zu hüten. It was around 8 o'clock, the hour when the forest begins to feel a little less alive. Joseph knew from experience this was the time the Labas liked to roam. The jungle was quieter now, as if the trees themselves were holding their breath.
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Buried Screams
He adjusted his grip on the shotgun and was preparing to climb down from the platform to retrieve the second Labas. But then, a sound... Irgendwo unter ihm, hinter dem Baum, scharf, subtil, ein Fußweg, eine Branche, die unter Gewicht lebt. Er pausierte, hörte. Die Luft hat gewechselt. Er hat hunderten von Nachts allein im Busch gelebt, und er wusste seine Sprache intim.
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Buried Screams
Dieser Geräusch war nicht normal. Es war nicht das Rutschen eines Pferdes oder das Stöcken eines Predators. Es war deliberate. Etwas, das mit Zweifel bewegt war. Und es ging näher. Joseph kept his 12-gauge shotgun at the redhead and slowly switched on the torchlight. The beam pierced through the thick blackness, slicing into the underbrush where the sound had come from. Then his light caught eyes.
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Buried Screams
Two twin pinpoints of eerie, glowy reflection just hovering in the dark. He expected the eyes to be low to the ground, maybe a nocturnal animal caught mid-crete. But no, they were too high, chest height, then higher. The beam slowly climbed until it revealed the full outline of a man, or what looked like a man.
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Tall, about six feet, and completely still, just standing there, staring directly at him. Joseph's chest tightened. The figure didn't make a sound, didn't flinch, didn't blink. Um rational zu sein, schlug Josef seine Flasche drei Mal ein, um zu sagen, ich sehe dich. Identifiziere dich. In der Wälder, es war ein einfaches, gemeinsames Gestütz.
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Wenn die Figur eine Person war, ein anderer Wanderer, ein Lokaler, sie würden antworten, etwas sagen. But the strange man remained silent. Not a breath. Not a word. Then Joseph noticed something even stranger. The eyes. They weren't reflecting light. They were glowing. Like a cat's or something deeper in the food chain. No human's eyes did that. Not like this.
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A cold shiver ran through Joseph's veins. The hair on his arms stood on end. His instincts screamed. This wasn't a man. He raised the shotgun and fired. The jungle erupted with the blast. A deafening boom tore through the silence, briefly illuminating the trees in stark, unnatural light. Then silence again. But not a normal silence. It felt wrong, hollow, pressurized.
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Buried Screams
There was no scream, no impact, no sound of a body hitting the floor. The echo of the gunshot was swallowed instantly by the thick, human air, as if the jungle itself didn't want the noise. Joseph didn't wait. Clutching his shaka, he climbed down from the tree and ran, sprinting through the bush, dodging branches, tearing through the brush, his breath ragged.
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Buried Screams
The two miles to his home blurred into one endless corridor of shadows and rustling leaves. He left the Labus behind, left everything behind. When he reached his home, panting and drenched in sweat, he told his wife what had happened. She listened quietly, then said something that chilled him even more than the silence in the jungle. You shouldn't have shot it. You shouldn't even have seen it.
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Buried Screams
The next morning he returned to the spot with about ten other men from the village. The Labas were still there, but that wasn't all. They found blood. Thick splotches trailing through the underbrush and a jagged path like something wounded had tried to flee but wasn't running straight. The trail led all the way to Kamani Creek, miles away.
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Buried Screams
But there was no body, no evidence of where the thing had gone. Joseph later told the attorney who had hired him to hunt. The man paled and gave an unsettling warning. You must stop hunting. I had a bad dream about you. That might have been the end of it, just another strange story from the bush.
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Human, or at least mostly, the bones were weathered, half buried and too clean, picked over by insects and scavengers. But what disturbed them most? There was no skull. Joseph crouched down and stared at the remains. We wanted to find the head, he later said. The head would have told us what it was, but there was none.
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They waited for any word of a missing person, a report, a name, but nothing came. The villagers began to whisper. Some said the thing Joseph had shot wasn't a man at all, but a mass U-Kuramon, a creature from folklore, said to haunt the waterways, hairy, human-shaped, sometimes helpful, sometimes hostile. Es wurde gesagt, Leute aus Booten zu töten.
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Es wurde gesagt, von den Ecken der Bäume zu schauen. Und dann begannen die village dogs zu verschwinden. Die Hühner verschwanden. Auch das Tier. Es gab Schatten. Eine tolle Figur. always just on the edge of torchlight, gone the moment anyone approached. Joseph, now 71 years old, still remembers that night with painful clarity.
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He says he was being buckshot, powerful enough to drop a wild cow in his tracks. No human he assists could have taken a direct hit and fled for Mayos. Not without screaming, not without falling. And yet, it ran and vanished. Although he's still a hunter, Joseph admits he's never gone out at night in quite the same way.
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He's killed jaguars, faced snakes longer than a man is tall, but nothing, nothing happened. Hat er ihn jemals gefreut, wie er ihn als Santa Mission gesehen hat? Er hofft, dass er es nie wieder sieht. Denkst du, dass der Dunkel Geheimnisse hat, die er von uns behalten will? Oder bringen wir die Dunkelheit mit uns, wenn wir reinsteigen?
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Buried Screams
Für die meisten Kinder war es ein dreijähriges Abenteuer mit Schmuck und Hiken und dem Lernen von Salmon. Für mich war es das letzte Mal, dass ich in den Wäldern sicher war. Es waren vier von uns, ich, Matt, Harrison und Jackson. Untertitelung des ZDF, 2020 Ein scharfer, metallischer Klick-Klick, als würde jemand versuchen, reinzukommen.
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Könntest du jemals wirklich die Dinge auslösen, die dich zerstört haben? Oder folgen sie, wartend auf den richtigen Moment, um zurückzukommen? Untertitelung im Auftrag des ZDF für funk, 2017
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If you have a story you'd like to submit, send me an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com Don't forget to watch the video version of Something Scary over at youtube.com slash snarled And if you'd like to support the show and everything we do at Snarled, join our Patreon at patreon.com slash snarled Well, witches, I hope you enjoyed this week's stories.
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Buried Screams
And let me know in the comments if you liked our new two-sentent horror story at the beginning. And like I said earlier, if you have one you'd like to share, leave me a comment or send us an email at somethingscaryatstarl.com. And I'll see you next week. Sweet screams.
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Buried Screams
Aber die Tür wurde von innen geschlossen, und es war niemand in der Halle, als wir uns angeschaut haben. Wir haben es dem Wind verurteilt, oder vielleicht eines der Bewerber, der sich anschaut. Aber ich sah den Blick auf Harrison's Gesicht. Er hat es auch gehört. Und es klingt nicht wie der Wind. Die zweite Nacht war schlimmer.
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Wir haben gerade unsere nachtliche Routine beendet, unsere Zähne in der riesigen gemeinsamen Bathroom. Sprinting barefoot down the hall like idiots. When Jackson dared us to sneak into the woods behind the lodge. Just for a minute. We'll be back before anyone notices, he said. So we slipped out with our flashlights. Through a side door near the mud run. The forest swallowed us whole.
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The trails were slick. The trees gnarled like they'd grown angry. Twisted by time. In etwa zehn Minuten haben wir ein Klärgerät gefunden. Die Sonnenlicht fiel in Schläge, alles blutig-grün. Das war, als Matt es sah. Was ist das? Er schrie. Im Zentrum des Klärgeräts war eine seltsame Struktur aus Stein. Es sah aus wie ein Karren.
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I sat silently in my tent listening to the sounds of snapping bones and guttural growls. When the sun rose and I peered out, all that was left were blood-soaked footprints leading right to my truck. Hi, I'm Blair Bathory and this is the Something Scary Podcast. Thank you so much for being here. Whether this is your first time or you're one of the brave souls who join us every week.
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Buried Screams
Steine, die wie eine krüge Tauern stecken, aber nicht wie alles, was ich je gesehen habe. There were sticks tied with twine, bone-colored things arranged in a circle. A rusted bell hung from a branch above it, motionless. Jackson reached out and rang the bell. I still hear that sound sometimes. Not a ding, not even a chime. More like a sharp whine, like metal screaming.
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It echoed through the forest. Then everything went quiet. Not late night in the woods quiet, but the kind that makes your chest hurt. No bugs, no wind. Just stillness. We should go, I said. And we did. We ran. Back in Room 203 we tried to pretend everything was normal. We didn't tell anyone, but we couldn't stop listening to every creak, every scrape.
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That night, just after midnight, something fell in the janitor's closet. The door was locked like always, a heavy padlock hung from the outside. But we all heard it. A shift, a thud, then silence. We sat up in our beds, not saying a word. At some point, we must have fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion. I woke up at 5 a.m. to scratching, slow and deliberate, from inside the closet.
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And something else, humming, a reedy off-key melody, like someone singing a lullaby through clenched teeth. I shook Harrison. As soon as he opened his eyes, the sound stopped. We sat there in the dark, too scared to breathe. I cracked the window for air. The fog rolled in, thick and cold. That's when the door opened. Es war Timmy, einer der Jungs aus Raum 210.
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Er ist reingeworfen und hat überlegt, wie früh er aufgewacht ist. Wir haben uns nicht interessiert, wie oder warum er reingekommen ist. Wir waren nur froh, jemanden zu sehen. What's with you guys? he asked, eyeing our pale faces. I told him about the closet, about the sounds, about the thing we saw in the woods. He laughed until we mentioned the bell. That's when he got quiet.
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My brother told me something once, Timmy said, about a thing called the Whistler. It lives in the Olympic Mountains. He said, if you hear anything whistling in the woods, you're already marked. It doesn't kill you right away. It waits, follows, gets into places it shouldn't. Like your closet. Stop messing with us, Matt muttered, but his voice cracked. No, listen, Timmy continued.
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It rings a bell so you hear it. Once. And then it comes for you that night. You'll hear it whistle before it takes you. But if it stops... Das ist schlimmer. Wir starrten alle an ihm, nicht atmen. Nur dann kam ein kräftiger Schrein durch das Fenster. Nicht ein Tier, nicht ein Mensch, sondern ein Geräusch, der den Fog zerstörte. Wir schlugen alle. Dann, scratch, scratch, aus dem Klosthaus.
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Wir warten nicht. Wir schlugen. Aber als wir den Knochen bewegen, klingelt es. Von außen. Keiner war in der Halle. We spent the rest of the night huddled together. Backs to the wall. Lights on. We didn't talk. Didn't blink. The next day, our teacher told us it was time to pack up. We didn't argue. We barely spoke. Room 203 had turned quiet and strange.
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Like the air itself didn't want to be there anymore. Auf der Busreise zurück, habe ich die Wälder geblurrt und Schrecken von Grün und Schatten gesehen. Sobald wir den Bind aus dem Eilenwald umdrehten, habe ich etwas in den Bäumen gefangen. Eine Figur, nur über der Bäume, groß, flach.
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thin perfectly still like it had been waiting i blinked and it was gone none of us ever talked about it again matt moved away the next year harrison stopped answering my text by middle school jackson switched schools and wouldn't meet my eyes when i pressed him at the grocery store years later but sometimes in the deepest part of the night i wake to a sound a soft whistle Slow and off key.
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Not outside. Inside. In my closet. At first, I thought it was my imagination. Then I heard the scratching. The quiet tap, tap, tap of fingernails on wood. And last week, I found dirt on the floorboards. Pine needles. Like something had been coming and going. I don't sleep much anymore. Because the Whistler waits. Not in the woods. Not in the mountains. It waits in the places that we feel safest.
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And I hope you enjoyed that two-sentence horror story at the opening of this podcast. If you have one you'd like to share with us, drop it into the comments or send me an email at somethingscaryatsnarl.com. We might even add it to next week's podcast. Manchmal ist der Boden unter dir nicht so fest, wie es scheint. Es schifft, atmet und erinnert. Der Wald wächst nicht nur.
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And once it finds a way in, it never leaves. Not until you do. What would you do if you heard a whistle in the dark? Could it have followed you home? Do you think it was in their closet? Tell us your thoughts in the comments The forest doesn't need to chase you. It just waits. Like in this story inspired by Japan's Dancing Trees and written by Sarah. Sie haben ihr Telefon zuerst gefunden.
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Gesicht in der Mosse, immer noch merkwürdig enthalten. Kein Blut, keine gebrochenen Brüste, nur ein Telefon, das dort saß, als ob es süßlich eingepackt wurde. Ein feiner Inbruch in der Untergröße, wo sie fallen oder knallten musste. Die Batterie hatte lange gestorben, aber nicht bevor 24 Stunden von Fotografie streamten. Die meisten von ihnen waren Routinen, schäbige Fotos von zerstörten Beinen,
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Reckless Commentary on insane moss density and that wide-eyed, over-caffeinated YouTube energy. Let's get primal today, fam! Happy Earth Day, respect the land, lead no trace, right? Aokigahara hat nichts auf dieser Insel. Ich schwöre. Die Bäume bewegen sich. Das Video hat die Runden gemacht. Reddit hat es frame-by-frame ausgewählt.
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Aber das letzte Video, das kurz vor Mittwoch veröffentlicht wurde, war das, was geblieben ist. No tags, no music, just a title. The forest is breathing. It knows I don't belong here. And then, in the glow of her headlamp, the sound of leaves shifting, the lungs drawing in a slow, shallow breath. After that, only silence.
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Sie sagten, ihr Name sei Alex, Backpacker, Solo-Trekker, besessen mit remote Trails und off-grid-Vibes. Yakushima-Inseln war ihr Erdzeit-Pilgrimage. Unbekannte Seeders, jahrhundertelange Routen, UNESCO-Level-Peace. Sie war nicht die erste Hikerin, um zu verschwinden, aber sie war die erste, um am 22. April zu verschwinden.
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Und ein Forst, das die Lokalen schreit, lässt dich nur weg, wenn es dich wählt. Sie sagen, es passiert einmal im Jahr. Eine Seele ist zurückgeflogen. Der Wald wartet patient und dann fliegt es. Alex hatte ihren Hike von Shiratani begonnen, folgendem markierten Weg. Zumindest zuerst.
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Die frühen Videos zeigten Sonnenlicht, das über mossige Bäume fliegt, Flüsse, die über Wolken wie aus einem Ghibli-Film fliegen. But somewhere around hour six the trail changed. Not dramatically, just subtly wrong. Markers vanish, trees bent at odd angles, as though leaning into whisper. A few had growths, bulbous knots or hollows that looked too much like eyes, like mouths caught mid-word.
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Alex laughed it off, calling it anime-level weird. Dann hat ihr Kompass angefangen zu spinnen. Das ist nicht wahr, hat sie auf der Kamera gesagt. Nervös. Sie hat den Dial zu lange gehalten, als ob sie wartet, es zu lösen. Aber es hat es nicht gemacht. Dann hat sie ein wenig gestürzt, als ob die Gravität für einen Sekunden nach links geflogen ist. Ihr Atem hat nur einmal geflogen, trotz des Heites.
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Der Wald hat stillgehalten. Sie hat ihr Telefon-GPS gecheckt, aber das Signal ist gestorben. Sie ist immer noch da. Das ist die Art von Ehrgeiz, die man mit einem Überlebensreise-Hike live streamen muss. Aber die Wälder sind kein Fan von Selbstvertrauen. Bei Twilight haben die Videos einen anderen Ton genommen. Weniger Kommentar, mehr Ruhe.
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Das einzige Audio sind Brüder, die im windlosen Luft fliegen. Die Flasche ihrer Schuhe, in einer einmal feinten Stimme, nicht ihres. Hast du das gehört? fragte die Kamera. No one did. She laughed weakly. Probably just an echo. Or a bird, right? The forest didn't answer. The lens shifted toward the trees. Gnarled trunks stood like frozen dancers mid-step.
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Er schaut, schreit und wartet auf dich. Jeder Schritt, den du nimmst, erwacht etwas, das geblieben sein sollte. There are places where the earth hungers, where the trees are hungry for more than just your fear. And once you've crossed the line, there's no going back. So, my spooky listeners, happy Earth Day, or should I say, beware. First, marked by midnight, followed by it breathes beneath you.
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One root twisted mid-air, curling as if it had been in motion. She paused, then muttered. I swear that tree was facing the other way earlier. No one responded. The forest isn't big on conversation. Sie hat weniger darüber gesprochen. Seine Atmung wurde lauter in den Rekordungen. Schallig, ungewiss. Sie hat unter ihrem Atem gesungen. Unzumutbar und schräg.
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Ein Video zeigte ihr, dass sie die selben selben, selben, selben, selben, selben, selben. Die Zeitplätze waren Minuten entfernt. Die Lokalisten nannten es Kotaimori, der Wald von schiffenden Körpern. Sie sagen, dass seine Rüste tiefer als Böden strecken, dass seine Bäume alles in ihr verbleiben. Dass am Erde-Tag der Wald wacht, nicht mehr ein Ort, sondern ein Wesen.
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Und wie bei jedem lebenden Ding, muss es füllen. Nicht auf Blut, nicht genau, aber auf Leidenschaft. Um 11.52 Uhr hat Alex das letzte Video gemacht. Die Kamera hat zu ihrem Körper geschlüpft. All das, was wir sehen, ist ein langsamer, Seite-zu-Seite-Schwingen, als sie aufwacht. Als ob der Wald sie schlägt, sie schlägt.
Something Scary
Buried Screams
There's movement up ahead, leaves shifting without wind. Branches twisting mid-frame. Not fast, just wrong. Then clearly, a groan, like wood flexing under weight. Except no one is stepping on it. The lens tilts. The trees are circling now, like a spiral. A quiet, subtle dance that only makes sense if you stop blinking. She turns the camera slowly, toward the trees, where something had been.
Something Scary
Buried Screams
Not a figure, just the echo of where one might have stood. Something rustles close. Too close. Her breath hitches. The trees don't move, but the shadows between them seem to deepen. Then, just before the footage cuts, there's the faintest impression of a handprint forming in the moss beside her foot, pressing doubt. The forest is breathing, she says, voice cracking. It knows I don't belong here.
Something Scary
Buried Screams
And then the footage ends. Search teams combed the area, found the pack. The stick was gone. No tracks, no struggle. Just the phone, perfectly placed, like someone had set it down or handed it off. People still hike there. Some try to recreate Alex's routine. Urban legends always attract the curious. But they say GPS fails in strange, specific ways.
Something Scary
Buried Screams
That the trees bend to form new paths behind you. And that if you listen, really listen, you're going to hear a low hum, pulsing underfoot. A breath. Once a year, the earth takes someone back. It's never the worst people. Not killers or oil executives. Just someone who thought the rules didn't apply to them. Someone who thought, leave no trace.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
I looked between them, my stomach sinking. There was something sinister in the air, something ancient. Like the very ground beneath us was aware of the deal being struck. Thomas whispered, asking him what he wanted, his voice low, as if afraid to ask. Kingfisher's smile widened.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
The words hung in the air like an ember, hot and dangerous. My heart stuttered. I looked at Thomas, seeing his shock, his confusion, but also the glimmer of something darker. Something inside him that stirred. You want me to kill my mom? Thomas whispered, his voice hoarse. Kingfisher nodded, the gesture slow, deliberate.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
No more pain. I could feel the tension building thick and heavy, like an impending storm. I had known Thomas all my life. And I had never seen him like this, torn between the allure of freedom and the horror of the act Kingfisher was suggesting. Thomas reached into his pocket slowly, pulling out a small bottle of pills, Xanax, the prescription that his mother took to numb the pain.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
His fingers trembled around it, but he didn't open it. He looked down at the bottle for a long moment, as if considering the weight of the decision. But then he clenched his fist around it, a look of determination creeping into his eyes. No, Thomas said, his voice shaking but firm. I won't do it. Kingfisher's smile never wavered. So be it, he said softly, almost too calmly.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
The temperature seemed to drop, the fog swirling more aggressively around us, as if the world itself was reacting to his words. In fourteen years, Kingfisher continued his voice now a low rumble.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
My dreams are usually weird, like flying through the air holding a dog, but this one started off differently. my family and I, along with Kate, were driving to some unknown place. The scenery was beautiful, full of lush, green, and tall trees surrounding a small, cheerful town. After settling into a cozy hotel, Kate and I decided to explore.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
Thomas blinked, confused. What could he have possibly meant? Kingfisher's eyes glinted behind his red tinted glasses, burning with a fire that was both cold and hot at once.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
The words pierced through the fog, each one a searing ember that lodged itself deep in my chest. I could see the horror on Thomas' face, the way his hands trembled as he gripped the pill bottle harder. He looked at the ground, his face pale. What do you want from me? Thomas asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Why me? Kingfisher's smile never faltered.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
A fire seemed to burn behind Kingfisher's eyes, something ancient and powerful, a force that no one could outrun. His presence was suffocating, his influence like the weight of a curse. No, Thomas said, his voice finally breaking through the fog. I won't let you control me. Kingfisher's smile shifted, darkening.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
With that, he turned and walked into the fog, his form swallowed by the mist. Air seemed to lighten, but the chill remained. I looked at Thomas, his face pale and his hand still gripping the pill bottle. He stared after Kingfisher for a long time, as if waiting for him to return. I don't know if I made the right choice, Thomas said quietly, his voice filled with doubt.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
We stood there for a long while, the fog pressing in around us like a blanket of fire, hot and suffocating. Eventually, Thomas knelt by his father's grave, setting down the Siberian irises that he had brought with him. He whispered softly, "'Rest easy, Pops.'" We walked back through the cemetery, the fog now parting like the curtains of a stage, revealing the church in the distance."
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
As we approached, Thomas turned to me, his face filled with the weight of everything that had happened. But there was nothing we could do. The deal had been made, and the price would come in due time. And so for the next 14 years, Thomas lived a life of success, happiness, and fortune. But as the 15th year approached, I couldn't shake the feeling that Kingfisher's curse would catch up with him.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
And when it did, it would consume everything in its path. Can a decision made in the moment change the rest of your life? Do you believe curses can be avoided or are they inevitable?
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
This week's podcast stories were edited by Sarah Lukasiewicz, narration by Blair Bathory, audio edited and mixed by Fitz Harris, additional audio editing by Calvin Linderman, produced by Anna Villalobos, executive produced by Gil Gilman, music by Sapphire Sindalo and Calvin Linderman. If you have a story you'd like to submit, send me an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
Don't forget to watch the video version of Something Scary over at youtube.com slash snarled. And if you'd like to support the show and everything we do at Snarled, join our Patreon at patreon.com slash snarled.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
At some point, I turned around and I realized she wasn't with me anymore. I was alone on a street corner. I wandered into this abandoned building with dark black walls, a pale gray door, and bright windows lining the walls. As I moved toward a window to look outside, I felt someone behind me. I turned around and saw them, a man and a woman, both giving off the creepiest, most unsettling vibes.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
The woman was average height, dressed in a short black dress, her long black hair obscuring her face. The man wore a black suit towering over her. His face, I could see it, but it was like my brain refused to remember the details. I turned back to the window to call for help, but suddenly I was outside again. The rest of the trip was a nightmare. Our car got hit. We got lost.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
My family fought over everything. And through it all, the man was there, getting closer to me each time. No matter where I went, I couldn't shake him. Then, after one particularly bad incident, I turned around, and there he was, right in front of me. The aura of evil surrounding him was suffocating. I couldn't breathe, couldn't move. That's when I woke up. Shaking, I grabbed my phone.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
It was 3.26 a.m. I set it down, brushed off the dream, and went back to sleep. But the nightmare didn't end. This time, I was back in my apartment. I was sitting on the couch watching TV when my mom called me from the kitchen. She asked me to grab something from her room. Her door is by the bathroom, so I said, "'Sure.'" But halfway there, I forgot what she wanted and went back to ask.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
Hi, witches. I'm Blair Bathory, and this is the Something Scary podcast. Thank you so much for being here, whether this is your first time or you're one of the brave souls who join us every week. Sometimes the line between our world and the world of darkness is thinner than we realize. In moments of weakness or curiosity, we may unknowingly draw the attention of evil forces we don't understand.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
She was gone. I didn't think much of it and went to my room instead. My brother Aiden was there. We sat on his bed, talking about random stuff, like whether stuffed animals are necessary for society. Then I started feeling uneasy and moved to sit closer to him. That's when we came out from under my bed. The girl grabbed Aiden's leg, trying to drag him under with her.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
She had pale gray skin, her blood-red eyes wide and unblinking, and the blankest expression I'd ever seen. Aiden screamed, and I grabbed his wrist, holding on as hard as I could. Kicking at her, I managed to break her grip, and she retreated back under the bed. I told Aiden to stay put and ran to get my mom and stepdad. But then I woke up. I thought it was real this time.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
I heard my baby sister crying and got up to check on her. But something felt off. I turned to Aiden and asked, Does Journey stay in Mom's room? He nodded. Then the dog started growling at the door. I told Aiden to stay in bed, but I couldn't fall back asleep. That's when I saw it. A clawed hand reaching around the doorframe. The gray skin and black nails were unmistakable. It was him. He was here.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
My fear turned to anger, and I yelled, Leave me alone! I'm done with your games! And then I woke up for real. I checked the time again, 3.46 a.m. How could something that felt like days only take 20 minutes? The next morning I told my mom. She took me to my Nana's and they told me everything. Every woman in my family had had dreams involving the devil.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
My family is deeply religious and they believe he targets us because of our faith. Nana said my fighting back was a sign of my faith protecting me. Then Nana shared a horror I couldn't unsee. She rolled up her sleeve and showed me a scar on her upper arm. It was jagged, with faint claw-like marks. This, she said, her voice trembling, is from him.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
She explained that the devil tries to break into the real world through our dreams, and sometimes the boundary between the two becomes blurred. The scar was from the same clawed hand I had seen in my dream. If it was a dream, but I learned the horrible truth, it was more likely reality. You're lucky you fought back, Nana said, placing a hand on mine.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
If you'd let him into your room, things could have been much worse. It's been a year since that night. I haven't had a dream like it again, but I still feel like I'm never alone. Sometimes I catch myself looking over my shoulder, expecting to see him. My family says it's normal and that one day I might see him in broad daylight. I hope they're wrong.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
I can't help but wonder what would have happened if I had let him into my room that night. Would I still be here to tell you this story? Have you ever had a dream that felt too real to ignore? What would you do if you felt an evil presence watching you? Hi, witches. I just wanted to come on real quick and ask if you've checked out our new merch line called Camp Scary.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
We have all kinds of really cool things, mugs, journals, and even really comfy, cozy blankets. Let me know in the comments if you've bought any of our new merch, and if not, go to somethingscary.com and get some now. Some urban legends are better left undisturbed, especially when they end in revenge, like in this story inspired by Sarah.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
The ferry to Okai Islands in Japan was crowded but strangely quiet. Avery adjusted her camera strap, watching the mist roll off the sea. As a travel vlogger, she had filmed in some remote locations, but something about the Okai Islands felt different. The locals' warnings about the high notami lingered in her mind. A fiery ghost? It sounded perfect for her next spooky video.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
When she docked, Avery rented a small cabin on a hill overlooking the town of Nishinashima. The locals were welcoming, but weary of her purpose. You shouldn't stay out after dark, an elderly woman at the market warned. Her voice was low, her expression worried. That's when the Hinotama appears. Its fire doesn't just burn fields, it consumes lives.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
It's all a warning that some doors should never open, or it could all be to your own detriment. First, dreams that invite the devil, followed by embers of revenge. Finally, in our last story, the cost of freedom. So, wanna hear something scary? The Devil's Arrival Sometimes the devil doesn't knock on your door, he slips into your dreams. Like in this story inspired by Justine. Hello there.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
Avery thanks her, brushing off the warning as superstition. She had heard similar tales on her travels, and they always made for great content. Yet as she walked back to her cabin, her steps slowed. The woman's words echoed in her mind, mixing unease with excitement. Her first night in the cabin was uneventful, save for the sound of distant waves crashing against the cliffs.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
She spent the next day exploring the island, capturing footage of its rugged beauty and interviewing locals about the legend. There was a woman long ago, a fisherman told her, pausing as he repaired his net. She was accused of stealing food during a famine. They burned her alive, right there in the fields.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
Her spirit became the Hinotama, a ball of fire that appears when people's hearts are full of anger or grief. Avery leaned in, intrigued. and it sets fires as a revenge? He nodded, saying, sometimes it's just a warning, but if you don't respect it... He didn't finish the sentence, his lips pressing into a thin line.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
That evening, Avery reviewed the footage as the sun went down, as darkness stretched across the cabin and a chill crept in. She lit a few candles for ambiance and just a little bit of warmth, and then she noticed something odd... In the corner of her camera frame from earlier that day, a faint light hovered above a distant field. It was spherical, glowing faintly red.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
She rewound and played the clip again. The light didn't move like a reflection or lens flare. It almost seemed alive. Avery's curiosity overrode her unease. Ignoring the fisherman's warnings, she grabbed her gear and headed out. The air was colder than she expected, and the forested path to the field was unnervingly quiet. Even the crickets seemed to hold their breath.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
When she reached the edge of the field, she saw it. A small, glowing orb floating a few feet above the ground. Her heart raced as she raised her camera. "'This is incredible!' she whispered as she recorded the fiery apparition. The orb pulsed, its light growing brighter, almost as if it had heard her." Suddenly, the temperature around her spiked.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
Avery gasped, stepping back as the orb expanded into a blazing sphere. Flames erupted, licking at the dry grass and spreading faster than seemed natural. She stumbled, the heat searing her skin even from a distance. "'Stop!' she shouted, though she wasn't sure who or what she was talking to. Her voice quivered with fear, her earlier excitement now replaced by raw terror."
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
The fire roared in response, twisting into shapes that almost resembled a face, eyes hollow with rage, a mouth stretched wide in a silent scream. Avery's breath hitched as the face leaned closer, the flames distorting into jagged tendrils that seemed to reach for her. Adrenaline kicked in. She turned around and ran, her camera swinging wildly at her side.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
Smoke filled the air, choking her lungs as the fire consumed the field behind her. The acrid scent of burning grass and something darker, something almost flesh-like, clung to her nostrils. When she finally reached the safety of the road, she collapsed, coughing and gasping for air. Her trembly hands clutched the camera like a lifeline. The fire had stopped as abruptly as it had started.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
Turning back, she saw the field smoldering, the glowing orb now hovering at its center, smaller and dimmer than before. But the sight of it made her nauseous. It felt like a predator watching its prey. Avery didn't sleep that night. She uploaded the footage to her laptop, her hands trembling as she reviewed the fiery chaos. When she played the clip, the orb was gone.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
The flame still burned in the video, but the Hainotama was nowhere to be seen. The next morning, a knock at her door startled her awake. It was an elderly woman from the market, her expression grim. The fire spread to the village, she said. Two homes were burned. No one was hurt, but... You must leave. You've angered it. Avery tried to explain what she saw, but the woman shook her head.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
You didn't listen. The Hinotama feeds on those who seek it. If you stay, it will return. Her voice softened. Some spirits can't be appeased. Reluctantly, Avery packed her things and headed for the ferry. As she boarded, she glanced back at the island, its cliffs shrouded in mist. Regret gnawed at her, not just for the homes lost, but for her own recklessness.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
She vowed to leave the footage untouched, to keep the memory of the Hainautama to herself. Yet, as the fairy pulled away, a chill shot through her veins. In the distance, a faint, fiery glow hovered above the hill where her cabin stood. It flickered once, twice, before solidifying into the unmistakable shape of a face. Watching. Waiting. Do you believe some legends hold a darker truth?
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
Would you risk your safety to grab a viral video? Hi, witches. I wanted to come on and remind you that we have a new Patreon tier where I'll be doing a live stream talking about horror movies every month. It's our monthly film club and you can join me January 29th this month. I haven't announced the horror movie we're talking about yet, but I will soon.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
And if you want to do stuff with Stephanie and see other perks and events, please join patreon.com slash something scary as a paid member to see all that stuff now. Some choices echo through time and some curses never fade, no matter how hard you try to outrun them. Like in this story inspired by Sam Morris.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
A cold fog wrapped itself around the cemetery, the gravestones barely visible through the haze. The early morning air clung to me, sharp and biting, but it didn't seem to bother Thomas. He stood motionless by his father's grave, his breath a faint mist in the air.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
The heavy weight of the situation seemed to smother us both, and I couldn't shake the feeling that something dark was waiting to rise from the ground itself. It had been a long, exhausting night. We had just buried his father, the man who had never truly been there for Thomas, but who Thomas had still loved in his own way.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
The loss should have been a relief, but there was something far more unsettling about the way the air seemed to thicken around us. It was as though the world itself was holding its breath, waiting. Then slowly he manifested. Ello Kingfisher was nothing like the other fortune tellers we'd encountered in the past. His long, black coat billowed around him like the cloak of some forgotten phantom.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
My name's Justine, and this is a story that's haunted my nana, my mom, and now me. No one else knows about it, but I finally found the courage to share it with you. I've always been a night owl. Most nights, you'll find me on my laptop or chatting with my girlfriend, Kate. But one night, I fell asleep early, something which is rare for me.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
And his round, red-tinted glasses glowed in the fog. There was a heaviness about him, like the world itself had been bent around his presence. His smile was knowing, too knowing, and it made the hairs on my neck stand on end. His very appearance sent a chill through me that had nothing to do with the cold.
Something Scary
Dancing with the Devil
Kingfisher said, his voice deep and smooth. The words hung in the air like smoke, curling around us, suffocating. Thomas stiffened, his hands trembling by his sides when he asked who was there. He glanced at me, but I didn't have an answer. None of us had asked for this. Kingfisher chuckled softly, a dark sound that seemed to burn through the fog. Does it matter?
Something Scary
Dead Awake
A voicemail played without her touching it. It was breathing again. But this time, a second voice whispered beneath it, not to her, but about her.
Something Scary
Dead Awake
She said my name. Rita pressed her phone to her ear. Who are you? She whispered. A long pause. Then softly.
Something Scary
Dead Awake
She dropped the phone. It landed screen up. The call was still live. She stared. And for a moment, in the reflection on the cracked screen, she wasn't alone. When the police arrived two days later, the house was quiet. No signs of forced entry. No signs of struggle. Just a single, unlocked door to the attic. Its hinges creaking softly in the wind. Veda's phone sat on the nightstand.
Something Scary
Dead Awake
One missed call. Free 30 a.m. There was a voicemail, two seconds long, breathing.
Something Scary
Dead Awake
What if the memories that are chasing you, haunting you, aren't just memories, but something that's alive? Now, an email straight from a listener, Ethan. Hello, my name is Ethan. I have a story that happened to my siblings, Nathan, my twin brother, Natalia, our big sister, Levi, our baby brother, and me. It all started when I was six years old.
Something Scary
Dead Awake
We lived in Galveston in a quiet suburban neighborhood. There was a park next to our house and a lake where we went crabbing. It seemed like the perfect place to grow up. That changed the night Nathan woke up screaming. I thought it was for no reason until he told us there was an animal head floating around him and something trying to rip his blanket off.
Something Scary
Dead Awake
My mom ran in, thinking it was a nightmare, but Nathan swore it was real. I didn't believe him either, but I let him sleep in my bed anyway. A few nights later, I woke up to a strange blue light glowing on the wall. When I turned around, I saw a girl, about my age, glowing and floating in the air, like she was lying down. Something about her felt calm. But I was still scared.
Something Scary
Dead Awake
I've always been afraid of things I couldn't explain. I forced myself to sleep with that eerie blue light still glowing on the wall. In the morning, I told Nathan what I saw, and he believed me immediately. That night, we both slept on the top bunk, too scared to fall asleep. We pulled the blanket over us, but eventually drifted off. We shouldn't have.
Something Scary
Dead Awake
Not long after, we woke up to something moving on top of the blanket. We saw small footprints, clear as day, pressing down on the covers. We yanked them down to see what it was, but nothing was there. When we told our mom, she said it was probably spirits coming through our windows since we didn't have any blinds. The scariest thing happened not long after that.
Something Scary
Dead Awake
One night, Nathan and I were woken up by Levi screaming. We looked over and saw a tail shadow of a woman with slicked back hair pulling him by the feet. He was kicking and crying. Half of his body lifted off the bed. The second our mom walked in, the shadow disappeared. But we know what we saw. There were strange things too.
Something Scary
Dead Awake
Nathan once caught on camera going into the playroom, turning the TV to static, then falling asleep. He had no memory of it, and I remember waking up in the same room with no idea how I got there. We moved out a month later. Sometimes, I wonder what would have happened if we had stayed a little longer. Sometimes it's not the place that's cursed, but the choice you make when you get there.
Something Scary
Dead Awake
Like this story inspired by Lego Boy, based on a Hong Kong urban legend in honor of Asian American and Pacific Islander Heritage Month. It happened in December of 1989. Late one night, a restaurant in Kowloon received a call for delivery. The customer ordered four portions of beef chow fun. That amount wasn't unusual. Maybe a late-night group of mahjong players or shift workers needing dinner.
Something Scary
Dead Awake
It started with a dumb push notification. Warning. Approaching an active spiritual site. Proceed with caution. Lewis snorted. Another clout-chasing horror app. His cousin Mateo had sent it over last week with a skull emoji. And a bro tried this out at night. LOL. Supposedly, it used GPS to detect Latin American legends. Just like La La Lona, El Cuca, and of course, La Ma La Roja. That one stuck.
Something Scary
Dead Awake
The name curled around something in his memory, half-formed and sour. His abuela used to mutter it after too much wine, fingers twitching at her rosary. If you see her at the crossroads, don't stop. Don't look. Just keep driving. Luis had laughed then. Now he was alone. Halfway down a forgotten road outside Albuquerque, the city lights long behind him.
Something Scary
Dead Awake
The desert stretched wide and empty, too quiet for midnight. The sky was too big, the kind that made you feel like something could drop out of it and nobody would hear you scream. Another ping. You are near La Mala Roja. Crossroads ahead. Do not stop.
Something Scary
Dead Awake
He turned the volume down and tried not to glance at the map, but the GPS had started acting weird, recalculating constantly, spinning him in loops. The delivery address kept changing coordinates. All roads led here. Then up ahead he saw it. A fork in the road. Old pavement, cracked and uneven. flaked by dead brush and rusted fencing. No lights, no signs, and in the center of the fork, a shape.
Something Scary
Dead Awake
Human, maybe, still as a scarecrow, wrapped in black, with hair so long it looked like it was being held down by gravity. Louis slowed without realizing. He blinked. She vanished. Then something brushed his window, too fast to see, too real to ignore. He flinched back. She was there, outside, inches from him.
Something Scary
Dead Awake
He couldn't see her face, but he felt her watching, felt his stomach drop, cold fingers tugged behind his eyes. He hit the brakes, the car jerked sideways, tires biting gravel. When he looked again, gone. But then came the sound. Click. The back seat light turned on. She was inside. Click. Lewis scrambled out of the car, leaving the engine running, heart smashing against his ribs.
Something Scary
Dead Awake
He ran without direction, lungs aching, rocks biting through his sneakers. He didn't stop until he saw headlights, faint and flickering like a dying candle. An old man in a dusty Ford opened the passenger door without a word. Luis got in, shaking. Neither of them spoke. The radio hissed static. The dashboard smelled like cigarettes and dried flowers.
Something Scary
Dead Awake
The man dropped him off at a gas station 20 minutes later and drove away. Inside, Luis tried calling Mateo. The signal cut in and out, stretching each ring into a warped tone. When it finally connected, Mateo's voice came through tight, hoarse. Their mom had died. A stroke, out of nowhere. Just after midnight. Luz hung up and leaned against the bathroom door, chest hollow. His fingers went numb.
Something Scary
Dead Awake
His abuela's warning came back in pieces. If you see her, someone you love will die. Don't stop. Don't look. He didn't dream for two nights. Then he started seeing her again. Not on the road, but in mirrors. Reflections. Behind bus windows. Half-seen in elevator glass. Always just behind him. Always in black. Sleep felt like drowning.
Something Scary
Dead Awake
He went to a priest, even though he hadn't been in church in years. The man listened without interrupting. When Louis finished, the priest rubbed a thumb across his lips and crossed himself. He didn't offer comfort, just a warning. You don't unsee her. Lewis started avoiding roads after dark, didn't take shifts past 10, didn't even look at crosswalks too long. But it didn't matter.
Something Scary
Dead Awake
The signs came anyway. One night, while brushing his teeth, he looked up and saw two streetlights intersecting behind him in the mirror. His own bathroom had become a fork in the road. He dropped the toothbrush, didn't pick it up. The dream returned that night. He was standing at the fork again, but someone else was there now. Mateo, still, pale, eyes like static.
Something Scary
Dead Awake
She stood behind him, and for the first time, she lifted her face. It was monstrous. It was familiar. His mother's tired eyes, his abuelo's sharp cheekbones, a face built from guilt, held too long in the body. Her mouth opened, but the sound was his own name, spoken like a prayer no one meant to say out loud. He woke up choking on air, skin damp, nails clawing at his own chest.
Something Scary
Dead Awake
Three days later, Luis asked Mateo to meet him for a drive. He said he'd found the app again, said it was real this time. Mateo, being Mateo, said, bet, and showed up with a monster energy and a bag of Takis. Louis drove, back out to the same stretch of road. Same cracked pavement, same dusty sky. He stopped at the fork, cut the engine, unbuckled his seatbelt. Mateo frowned. What are you doing?
Something Scary
Dead Awake
Louis got out of the car. The air was dead still. Dry, heavy like heat and lightning. He walked to the center of the crossroads and stood there. Waited. She didn't appear this time, but she was there. He could feel her, like pressure behind his ribs, like grief curling a hand around her heart before it can break. Behind him, the passenger door opened. Mateo called out. Lewis didn't turn around.
Something Scary
Dead Awake
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The kitchen rushed the order, and soon, the delivery man set out with the bags of steaming food. The address led them to an aging apartment complex tucked behind a wet market. When he reached the unit, he knocked once. Then again, no answer. He called out, louder this time, and pounded harder. After a long minute, the door creaked open, just an inch.
Something Scary
Dead Awake
Have you ever felt washed at a stoplight with no one around? Did you feel like someone was in the car with you? Do you think it's possible spirits were lurking? Tell us your spooky stories by sending us an email at somethingscaryatsnarl.com.
Something Scary
Dead Awake
This week's podcast stories were edited by Sarah Lukasiewicz, narration by Blair Bathory, audio edited and mixed by Fitz Harris, additional audio editing by Calvin Linderman, produced by Anna Villalobos, executive produced by Gil Gilman, music by Sapphire Sindalo and Calvin Linderman.
Something Scary
Dead Awake
If you have a story you'd like to submit, send me an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com Don't forget to watch the video version of Something Scary over at youtube.com slash snarled. And if you'd like to support the show and everything we do at Snarled, join our Patreon at patreon.com slash snarled. And as always, thanks for joining me this week for some scary stories.
Something Scary
Dead Awake
Let me know in the comments what you thought about each one and which was your favorite. And as always, comment below with a two-sentence horror story if you got one. I'll see you next time. Sweet screams.
Something Scary
Dead Awake
A hand, pale and slow, slid cash through the narrow gap. The customer's voice came through next, quiet and raspy. No face, no eye contact. Leave it by the door. Just the instructions and a lingering silence. The delivery man hesitated. Something felt strange. But the money was there, and the food was hot. He set the bag down and left without another word.
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Millie, mother whispered as I brandished the freshly cleaned butcher knife. If your father catches you playing with that, he'll skin you alive. Funny, she didn't seem the least bit relieved when I showed her what was left of father. Written by Greg in Nashville. And if you have a two-sentence horror story you'd like me to read on the podcast, comment here on Spotify or YouTube.
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Dead Awake
Back at the restaurant, the night wrapped up as usual. The boss counted the earnings before closing, verifying that everything matched the night's orders. But as he sorted through the bills, something stopped him cold. Mixed among the crisp Hong Kong banknotes was a piece of ghost money. Josh paper traditionally burned for the dead to spend in the afterlife.
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Dead Awake
It had the texture of cheap tissue and bore the face of the Jade Emperor. The boss frowned. Maybe one of the kitchen boys was playing a stupid prank. He gathered his staff and asked who'd slipped the funeral offering into the till, but none of them confessed. They looked just as confused as he felt, unwilling to make a scene. He tossed the ghost money aside and let it go.
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Dead Awake
The next night, the phone rang again. Same order, same voice. Four portions of beef chow fun. The delivery man reluctantly returned to the same apartment. The exact scenario repeated. No answer at first. Then a sliver of a door opening. Money sliding out. The whisper of, leave it there. This time, the delivery man studied cash more carefully. Real currency. Fresh bills.
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Dead Awake
He even held it under a streetlight before returning it to the restaurant. But when the boss counted the money that night, another piece of Josh paper stared up at him. Now he was angry. He called his staff again, demanded to know what was tampering with the register. But the delivery man swore that what he'd been handed was real money. The bills were crisp.
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He even remembered the serial number starting with J5. The boss didn't believe in ghosts, but he wasn't stupid. Something was wrong. He made a decision. The next night, if that customer called again, he would deliver the food himself. And sure enough, the call came. Same order, same voice. The boss packed the food himself and went out into the cold night.
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Dead Awake
Hello, I'm Blair Bathory, and this is the Something Scary Podcast. Thank you so much for being here. Whether this is your first time or you're one of the brave souls who join us every week. Some call it the witching hour, that deathly time that creeps up after midnight, between 3 and 4 a.m., when the world holds its breath.
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Dead Awake
When he reached the apartment, he tried to peek through the crack in the door. He could barely make out shadows, movement behind the frosted glass. But still, no one let him in. Just the same slow slide of money, the same raspy voice. "'Leave it.' He did, but not before inspecting the bills carefully.
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Dead Awake
This time, he set the money aside in a separate envelope and tucked it into his coat pocket, away from the rest of the restaurant's earnings. When the night ended, he took the envelope out and examined the contents again. The money had changed. The Hong Kong currency was gone, replaced with more ghost money, crinkled and faded, with ash smudges on the corners.
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Dead Awake
He had taken his eyes off of it all night. Now truly disturbed, the boss went to the police. The authorities accompanied him to the apartment the next morning. They knocked several times, no answer. One officer noted a foul smell drifting from the hallway. Eventually, they forced the door open. Inside, four corpses lay sprawled across the living room floor.
Something Scary
Dead Awake
Each was in a different stage of decomposition. The air was thick with rot. Majan tiles were still arranged on the table, and a half-eaten meal, beef chow fun, sat cold nearby. The forensic team arrived quickly. Initial estimates put the time of death at over a week earlier, but something didn't add up. The bodies had undigested food in their stomachs that was no more than two days old.
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Dead Awake
Dead people don't eat. It got stranger. The ghost money the boss had brought in, it bore fingerprints from multiple people. The boss, the delivery man, and somehow the four deceased individuals. The restaurant's phone records confirmed the calls, but the apartment's line had been disconnected for over 10 days. There was no sign of an outgoing or incoming call from that unit.
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Dead Awake
Neighbors were stunned. None of them suspected anything was wrong. They swore they heard the clack and shuffle of mangjong tiles well into the night, every night. But they never heard any voices, no laughter, no footsteps. Just the mechanical rhythm of tiles being played by invisible hands. Word spread fast.
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Dead Awake
The police downplayed it, claiming it was likely a mix-up in time of death or evidence contamination. But the press got hold of it, and soon headlines screamed of ghost delivery on Temple Street and dead mahjong player while waiting for chow fun. The restaurant shut down a month later. No one wanted to eat there anymore, not after what happened.
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Dead Awake
The delivery man quit, moved to Canada, and refused to speak of it again. But in Hong Kong, the story lives on. Some say the souls of those four gamblers couldn't let go of the living world, not until they settled their last game. Others say the boss made a deal without knowing it. And the Josh paper was a payment meant not for food, but passage. Because the dead still get hungry.
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Dead Awake
And sometimes, they still remember your number. Would you deliver to the same address if you knew no one inside was alive? Like I mentioned at the top of this podcast, we are excited by the response of our Two Senate Horror Story Challenge. We decided last month during our weekly meeting that we should start doing some of these, and they are really fun.
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Dead Awake
And our head writer just knocked out one that day and lit the fuse. And now we're getting lots of them from all of you. To those of you who want to send one in, send it to me at somethingscaryatsnarl.com or you can drop them in the comments on Spotify or YouTube. What makes you scared? It's something I always think about. Is it the location, the sounds, the smells, or the time of day?
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Some say it's when spiritual energy peaks, a mockery of the Holy Trinity at 3.33 a.m., making it ripe for unholy rituals and ghostly visitations. So if you wake up suddenly around them, you're not alone. something might have stirred you or someone. First, the dead eat, followed by it's in the walls. Finally, in our last story, too late to turn back.
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Dead Awake
Do scary things happen when you are alone or with someone else? For me, it's the unknown and things that go bump in the night that we don't really know what it is. So I'm always thinking what's lurking in the shadows.
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Dead Awake
Sometimes what's left behind wants you to stay. Like in this story inspired by our listeners who are most terrified of 3.30 a.m. The house was quiet, but not comfortably so. More like the hush before a confession. Veda Alvarez stood in the hallway of her late grandparents' home, where the air felt wet, like someone had just been breathing there, and stopped when she entered.
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Dead Awake
Her fingers grazed the floor wallpaper with pineapples that had yellowed with time. She told herself she was only there to save money. One year, maybe less, just enough to rebuild her savings and get back to the city. But the house seemed to know she wasn't staying, and it didn't like that. The third night was when the sleep stopped feeling restful.
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Dead Awake
She woke in the dark, unsure why, until she glanced at the clock. 3.30 a.m. The red digits glowed like an accusation. Her phone buzzed softly on the nightstand. No ringtone, just vibration. An incoming call. The number was blank. No area code. No contact info. Just zeros. Veda didn't answer. Didn't even touch the phone. In the morning, the call was gone. No record of it.
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Dead Awake
But her phone battery was drained, and the screen was smudged with fingerprints she hadn't left. Just a faint unease that clung to her skin like humidity. Veda had never been superstitious. She'd grown up in Texas, spent most summers with her abuela in that very house, surrounded by rosaries, prayer candles, and whispered prayers that always sounded more like mornings.
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But she left that all behind, college, career, logic. Still, when the call came again, same time, same number, she answered. There was no voice at first, just breathing, deep weight, too close. Then, as if dragged through static, I found you. She hung up. The phone slipped from her hands, hit the carpet with a muffled thud. That morning, she searched. 3.30 a.m. Call unknown. Number breathing.
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The forums were buried deep, their designs dated and patched together. One thread mentioned a series of calls that started the same way. Always 3.30. Always breathing. Always ending with that phrase. I found you. A woman in one post had replied, they keep calling until you speak back, until you say something personal. The thread's original poster hadn't logged in for years.
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Their profile read, last active unknown. The next night, Veda turned off the Wi-Fi. She powered down the phone and left it on the kitchen counter. At 3.30 a.m., the house phone rang. There was no reason it should work. Her grandmother hadn't used it in years. The cord was frayed. The provider contact long cancelled. Still, it rang once, twice, a third time. She didn't answer.
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On the fourth, it stopped. Silence returned. And then something stranger. A knock. But not on the front door. on her second floor bedroom window. No ledge, no tree nearby, just open air and something pressing gently against the glass as though testing it. Veda froze. The knock came again, calm, rhythmic, as though whatever was out there knew she was awake. She didn't look. She didn't move.
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The next day, she went into the attic. She hadn't planned to. Something just pulled her there, among the dusty boxes and forgotten linens. She found an envelope marked Ishmael. Inside was a black and white photo of a boy with pale eyes, standing in front of the house. He looked about 13. On the back, in her grandmother's looping script, he sleepswalks sometimes.
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Behind him, in the attic window above, a shape was barely visible. When she looked again, it wasn't there. Veda hadn't heard of him. When she asked her mother, their response was clipped. Ishmael was my uncle, her mother said. Disappeared when he was a kid. They thought he ran off. Your grandmother always said he was taken. By who? Her mother hesitated. She never said.
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Just warned us, if you hear them at night, don't answer. The calls became nightly, even when the phone was off, even with no power. Sometimes it was the ring, other times, a voice from the dark corners of the room. Once again, it spoke through the vents. Each time, the message was the same.
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And thanks again for following my journey in Cannes. I really appreciate everybody that watched on the live and kept engaged. I really appreciate it. It was a big opportunity for me and I'm really excited to see what happens next. So, wanna hear something scary? Dead Awake The dead don't need to eat, but sometimes they do anyway.
Something Scary
Dead Awake
Veda started sleeping with salt at her windows, a circle of chalk around her bed, old protections, old fears. The house didn't care. One night, the lights went out exactly 3.30. No flicker, just darkness. Her phone, still on the kitchen counter, lit up by itself. There was a photo displayed, blurry, grainy, a boy standing at her bedroom door, pale eyes, bare feet. Then the door creaked open.
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The next morning, she called her cousin Mateo, a carpenter, asked him to reseal the attic, reinforce the windows, anything to make the house forget her. He agreed, but paused before hanging up. Tia always said the house was paper thin. He said, like the veil here never closed properly. Veda didn't ask what that meant. She knew.
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Dead Awake
The final night, she lit every candle she could find, set mirrors in every room, placed iron nails on the windowsills. She sat in bed and waited. She wouldn't sleep, wouldn't blink. At 3.29, Veda swore the mirror was breathing. fog blooming and vanishing on the glass. At 3.30, it cracked down the center, like something trying to come through. Her phone lit up, screen fractured but working.
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The Screams of Silence
And then it hit me. This wasn't just some curse. Salvatore hadn't just died. He had become something worse. He had transferred his soul into me. He had made me his. I wasn't me anymore. I was just a shell, cursed to wander this plane forever, waiting for the next fool to come searching for a cure. I could already feel the pull, the longing for the next victim. They would come, just as I had.
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And when they did, I would make them wish they had never come looking for me. Mein Name ist Salvatore und wer weiterkommt, wird nie wieder weggehen. Was würdest du tun, wenn der einzige Weg, um deine Schmerzen zu beenden, war, einen Schmerz zu befinden, der schlechter als dein schlechteres Angst?
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The Screams of Silence
Where we discuss horror films chosen by you. After each livestream, you'll also get exclusive behind-the-scenes access with a Q&A to answer your burning questions. And we're going to have our first meeting very soon. But that's not all. Storyteller Experience members will also enjoy a 20% discount on Something Scary merch and a chance to collaborate on our next spine-chilling story.
Something Scary
The Screams of Silence
Wie würdest du weggehen, um einen Schmerz zu verhindern, der deine Blutlinie seit Generationen verleugnet hat? Weißt du von einer Familie, die einen Schmerz hat? Not all demons stay hidden in the dark. Some will follow you home. Like in this story inspired by Asuka. Amina saß allein in ihrer kleinen Hütte, die Hände über ihrem wachsenden Bein schlug.
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The Screams of Silence
Ihr Mann, Hassan, war für Tage weg, auf der See, wie die meisten Männer in der Stadt, fischen, um ein Leben zu machen. Die Begabung hat sie mehr alleine als jemals gefühlt. Mit jedem passenden Tag wurde die Ruhe ihrer isolierten Heimat, weit von der Hauptstadt, größer. The long days wore on, filled with silence and solitude, and at times, Amina felt trapped, suffocated by isolation.
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The Screams of Silence
She often went to the temple well to fetch water, even if she didn't need it, just to be out of the house, to feel the cool evening air and break the silence. She found herself missing even the faint hum of distant voices, the laughter of children that reached her on rare occasions. One evening, just before sunset, Amina made her way to the well.
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The Screams of Silence
She was running later than usual, but she wanted one last breath of fresh air before the night fell and loneliness pressed in again. She filled her pot slowly, savoring the brief moment of peace in the open air. Suddenly, a soft, grainy sound caught her ear, like sand slipping down stone. She dismissed it as her imagination, shaking off the old folktales of demons and spirits that villages shared.
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The Screams of Silence
Fulhu-Digu-Handi, der Dreaded, der umbilical-chore-Dämon. Es war nur eine Geschichte, die Schulden verärgert hat, hat sie sich erzählt. Aber dann kam die Stimme wieder, lauter dieses Mal. Sie hat ihre Hände nach dem Graveyard neben dem Tempel geworfen und flog. Dort, zwischen den Graven, war Fulhu-Digu-Handi.
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The Screams of Silence
Die Dämonenskinne war schwarz-grün, so schwarz wie eine nackte Nacht, die jeden Schmerz der Lichter absorbiert hat. Zwei gezwickte Hörner riefen von ihrem Vorhinein wie die Hörner eines Götters, und ihre Augen bluten tief, blutig-grün, ohne Iris, nur leere, heilige Polen aus Grimmson.
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The Screams of Silence
Aus ihrem Blutknopf schlug ein langes, schmieriges, schmieriges Kord und schlug es über den Boden, als es sich bewegte. Der Dämon hielt einen menschlichen Schmerz, schlug Sand und rührte es über seinen Kopf in einem langsamen, ritualistischen Bewegung. Aminas Herz schlug in ihr Knie. Sie versuchte zu schreien, aber ihre Stimme verletzte sie, verletzt in ihrem Brustkreis durch Angst.
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The Screams of Silence
Desperat, schlug sie ihr halb gefülltes Brot und fuhr weg. Ihr Atem kam in einem scharfen Schrein und sie sprang Richtung der Fenster des Tempels, die Pfanne nahe zu schlagen. Sobald sie die Tür erreicht hat, schlug die Pfanne aus ihrer Hand und fiel auf den Boden, schatterte mit einem hohen Schrein und füllte die Abendlupe.
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The Screams of Silence
The demon looked up, its red eyes locked onto her, and it growled, a low, guttural sound that shook her to her core. She turned and ran, feeling its gaze burn into her back as she raced home, every step carrying her further from that monstrous figure. She slammed the door shut, breathless, trembling, and curled into her bed, wrapping herself tightly in a blanket.
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The Screams of Silence
In her mind, the night stretched on endlessly, the shadows lengthening as she lay alone, far from any comfort. At midnight a heavy footfall disturbed the silence. It was outside, circling her house. The footsteps grew louder, heavier, until a violent bang struck the walls, reverberating through her bones. A deep, thunderous voice called her name.
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The Screams of Silence
Willst du etwas Schreckliches hören? The Screams of Silence. In 1959, neun russische Hiker sind mysteriös in den Ural-Mauten gestorben. Diese Geschichte von Isolation und Horror ist inspiriert von diesen echten Events, geschrieben von Sarah Lukasiewicz. The storm arrived without warning, though it had been brewing for days.
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Sie war zu furchtbar, um zu antworten. Fulhu Digu Handi schlug stärker gegen die Wälder, um wieder zu fragen.
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The Screams of Silence
Seine Stimme schlug, als sie schluchzte. No, I haven't seen you. I didn't tell anyone. The demon laughed, the sound like stones grinding together.
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The Screams of Silence
It growled. She lay awake until dawn, dreading its return. Als ihr Mann, Hassan, am nächsten Morgen nach Hause kam, erzählte sie ihm alles. Er versuchte, mit ihr zu bleiben. Er schärfte seinen größten Knopf und machte einen Plan, um sie vom Dämon zu retten. Amina erinnerte sich an ein altes Geschenk, das ihre Großmutter ihr erzählt hatte. Das Dämon hatte nur eine Schwachheit, das umbilicale Kord.
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The Screams of Silence
Und nur durch das Zerstören des Dämons könnte das Schicksal zerstört werden. Sie vorbereiteten ein Pastel aus den heißesten Chilis, um den Dämon zu zerstören, wenn es nahe kam. As midnight struck, the footsteps returned, louder than before. The demon's voice boomed from outside.
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The Screams of Silence
Amina glanced at Hassan, who nodded for her to speak. Yes, she called, finding her voice. I saw you in the graveyard, and I've told everyone on the island about it. The demon let out an enraged scream, circling the house in fury, searching for a way in. Its long umbilical cord slithered through a small hole in the wall, twisting and coiling as it reached toward her.
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The Screams of Silence
Hassan schlug nach vorne, nahm das Kord und schloss es mit seinem Knopf. Blut sprach über den Raum, dick und schwarz, und Amina rührte schnell das Chilipaste über das geschlossene Ende. Der Dämon schrie, seine Stimme klingelte durch die Nacht, als es flieg. Am nächsten Morgen haben sie den Dämonen-Body draußen gefunden. Leidenschaftlich.
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The Screams of Silence
Die Vögel sind zusammengekommen, um Amina und Hassan zu danken, dass sie sie von Fulhu-Digu-Handi freigelassen haben. Sie haben den Dämonen in einer isolierten Teil der Insel verbrannt, um zu warnen, dass jeder, der zu nahe venturierte, seine Geister noch reichen würde. What would you do if you couldn't escape this urban legend? Have you ever felt isolated but not alone?
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The Screams of Silence
Have you sensed something paranormal was near? As always, thanks for being here, witches. Until next time, sweet screams. This week's podcast stories were edited by Sarah Lukasiewicz. Narration by Blair Bathory. Audio edited and mixed by Fitz Harris. Additional audio editing by Calvin Linderman. Produced by Anna Villalobos. Executive produced by Gil Gilman.
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The Screams of Silence
Music by Sapphire Sindalo and Calvin Linderman. If you have a story you'd like to submit... Send me an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com Don't forget to watch the video version of Something Scary over at youtube.com slash snarled. And if you'd like to support the show and everything we do at Snarled, join our Patreon at patreon.com slash snarled.
Something Scary
The Screams of Silence
An invisible weight in the air that seemed to press down on them, heavier with each passing hour. The wind howled through the Ural Mountains like an animal on the hunt. At first, the hikers had spoken of it only in cautious, half-joking terms, as if acknowledging the storm would somehow make it less real.
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But soon enough, the mountain had proved its cruel indifference, and there were no pretending anymore. Dimitri, their leader, had always prided himself on his ability to read the weather. He had known, as they had set up camp beneath the darkening sky, that this would be no ordinary storm.
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The Screams of Silence
The cold that settled over them was different, like a shadow, too deep to escape, suffocating in its silence. They huddled in their tents, speaking little, each person alone with their thoughts, but not truly alone. The storm outside seemed to press in on them from all sides, the wind rattling the fabric of the tents as though it were trying to tear through.
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The Screams of Silence
Tasha, the youngest of the group, spoke first, a quiet murmur cutting through the muffling snow. Did anyone hear that? She asked, a shiver in her voice. The others had paused, eyes darting about as though expecting something or someone else in the tent with them. But there was nothing, only the wind, only the deepening silence.
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No, Dimitri had answered, the word hanging between them, a wall he could not help but construct. Nothing to worry about, just the storm. But Tasha had not been convinced. She shifted in her sleeping bag, the faint crinkle of fabric sounding loud in the heavy quiet. It didn't sound like the storm, she said, voice trembling. It was like someone walking. No one responded.
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The Screams of Silence
As the hours dragged on, the tension in the tent grew thick. And when sleep finally came, it was restless, uneasy kind of sleep. Every gust of wind seemed to bring something new, a creak, a crack, a distant, indistinct sound from the trees. But still, none of them spoke of it. And then, in the early hours of the morning... Jury was gone.
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The Screams of Silence
Hi Witches, I'm Blair Bathory and this is the Something Scary Podcast. Thank you so much for being here. Whether this is your first time or you're one of the brave souls who join us every week. As the leaves change color and fall from the trees and the cold air creeps in, it's not unusual to feel a sense of isolation, making the world feel both empty and overwhelming.
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At first Dimitri thought it was a mistake, a momentary lapse of memory, the fog of sleep clouding his senses. But when he unzipped the tent and stepped into the cold morning air, the reality of the situation hit him with terrifying clarity. There was no sign of Jury, not a trace of his gear.
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It was as though he had vanished, dissolved into the white landscape, leaving no evidence he had ever existed. Juri? Dimitri rief in den Sturm. Seine Stimme kratzte auf den Wind. Aber es gab keine Antwort. Nur das wilde, unverlustete Rauschen der Mountain selbst. Die anderen waren bereits wach, ihre Füße blutig und gedrungen, obwohl keiner von ihnen sprach.
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Es war, als ob sie alle für etwas warten, eine Art Erklärung, die sie wussten, würde nie kommen. I don't understand, Mikhail whispered, his voice thin with fear. He was here, just hours ago. The storm was pricking up, the snow swirling around them in a blinding fury, but Dimitri felt the weight of something heavier than the snow itself.
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He could not explain it, but it had already begun, the oppressive sense of wrongness that clung in the air. Sinking in the morrow, They searched for hours, their efforts growing more frantic as the hours passed. But there was no sign of Yuri, only the deepening cold and the endless, suffocating whiteness of the snow.
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The Screams of Silence
And then, as the last traces of daylight faded and the storm raged on with a fury that threatened to swallow them whole, they found it. It was not far from the camp, just on the edge of a ridge, where the snow had settled in a strange, unnatural shape. At first, they thought it might be another body, but then they got closer. The truth became more terrible than they could have imagined.
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Yuri's body was there, but it was wrong. It was as though his skin had been pulled taut, stretched beyond reason, his limbs twisted and contorted at impossible angles. His eyes were wide open, his mouth stretched in an agonizing scream, frozen in the midst of an unholy terror. But worse than the body itself was the emptiness around it.
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The Screams of Silence
The snow beneath him had been disturbed, torn away, as if something had been pulled from the ground itself. They huddled together, the horror of the scene turning their stomachs, but none of them could bring themselves to look away. None of them dared speak, and still, none of them could explain the absence of footprints. Yuri had not been dragged, he had simply appeared. And then they heard it.
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The Screams of Silence
Sie waren nicht allein. That night, the storm reached its apex. The wind screamed so loud and fierce it threatened to tear the world apart. The tents, once secure, flapped and shrieked under the strain, the fabric trembling, though it no longer could hold the weight of whatever presence lurked beyond them. Inside the air grew heavy with something unseen.
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Untertitelung des ZDF für funk, 2017 Untertitelung des ZDF für funk, 2017 Tasha, die zuerst die seltsamen Geräusche gesprochen hat, war die erste, die etwas wirklich falsch bemerkt hat. Sie ist am Ende schlafen gelaufen und hat sich in ihrem Kühlschrank eingeklemmt.
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Aber als sie aufwachte, fand sie sich nicht an der Fläche des Kühlschranks, sondern am Boden, an der rippelnden, ungewöhnlichen Oberfläche neben ihr. Die Schnee war bewegend. Her breath caught in her throat. She reached for the flashlight beside her, but before she could lift it, the noise began again, a scraping, slow and deliberate, like the sound of claws on ice.
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The Screams of Silence
And then the unmistakable voice, the same voice they could hear in the wind, this time clearer. Es schrie. Tasha schlug sich zu den anderen, ihre Augen breit mit Schmerz. Aber als sie sprach, kam ihre Stimme aus einem hohen Schmerz. »Es ist hier«, sagte sie. »Es ist in der Sturm«. Keiner von ihnen bewegte sich. Die Sturm war ihr einzigartiges Welt, und der Sturm in der Tent wurde noch tiefer.
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The Screams of Silence
The quiet becomes unsettling and being alone brings out our deepest fears. Whether it's an actual empty house or the loneliness of our own thoughts, only darkness and terror follow. Zuerst hält das Gelächter der Geheimnisse, die niemand hört. Danach der Monster in dir. Letztendlich in unserer letzten Geschichte bist du nie allein.
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The Screams of Silence
There were no more words, no more frantic pleas for escape. Only the quiet of the mountain, the quiet of the snow, and the quiet of the thing that waited just outside the flap. In the end, there was nothing left to do but wait. And they did, until the storm claimed them one by one.
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The Screams of Silence
When the search parties arrived, they found only the remnants of the camp, the torn tents, the abandoned gear and the deep, untouched snow that stretched for miles. And for all their searching, they found no bodies. Only the mountain, still, cold and silent, as if it had never even known their names. Würdest du immer noch Antworten suchen, wenn die Wahrheit alles verliert?
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The Screams of Silence
Hast du jemals von einer Begrüßung gehört? Wenn ja, erzähl uns deine Geschichte, sende uns ein E-Mail an somethingscaryatsnarl.com. Manchmal kann die Suche nach einer Rettung dich zu etwas viel schlechteren führen als die Verletzung selbst. Wie in dieser Geschichte, inspiriert von Katana. For as long as I can remember, I hated my deformity.
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The Screams of Silence
My mother's side of the family was cursed with some kind of flaw. My mother had a misshapen foot, the size of a rugby ball. My grandmother had an eye that bulged out of its socket, almost as if it was going to pop right out. And me? I had a left hand twice the size of a normal one. It was a strange reddish-blue color and looked grotesque.
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I couldn't escape the way people looked at it, the way they looked at me." My mother said it was all in my head, but I didn't think so. There were some bullies in school who hated me. They'd always pretended to puke when they passed me, or stared at my hand with disgust. As if it was something unnatural, the nicknames were the worst.
Something Scary
The Screams of Silence
Unborn freak, refined ugliness, deformed witch, and my personal favorite, mutated creep. One boy even made a joke about me being the only girl who had to dry her hands with a bed sheet. Each day it got worse. I could hear the whispers, feel the eyes on me, and after a while I started to hate myself. The school made it worse, and when I switched to homeschooling, it didn't help.
Something Scary
The Screams of Silence
Queenstown was small, and everyone knew me. There was no escape. I asked my mom one day why her side of the family was so twisted and why my dad's side didn't have any deformities. She told me the story of Salvatore Arch, my ancestor.
Something Scary
The Screams of Silence
He was born horribly deformed, hunchback, spindly arms and legs, skin binding his fingers together like webbing, his face so distorted that no one could look at him without lynching. Die Art und Weise, wie sie ihn beschrieben hat, hat mich überrascht. Aber das Schlimmste war, dass Salvatore die Blutlinie verurteilt hatte.
Something Scary
The Screams of Silence
Er hatte sichergestellt, dass jede Generation nach ihm etwas falsch, etwas zwischendurch trägt. Meine Mutter sagte, dass sie nicht mehr glücklich war als ich darüber. Aber nichts konnte getan werden. Plastik-Schmerzen wurden versucht, sagte sie, aber jedes Versuch endete in einem Desaster oder Tod.
Something Scary
The Screams of Silence
Sie versuchte, mich zu erfreuen, indem sie sagte, dass ich die Menschen, die mir wert sind, finden würde, wie wenn sie Freunde hatte und mein Vater mit ihr verliebt wurde. Ich brachte es weg. Ich wollte mehr über Salvatore wissen. Sie fortsetzte, mir über die letzten Tage von Salvatore zu erzählen. Er isolierte sich nach dem Geburtstab seines ersten Kindes, das in der Wildnis verschwunden ist.
Something Scary
The Screams of Silence
Sie haben seinen Körper nie gefunden, aber es wurde gesagt, dass jeder, der in seinen Halt zurückgekehrt ist, mit keinem Erinnerung darauf zurückkam, wer sie waren. Manche sagten, es war gegrüßt. Andere sagten, es war Wahnsinn. Aber egal, was es war, niemand ging da wieder hin. Die Tage passierten, und das Verbrechen war nicht zu Ende. Es wurde nur schlimmer.
Something Scary
The Screams of Silence
Die Minute streckte sich in die Jahre, und das krümmende Gewicht begann, mich zu fühlen, als ob ich mich zu schmerzen fühle. Ich konnte es nicht mehr nehmen. Ich fing an zu denken, dass ich vielleicht ausgehen könnte, wie mein Vater. Vielleicht, wenn ich Salvatores Isolationsspot gefunden hätte, könnte ich etwas finden, irgendwas, das diese Verbrechung wegnehmen würde.
Something Scary
The Screams of Silence
Before we get into today's stories, I have something exciting to share with you. Last week we launched our brand new Something Scary Patreon Storyteller Experience. And now you can dive deeper into the eerie and mysterious with exclusive perks just for our storyteller fans. By joining this new Patreon tier, you'll unlock access to our monthly Film Club Livestream with me, Blair.
Something Scary
The Screams of Silence
It was a long shot, but I was desperate. I spent hours on the internet, digging through old books, searching for any clue about where Salvatore had last been seen. Finally, I found it. An old dilapidated mine entrance, hidden away beyond an ancient windmill and a reservoir. It was a long way, but I had no other choice. I knew this was my only chance. When I reached the mine, my heart raced.
Something Scary
The Screams of Silence
The entrance looked like something out of a nightmare. A crooked square framed by two broken beams. The supports twisted like jagged teeth. I hesitated, but then I entered. The darkness swallowed me whole. Inside, the tunnel stretched endlessly. My flashlight was the only thing that cut through the inky blackness. But it didn't feel like enough. The air was thick, oppressive.
Something Scary
The Screams of Silence
It felt like the walls themselves were closing in around me. Then I heard it. A heavy, labored breath. A gasping noise. Someone or something was nearby. My heart pounded as I crept toward the sound. Up ahead, abetted in the wall, I saw a faint oval of light. I shut off my flashlight, trying to make no sound as I approached. Through the hole in the wall... I saw him. Salvatore.
Something Scary
The Screams of Silence
Sein Geräusch war nass, wie etwas, das ihn zerstörte. Komm her! Ich konnte nicht bewegen. Mein Körper schloss, aber ich konnte nicht enttäuschen. Langsam, ich bewegte mich vor ihm. Die Luft um mich herum war dünn, mit dem Geruch von Schmerzen und Verlust. Er rief mit seiner handformierten Hand und setzte sie auf meinen Vorhaut.
Something Scary
The Screams of Silence
Der Moment, als sein Touch Kontakt gemacht hat, schlug die Schmerzen durch meinen Körper. Es fühlte sich an, als ob mein Körper melkte, meine Beine schlürfen und unter meinem Blut zwischendurch. I screamed, but the sound was drowned out by the grotesque laughter that bubbled up from Salvatore's throat. The pain consumed me, and I blacked out. Ich war Salvatore. Ich war Salvatore.
Something Scary
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Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice whispered, growing louder, pressing against the edges of her fading consciousness. Today, you can embrace Mother Nature. Don't. Have you ever felt the universe was speaking to you? How did you know when to listen and when to run? Sometimes the mind's deepest fears are dismissed as mere imagination until they take on a life of their own.
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Like in this abridged telling of the famous story The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman. I am writing this in secret. There's no one to talk to. And even if I could, who would understand? I don't know what is real anymore. My husband John insists I rest. Locked away in this room, alone with this strange wallpaper.
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He says it's for my health, but I feel it pulling at me, like a weight sinking deeper with every day. We've come to this house for the summer. John is a physician, calm and reasonable. Immer in einer Stimme, in der Brooks keine Argumente macht. Er sagt mir, dass ich krank bin, dass ich Rettung brauche. Kein Lesen, kein Schreiben, er beurteilt.
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Als ob diese Dinge die Ursache meiner Krankheit sind, nicht der Remedien. Er sagt, dass das Gefängnis mich heilt. Es hat es nicht. Es macht nur die Dinge schlimmer. Die Wohnung, in der wir bleiben, ist der ehemalige Krankenhaus. Und obwohl ich keine Wahl hatte, es zu akzeptieren, kann ich nicht helfen, aber fühle mich in seinen gelben Wäldern verletzt. The wallpaper is the worst part.
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I can't escape it. At first, I thought it was simply an ugly design, something out of a horror story. The yellow is so dull, so sickly. It's as though it's been fading for years. Yet it clings stubbornly to the walls. There are odd patterns, as if they were meant to be beautiful, but were distorted in the execution.
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I can't make sense of it, but something about it seems to stare back at me, watching." I've tried to avoid it, but it pulls my eyes every time I turn my head. There's a peculiar pattern in the middle, a shape that looks like a broken cage with bars stretching out across the walls. I wonder if I'm seeing things.
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Ich erfreue Ihre Unterstützung und bitte senden Sie diesen zu jemandem, den Sie denken, er würde gerne eine schreckliche Geschichte hören. So. Sometimes the things we invite into our lives have plans to never leave. Like in this story inspired by Shaylee. It all started when I was eight. Me and my family were having a get-together with friends who were family themselves.
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Sometimes it seems as though the pattern moves, writhing and shifting like something alive. I hate it, and yet it's all I can think about. Each day feels longer than the last. John's visits are brief, and his attention is consumed by his work, leaving me with only the yellow walls for company.
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I tell myself it's just my imagination, but every time I look at the wallpaper, I feel its grip tighten on my mind. The way the bars of the pattern seem to encircle the room, trapping me, suffocating me. Es ist, als ob etwas hinter mir löscht. Ich muss herausfinden, was es ist. Ich fing mit einem feinen Bewegung, einem Fluttern, das fast zu subtil aussah.
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Am Abend, in den ruhigen Stunden, wenn das Haus still ist, höre ich rütteln. Es ist nicht der Wind oder das Haus, das sich befindet. Es ist, als ob etwas in den Wäldern verletzt ist, die sich anstrengt, frei zu brechen. Je länger ich schaue, desto mehr glaube ich, dass es wahr ist. Ich habe Schatten auf dem Papier gesehen, und einmal hätte ich gezwungen, dass ich eine Figur gesehen habe.
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Eine Form, die wie eine Frau, die hinter dem Papier schlug, in den Gefängnissen des Designs verbunden war. Ich habe niemandem gesagt, dass John mich lachen würde, es als nichts mehr als ein Symptom meiner Bedingung. Aber wie kann ich verrückt sein, wenn ich die Wahrheit sehe?
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Ich fühle eine Kälte, die mir auf meine Spine schlägt, wenn ich an die Figur hinter dem Papier denke, die, die es schmerzt, frei zu brechen. Sie ist da. Ich weiß es. Sie ist da, seit langem. Verletzt unter den Lagen von Farbe und Farbe. Ich frage mich, ob sie seit Jahren da ist. Warten, dass jemand sie bemerkt. Jemand, der sie fremd macht. Es wird stärker und stärker.
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Je länger ich an die Wand schaue, desto mehr sehe ich sie. Sie bewegt sich jetzt, mehr als nur eine flutternde Schattel. Ich sehe sie, die auf den Ecken des Papiers kreischt, auf allen Vierten. Der Pattern, den ich bemerke, ist ihr Gefängnis. Das grüne Blatt ist ihre Kugel, ihre confinierende Barriere. Ich will sie runterwerfen, um ihr Gefängnis zu zerstören und sie frei zu stellen.
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Aber wie kann ich? Wie kann ich erklären, was ich sehe, wenn niemand anderes es glaubt? John sagt, ich muss ruhig bleiben, dass es besser ist, wenn ich rufe. Er versteht es nicht, aber das Blatt ist nur Papier. Es ist lebendig. Es weiß, dass ich hier bin. I've tried to tear it away, to peel back the edges, but the more I pull, the more it fights back.
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It's like the paper has a life of its own, sticking to my hands as I try to rip it from the walls. It resists, pulling as though it doesn't want to be disturbed. I can feel her behind me now. The woman. She's watching me. I know it. She's in there behind the yellow. And she wants to get out. She wants to escape just as much as I do.
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I start to pull out the edges, the corners of the paper peeling away with surprising ease. The sound is almost comforting now. It's crackling, ripping sound like a release, a breaking free of something trapped inside. The pattern unravels beneath my fingers. I don't care if I ruin the room or the walls. I have to do this. The woman is closer now, just on the other side.
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I can almost hear her breathing. I rip harder, faster as the paper comes away and shreds. The woman's form is becoming clearer. She's there, creeping, crawling on all fours, her face hidden in the shadows of the torn paper. Her movements are jerky, like she's unsure, afraid to come out.
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I have to help her. She's me. I know it now. She is me. She has been trapped in that wallpaper all this time and I am the one who can set her free. When John returns, I will be gone. There's no need to lock me away anymore. I am free now. The woman is free. We are free. I have to go, but I know she will be with me forever. I have finally broken free.
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Hast du jemals in einer Situation gewesen, in der jemand dachte, dass sie wusste, was für dich am besten war? Selbst wenn du nicht gegenseitig warst? Wie hast du es verstanden? Konntest du die Kontrolle deines eigenen Lebens zurücknehmen? This week's podcast stories were edited by Sarah Lukasiewicz. Narration by Blair Bathory. Audio edited and mixed by Fitz Harris.
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Beware! They're Watching...
Additional audio editing by Calvin Linderman. Produced by Anna Villalobos. Executive produced by Gil Gilman. Music by Sapphire Sindalo and Calvin Linderman. If you have a story you'd like to submit... Send me an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com Don't forget to watch the video version of Something Scary over at youtube.com slash snarled.
Something Scary
Beware! They're Watching...
And if you'd like to support the show and everything we do at Snarled, join our Patreon at patreon.com slash snarled. As always, witches, thank you for joining me. And remember, leave me a comment and let me know you're enjoying the video version of the podcast. I'll see you next time. Sweet screams.
Something Scary
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The older boys, being 12 and whatnot, decided to play Bloody Mary in one of the bedrooms, with wardrobes with mirrors on them covering the entire wall. I didn't join, terrified. Not that they would have invited me anyway. They continued to play almost all night, running out of the room screaming and swearing they saw Bloody Mary herself. The adults decided to mess around with them.
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Cody, Malachi and Kelly banded together to secretly flicker the lights around the room. Even going as far as pretending to head down to the shops for a few things just to use the TV remote through the window. The boys were terrified. At some point, the back door opened and Cody came back inside. I was there when they planned the prank, so I knew what was going on.
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I remember smiling as I saw two figures hunched out the front of the window outside. One in a deep blue shirt, the other in a white puff sleeve. They had turned off all electricity moments before through the electrical box. The boys had absolutely freaked, almost going insane, trying to convince everyone they saw something out the window.
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At that point, the jig was up, and the adults had given up the joke. Malachi revealed himself through the window, proving to the younger boys it was all just a prank. But where was Kelly? I remember thinking. I looked up to her a lot, so I always gravitated toward her. I looked around behind me and saw Kelly standing there, laughing, almost beside me. But wasn't she just outside?
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Almost two seconds ago? I stared. And where was her white puff sleeve shirt? Kelly stood there in an emerald green shirt. I blinked, my mind scrambling to make sense of it. Ich schlug meine Hände, um mich zu überzeugen, dass es ein Fehler war. Aber jetzt, als ich bemerkte, dass niemand weiß war, begann ich, mich zu bedauern. Ich habe nicht gesagt, was ich will.
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Ich wollte mich nicht zu viel erschrecken. Je länger ich darüber nachgedacht habe, desto schlimmer es würde werden. After dinner the boys were yet again playing Bloody Mary. This time they had actually invited me to play. I sat on the edge of the bed with my teddy, a pink dog called Wolf. They played the game and nothing happened. Wow, so scary, I said ready to leave the dark room.
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No, Shay, you have to spin and say it too, Nick said. Reluctantly, I walked up to the mirror, candle in hand, and spun while chanting, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary. Wir standen alle, um das Fenster zu beobachten, um eine Veränderung in unseren Umgebungen zu suchen. Meine Augen sattelten sich auf der Kante der Wohnung hinter der geschlossenen Tür.
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Hi Witches, I'm Blair Bathory and this is the Something Scary Podcast. Thank you so much for being here, whether this is your first time or you're one of the brave souls who join us every week. And once again, I'm bringing you a video version of the podcast. We're working really hard to get this out to you every single week.
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Ein feiner, feiner Ausdruck eines Puff-Sleeve-Drehs schlug für einen Moment. Ich schlief. Mein Herz schlug. War ich es beobachten? Ich schlug mein Herz schnell, aber wenn ich zurückgehe, war es noch da. Nur ein schädeliger Figur, fein wie Schmuck. Die Wohnung fühlte sich kleiner, so schmerzhaft. My breath hitched in my throat.
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The figure was gone before I could even scream, but my body didn't listen. My legs buckled. I finally screamed, latching onto my brother's arm, digging my nails into his skin as I tried to get behind him. The boys jumped to turn the lights on, startled by my reaction. Meine Mutter kam, um mich zu beruhigen, und wir gingen kurz nach Hause. Ich konnte nicht stoppen zu schämen.
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Ich versuchte, mir zu erzählen, dass es nichts war, nur ein Trick der Licht, aber das Gefühl, die Präsenz, es würde nicht weggehen. Ich hatte immer noch Ereignisse, von den hohen, langen Figuren in meiner Küche bis zu Orbs in einem Zement. Je älter ich wurde, desto weniger geschah es. Aber es war nicht bis vor ein paar Jahren, als ich 15 war, dass es viel intensiver wurde.
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I was staying with my auntie when she casually mentioned something I had never heard her speak about before. She told me she had a special connection with the afterlife, a third eye. I froze, looking at her. She'd never said anything like this before. She shared a story about when she used to give her friends palm readings, how she knew too much about them, things no one else should have known.
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Sie sagte, es sei ihr Party-Trick, bis sie eines Tages die Todesgeschichte eines ihrer besten Freundes' Vaters erwartete. Sie hat alles nach dem Tod komplett aufgehört. Ich habe gespürt, nicht sicher, wie ich reagiere. Aber dann hat sie mich gewechselt, ihre Augen steigend, und sie hat gefragt, ob ich in das Ganze glaubte. Ich habe vorsichtig gespürt.
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Dann hat sie mir eine Palme-Beschreibung gegeben. Ihre erste war seit über 30 Jahren. Natürlich habe ich es verstanden. Was soll ich noch tun? Es sah aus, als ob ich etwas für den Plot meines Lebens tun sollte. Sie gab mir ein Lesen. Es war alles ziemlich generisch. Aber dann hat sie etwas ausgesprochen, was mich aufmerksam machte. Sie sagte, du hast eine besondere Verbindung zum Nachhinein.
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Sei vorsichtig, wenn du diese Seite von dir besuchst. I laughed it off, but a cold shiver ran down my spine. I couldn't stop thinking about what she said. Be careful. I didn't know what to think about. It wasn't scary, but it made me uncomfortable. She never spoke of it again, and I didn't bring it up either, but the words stayed with me. Should I be worried?
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I've always found this kind of stuff fascinating, but now, I'm not so sure anymore. Es war eine Woche später, als ich zuerst den Schiff gefühlt habe. Ich hatte versucht, weiterzumachen, um die Lesungen und die seltsamen Dinge, die ich als Jüngere gesehen habe, zu vergessen. Aber es war, als hätte eine Tür geöffnet und etwas klang, um durchzukommen. Ich wuchs in der Mitte der Nacht.
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Meine Wohnung war schwarz, aber ich konnte es fühlen. Jemand war aufwachen. I glanced over, half expecting to see something there, but I shook it off. But then, in the faintest sliver of moonlight, I saw it. Just for a split second. An outline. A figure. But it wasn't a shadow. It was more like flesh wrapped in smoke. Just like I'd seen in the mirror. The panic hit before I could even breathe.
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And I know a lot of things have changed and there's new things and elements being added. So I appreciate the constructive criticism in the comments. I'm trying to read and respond to as many as I can. So keep it up. Sometimes we begin questioning what's real and what's reality. Once you start down that path, there's no turning back.
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My heart raced. I closed my eyes, willing to go away. But then, I heard it. The faintest whisper. Der Raum fühlte sich wieder zu schmerzen. Ich fühlte mich verletzt. Ich habe mich aus dem Bett geworfen, aber es war, als ob die Wälder sich schließen. Mein Geist war auf dem Weg. Was bedeutet das? Warum war das passiert? Hätte ich etwas geöffnet? War ich mein Geist verletzt?
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Ich habe versucht, mich zu bewegen, versucht, es zu verstehen. Aber die Geräusche wurden lauter. Ich hörte sie in jedem Raum, in jedem Schatten, sogar im Fenster. Ich konnte die feinste Auszeichnung eines Figurs sehen, der gerade hinter mir stand. Es sprach nicht, aber ich wusste, es wusste. Es hat immer geschehen. Ich war nicht sicher. Das Schlimmste war, dass ich nicht ausgehen konnte.
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Ich wusste nicht, ob ich es jemals könnte. Ich habe mich gewarnt, vorsichtig zu sein. And now, it was too late. Too late to undo what I had opened up. Too late to stop the whispering. Am I just too weak to control it? Is this all in my head? Or isn't it? Have you ever felt something watching you, even when you're alone? Did you ever discover who or what had their eye on you?
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Tell us your scary stories by sending us an email at somethingscaryatsnarl.com Manchmal ist eine Botschaft da, um dich zu bewegen. Andere Male sind sie gefordert, um dich zu bewegen. Wie in dieser Geschichte, inspiriert von Ashley. Sie war nicht sicher, was es bedeutet. Ein Wort, mit Purpose auf dem Schlauchpapier. Heute, sagt es in schwarzen, blöden Lettern.
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Sie fand es auf ihrer Pille, nachdem sie ihre Beine streckte und sie in ihre Schlauchpapiere schlug. It was weird. But she figured one of her nieces made it when they were over the other day. Through the uncanny ways of destiny and magic mostly reserved for movies, it somehow made its way to her bed. She found the next one by the coffee maker. Another skinny strip of paper read, You.
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The word thick with retraced pencil marks. She pursed her mouth and picked it up. Sie diskutierte, wie bedroht oder bedroht sie sich fühlen sollte. Das erste Buch könnte ein serendipitäres Event sein, aber das Erfinden eines zweiten Buches fühlte sich intentionell.
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Und während ihr Zuhause nicht unbedingt mit gutem Hausgegner-Gesetz verpflichtet war, war sie ziemlich sicher, dass diese Note gestern nicht hier war. Sie war um es zu krempeln, als eine schmutzige kleine Stimme sagte, Sieh den Tag. Was sie dachte, muss sein Innerer Monolog gewesen sein.
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Aber sie hat die Küche über beide Schulter geschaut, um sicher zu sein, dass ein Intruder mit einem positiven Mantra nicht in ihr Haus verpustet war. Sie hat sich in ihr Bett gebüschelt, um die erste Note zu holen und sie haben sie beide auf dem Kühlschrank gelegt. Heute bist du. Sie hat die Spontaneität genutzt und hat ihre Verzweiflung entfernt.
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The line between truth and delusion blurs, and the shadows and voices around you grow sharper. What feels safe today may unravel tomorrow. Beware of the whispers in the dark, the flickers in the corner of your eye. These thoughts will grip your mind, and once they do, you can trust nothing, not even yourself. Erstens, das Bildschirm lügt nie. Zweitens, zu spät, um zu hören.
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Das fühlte sich an wie die Marken eines wunderschönen kleinen Skavanger-Hunts aus dem Universum. Sie hat also einen tiefen Atem gelassen und den Driftenstopp geöffnet. Nach einigen Social-Media-Scrollen mit Kaffee und einem cremigen Bagel, hat sie sich zurück in ihr Bett gewandert und sich für ihr Semidaily-Jog verändert.
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A slight shiver whizzed up her spine, but she picked up the mischievous memo. She finished fixing her ponytail and placed the third note in line. It wasn't much of a message yet, but the day was still early. The metallic squeak of her mail slot alerted her to a stack of ads. She stepped onto her porch to grab the delivery.
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The late spring air was rejuvenating after an exceptionally brutal and drawn-out winter, and she savored the sunshine beaming through the window panes. Sie hat das Mail auf den Tisch gezogen und hat sich in ihre Sneakers gedreht. Die Rückseite ihres rechten Fußes zeigte sich als ein neues Puzzle-Stück. Begrüßen. Sie hat es laut gelesen, als sie die Note an die anderen ging.
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«Hä?» Sie hat ihre Lippen zur Seite geworfen, schauend über die partielle Sentenz. Sie hat ihren Fuß in ihre Schuhe geschoben, hat ihre Earbuds eingepackt und ist aus der Tür gesprungen. Wenn in diesem Tag ein Film-Magic-Spiel gespielt hätte, könnte sich eine Wanderung rund um die Stadt mit einer perfekten Fleischhütte präsentieren.
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Der Licht des Sonnens gab ihr einen kleinen Verbesserung, und sie wurde so konzentriert aufs Laufen, dass sie die große Pile von einem unbekannten Kanin im Mittelpunkt der Wand verpasste. Sie schlug sich um sie herum, landete unabhängig auf ihrem linken Fuß, rollte ihren Ankel und rückte sich vorwärts in das Gras und das Konkret.
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Ein unverzweifelbarer Geräusch fuhr, als sie sich zurückgezogen hat, auf die Füße ihrer Beine. Es war ziemlich lecker, aber sie würde leben. Sie hätte vielleicht die Möglichkeit, ihren Jog zu bewegen, aber sie war sich bereit, sich zu stehen, als sie es auf dem Boden neben ihrem Fuß beobachtete. Ein weiterer krisper, rektangulärer Schluck Papier. Es war aufwärts.
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Das Wort Mutter wurde entdeckt, als sie es in ihre Palme geöffnet hat. Ihr Stomach begann zu flippen. Sie hat ihre Mutter letzten Winter in einem unerwarteten Wandel verloren. Ein Fall auf den Stühlen resultierte in einem gebrochenen Rücken und einem Schmerz auf ihrem Vorhinein. Der Arzt hat ihre Mutter mit einem Kasten und ein paar extra Bandagen nach Hause gebracht.
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Sie haben über die schmutzige Wunde geredet und wie furchtbar sie mit einem großen Schmerz aussehen würde. They ate spaghetti and a half gallon of generic cookie dough ice cream. You are my sweet girl, aren't you? Lucky Leah. Her mother said faintly while dozing off on the couch. Leah helped her up off the couch before saying goodnight. Then her mother died of a stroke in her sleep.
Something Scary
Beware! They're Watching...
Lea drückte sich hart nach Hause, schmutzte ihre Zähne, um sich von den Knöcheln, die ihr Bein schmutzte, auszudrücken. Sie konnte bereits den warmen Schmerz von Fluid unter ihrer Haut fühlen. Sie grimmelte. Hatte sie diese Note erhoben, oder hatte sie sie in ihrem Koffer allmählich? Sie konnte es nicht erinnern. Imagen flashten von ihrer Mutter, die den Bubu auf ihr Knie küsste.
Something Scary
Beware! They're Watching...
Ihre Mutter drückte ihre Finger in den Dreck. Ihre Mutter lachte glücklich. flicking spaghetti sauce across her face, then the pearly white coffin. The quicker she moved, the faster the vision of the wooden box inched closer and closer up the aisle. She let out a strangled cry as she opened her front door. She sighed, pulling the paper slip from her sports bra.
Something Scary
Beware! They're Watching...
She didn't even want to look at it, and she begrudgingly set it down with the other slips. Today you can embrace your mother, she said hoarsely. Sie sattelte auf dem Kühlschrank, fliegte durch die Newspaper-Ads, als ein weiterer Slip ausfiel. Natur. Die Worte auf den anderen Slips formten eine Sitzung. Heute kannst du die Mutter Natur umbringen. Sicher, das war es.
Something Scary
Beware! They're Watching...
Letztens, in unserer letzten Geschichte, fliegen wir in den Wahnsinn. Bevor wir zu unseren Geschichten kommen, wollte ich kurz fragen, ob Sie bitte einen Moment nehmen würden, um diesen Podcast zu senden, zu jemandem, den Sie kennen, der Horror so viel wie Sie liebt. Wir wissen, dass es hunderten von Podcasts gibt, und die größte Einfluss auf das, was Leute hören, ist, was ihre Freunde empfehlen.
Something Scary
Beware! They're Watching...
Sie würde in den Store gehen und neue Pflanzen holen. Mama würde das genießen. Später, als sie in den Boden schlug, hörte sie ein Argument, das über die Straße escalierte. Sie schlug ihre Gardening-Klöcke aus und schlug nach Hause, um die Polizei zu rufen. Aber bevor sie an die Tür kam, rief ein lauter Popp durch die Luft. Ein schmerzhafter Schmerz schlug durch ihre Rücken und Stomach.
Something Scary
Beware! They're Watching...
Sie schlug auf den Wegweg. Sie schluchzte, ihre Finger klingelten für ihr Telefon. Seine Vision blürte, als sie versuchte, sich zu konzentrieren. Seine Atemzüge waren schallig, scharf. Sie forderte sich, sich zu bewegen, drückte ihren verletzten Körper nach vorne, Inch nach Inch, Richtung vorderen Tür. Dann sah sie es.
Something Scary
Beware! They're Watching...
Ein einziger Schluck Papier, starkweiß gegen den dunklen Wald, flutterte etwas in den Wind. It was pinned to the door at eye level, waiting for her. With shaky fingers she reached up and pulled it free. The pain in her stomach roared, but she forced herself to look. A single word. Don't. The word tilted. The note slipped from her grasp, landing in a small pool of her own blood.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Etwas, das potenziell genug war, um ihre Nervensysteme binnen Minuten zu schließen. By the time the news spread, the whispers had already begun. It's just like the others. This makes three this year. Someone's playing a sick game. Reporters were quick to latch on to the growing urban legend, the Red Lipstick Killer, they called it.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
A shadowy figure leaving poisoned lipstick as gifts, targeting women who dared to wear confidence on their lips. Manche sagten, es war ein geistiger Liebherr, andere, eine Frau, die schlug. Konspiratistische Theoristen sagten, es war ein Corporate Sabotage. Ein rivaler Kosmetik-Brand, der ihre Firmen versichert hat, ihre schönsten Füße zu verlieren.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Niemand wusste die Wahrheit, aber die Todesfälle fortsetzten. Claire fand das Lipstick in ihrem Locker. Am Anfang dachte sie, dass es nur von Jamie war. Er wusste, dass sie Designer-Branden liebt, aber sie konnte sie sich nie selbst bezahlen. Die Sicht auf das luxuriöse Tubus hat ihr Herz gesperrt. Was für ein glaubwürdiges Geschenk.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Sie hat einen leckeren Kuss an ihren Lippen gepresst, bevor sie auf den Schiff zur Departement-Store geht. Stunden später ist sie zwischen den Perfume-Kontrollen gelaufen, knallt über ein Display von leckeren Glasbotteln. By the time help arrived, she was gone. Mirra bekam sie am Abend ihrer großen Präsentation. Sie hatte lange gespürt, dass jemand im Büro ihren Erfolg verweigern würde.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Aber sie hat nie gehofft. Lass sie schreien. Sie hat dafür gearbeitet. Sie hat es verdient. Als sie die Box im Büro sah, schmörkte sie. Wahrscheinlich ein Olivenbrot aus einem verletzten Rival. Am nächsten Morgen wurde sie über ihr Tisch geschlüpft, die Lippen perfekt gepaintert, die Augen zerbrochen und eine glasige Stimme. Dann kam das Video. Ein graines, niedrigwertiges Clip kam online.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Ein schädelter Figur, hüttig und ohne Gesicht, stand über einem Vanity, der mit halbverwendeten Türen von Lippen zerstört war. Sie arbeiteten methodisch, eine geschlossene Hand, die eine Kappe nach der anderen öffnete, ein kleiner Bruch in einen Vial von etwas Kleinem. painting it carefully onto each lipstick's surface. No words, no explanation.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
The video ended with a single line of text, blood red against black. Beauty comes at a cost. Daniel stand an Eleonores Grave, ein Bokeh von weißen Lillen, die an seinem Griff klingelten. Es waren Monate, und er konnte sich nicht mehr verlassen. Er wusste, dass Leute dachten, er hätte die Lippen gesendet. Die Polizei hat ihn unverantwortlich gefragt, obwohl sie keine Beweise hatten.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Er hat gespürt, dass er nichts damit zu tun hatte. Und noch nicht? Die Leidenschaft klang ihm wie eine zweite Haut. Wenn er nur mehr versucht hätte, wenn er ihr nur mehr gehört hätte, dann wäre sie vielleicht noch lebendig. As he turned to leave, something caught his eye. A small black box rested against the tombstone, a red ribbon tied in a perfect bow. His blood ran cold.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
With shaky hands, he bent down, hesitating before lifting the lid. Inside, the familiar gold casing gleamed under the setting sun. A note lay tucked beside it, written in a looping script. She was only the beginning. Daniel stürzte zurück, das Herz in seinem Körper zu schlagen. Er scannte den Graveyard, suchte für eine Schattenfigur, etwas. Aber der Zementar war leer. Außer in der Distanz.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
I love getting your comments and I read and try to reply to all of them. And don't forget to join us over on patreon.com slash snarled. So, wanna hear something scary? Manchmal kann man, um sich schön zu fühlen, etwas wirklich Monsterloses entdecken. Wie in dieser Geschichte, die für Black History Month gedreht wurde, von R.J. Joseph.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Er schwörte, er sah jemanden, der aufwacht. Eine Frau. Die Lippen waren in der tiefsten Farbe von Rot. Lachend. Am nächsten Tag, kam noch ein Package. Nicht auf einem Tisch. Nicht in einem Locker. Aber auf einem Türsteig. Wartend. Aufwachtend. A young college student named Lila found it before heading to her morning lecture.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
She ran her fingers over the delicate red ribbon, admiring the mystery of it all. Her roommate wanted her not to open it, but curiosity was a powerful thing. Later that night, Lila lay in her bed, unable to move. The room spun, her vision blurred, and all she could see was the reflection of herself in the mirror, her lips painted red, her face frozen in silent terror. The legend was far from over.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Would you trust the anonymous gift? How many people do you think have already unknowingly applied their last swipe of lipstick? I know we only have a couple of months of cold weather left, but go ahead and get a cozy blanket while you can.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
On somethingscary.com we have a new line called Camp Scary, where we have blankets and mugs and all kinds of other things that are really cute with our logo and a lot of other cute little symbols that make you extra spooky at school. So go to somethingscary.com to grab something now.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
This week's podcast stories were edited by Sarah Lukasiewicz, narration by Blair Bathory, audio edited and mixed by Fitz Harris, additional audio editing by Calvin Linderman, produced by Anna Villalobos, executive produced by Gil Gilman, music by Sapphire Sindalo and Calvin Linderman.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
If you have a story you'd like to submit, send me an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com Don't forget to watch the video version of Something Scary over at youtube.com slash snarled And if you'd like to support the show and everything we do at Snarled, join our Patreon at patreon.com slash snarled
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Talia hat ihr Bestes getan, um ihre Gesichter und Augen nach vorne zu halten, als ihre Mutter ihr wieder gesagt hat. I buy you this stuff and you always lose it. Money just going down the drain for nothing. She put her hands on her hips. Lord knows I just want you to be more ladylike so folks will know you're a girl and not some thrown away child.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Talia thought she would burst from standing so still for so long. But she really wanted to get her nails done. So she had to be really, really respectful. She started counting inside her head. Finally, her mother threw her hands up in the air. You know what? Fine. Fine. I'll let you go to the nail shop. She searched around her kitchen for her purse.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
When she found it, she held bills out in her hand toward her daughter. As the girl reached out for the money, her mother used her free hand to point and punctuate her warnings. Go straight there and come straight back. Tell them you only want the shellac on your natural nails. No powder or tips. She handed Talia the money. And no fast colors like red or pink. Yes, ma'am.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
The older woman narrowed her eyes. I mean it. Yes, ma'am, Talia repeated. Thank you, she added empathetically, so her mother wouldn't take her respectfulness as ambivalence. She needed Mama to know she was super excited to get her nails done and she appreciated that she was finally allowed to do it.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Talia almost skipped to the corner nail shop, stopping only when she remembered 16-year-olds weren't supposed to skip like little kids. Sie setzte sich stattdessen auf einem bruschen Weg mit ihren Armen an ihren Seiten. Die Veränderung in ihrer Tür war nicht genug, um die alten Männer auf der anderen Seite von ihr zu witzeln und um ihre Aufmerksamkeit zu bekommen.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Sie verabschiedete sie und wurde nicht mal so verrückt, wie sie es normalerweise machte. Ihre Schritte falterten, als sie sofort fragte, ob sie ihre Zähne machen würde, wenn sie sie noch mehr verletzen würden. Sie hatte nicht die Kurve, die die meisten ihrer Klassenleute hatten. Und sie hat oft noch Trainingsbraus gekriegt. Sie hat sich in Racket-Jeans und Vintage-Wrapper-T-Shirts gekleidet.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Und sie hat keine Make-up gekriegt. Sie fühlte sich wie ein 2x4, nicht zu groß, und direkt rauf und runter, vorne und zurück. Keiner von diesen Männern hat das stoppt. Sie hoffte, dass neue Farbe nicht eine Evolution ihres Status sein würde. Ein Anruf, um sie noch mehr zu bedrohen. Sie liebte nicht, für sie schöne Dinge zu probieren, oder sogar die Jungs in ihrer Schule.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Anders als die schmutzigen alten Männer in der Nachbarschaft. Die Jungs in der Schule vertreten sie, als ob sie unsichtbar gewesen wäre. Sie war so eine Nonentität für sie, dass sie manchmal hat, sich zu schmutzigen, um sicherzustellen, dass sie wirklich war. Sie wollte die anderen Mädchen auch nicht ausprobieren.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
So viele von ihnen gingen mit den Ausdrucken über die Straße, mit teuren Designer-Geräten, die Talia noch nie gehört hatte. Sie dachte, es wäre cool, dass sie ihre Make-up zur Schule tragen. Und es brachte ihnen die Aufmerksamkeit, die sie wollten. Gut für sie, wirklich. Talia war nicht da, wo sie war. Sie wollte nur lernen, wer sie war und wie sie sich am besten fühlte.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Klar, eines Tages würde sie wahrscheinlich von jemandem Aufmerksamkeit brauchen. Aber für die heutige Zeit wollte sie nur in ihrer eigenen Haut fühlen, mit welchen Kleidungen und Accessorien sie sich hinzufügen möchte. As the manicurist worked to put on the prettiest shade of light blue Talia had ever seen, the girl thought about the stuff Mama was already fussing about.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Talia hatte einen pastellen Turquoise gefragt, ein Frauen-T-Shirt, das sie glaubte, sie würde lieben. Sie hat es aufgemacht und die Farbe hat ihre Haut ausgewischt und hat ihr leeres Gesicht ausgeschnitten. Die Lace auf den Schuhen hat das Shirt fast wie ein Kostüm ausgeschnitten.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Sie hat das Shirt genommen und es aufgemacht, dann hat sie es in der Rückseite ihres Klosters befestigt, wo ihre Mutter kaum ging. Das Shirt war nicht das, worüber Mama sprach, da sie nicht wusste, dass Talia es nie geworfen hat.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Sie sprach über den Satin-Hair-Bonnet, den Talia gebeten hat, wenn sie sicher war, dass es ihr helfen würde, ihr kinkliges, kräftiges Haar zu wehren, während sie nachts schlief. Mama hat insistiert, dass sie nur die günstigen Bandanen benötigte, die sie immer gekauft hatte. Aber Talia stand fest auf den Bonnet. Dann hat sie es nur zweimal geworfen. Am 3.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Morgen konnte sie nicht finden, wo es landete, nachdem es sich von ihrem Kopf ausgeschlagen hat. Als sie es nachgefragt hat und dachte, dass ihre Mutter es vergessen habe, hat sie eine Anzahl von Farben von Haarscrunchies gefragt, um ihre Haare aufzuhalten und Hände in Ponytaile zu tragen.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Ihre Mutter hat ihr ein Side-Eye gegeben, aber hat nichts anderes gesagt, als sie gefragt hat, welche Farben es war. You pick, Mama. Talia could warm her mother up when she had to. You know best. That little bit of charm worked, and Talia got her scrunchies. Many more than she'd hoped for. They had come in all sorts of colors, too. Pastels, neons, jewel tones, metallic.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
And them being as vibrant as they were, they still quickly became invisible. They disappeared by the handful until Talia could only find a few of them. During the time she half-heartedly searched for them, she decided she actually didn't want to wear her thick hair up or back very often after all.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Talia kept her promise to keep up the manicure, smiling every time she passed her mother in the house, and she stared to make sure the blue was still on. After two weeks, Mama stopped looking, satisfied Talia was keeping her word.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
One morning, at the start of the third week, Talia woke up to see some small flakes of light blue, still holding the shape of her fingernails, lying on her bed next to her pillow. Her right thumb burned at the tip, and she examined it to try to see why it hurt. She couldn't figure out how she'd taken the shellac off intact like that. She decided she must have done it with her teeth.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Taliya, warum hast du deinen Finger in deiner Mund? You shouldn't eat that stuff. She noticed Talia's bare nails and sucked her teeth. Talia waited for the anger. She was sure it would come. And she waited, waited longer. Finally, her mother sighed. At least you kept them for two whole weeks. That's about as long as they're supposed to last anyway.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Hi Witches, I'm Blair Bathory and this is the Something Scary Podcast. Thank you so much for being here. Whether this is your first time or you're one of the brave souls who join us every week, Manchmal ist die Schönheit nur ein Maske, das aufgemalt wird, gepolstert und perfektiert, um den Schrecken unterhalb zu schließen. Ein Schmuck von Lipstick, ein Schmuck von Nähpolster.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Talia ließ die Atmung, die sie gehalten hatte, raus. Als ihre Mutter lachte, gab Talia eine kleine für sie zurück. Du wirst bis zum Payday nächste Woche warten, bevor du sie wieder machen kannst. Ja, Ma'am. Und stopp das Zähnen, damit es nicht schmerzhaft wird, wenn du zurück in den Nähmarkt gehst. Ja, Mama.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Talia hat ihr Frühstück langsam gegessen, die Olivenbranche-Atmosphäre, die ihre Mutter gefordert hatte. Tali's mood was still light when she went to bed that night. Despite her assurance that she'd have sweet dreams, she awoke sharply to the loud sound of rustling. She peered around her room in the darkness, trying to focus on where the noise came from.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
She fumbled for her phone and turned on the flashlight. When it landed in the corner next to her bed, she caught a flurry of movement. Neben dem Schlauchkasten stand ein kleines Körper, das ihr die Bilder von Raccoons auf der TV erinnerte. Aber es war kein Raccoon. Sein Körper war verkleidet mit Stößen von Haaren, die durch die Plätze brechen.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Es stand über dem Schlauchkasten, aber es war nicht groß genug, um sich darin zu bewegen, ohne die lauten Geräusche durch die Inhalte, die Talia gehört hatte. Die meisten von den Tuffs hatten schwarze Strähnen an ihnen, die sich festgeschraubt haben, damit sie nicht wegkommen würden. Auf dem Kopf der Kreatur lag Thalia's verlassener Bonnet, aufgerollt, um den kleinen Hals besser zu befinden.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Zwei weite Augen, befestigt in einem großen Gesicht, mit mehr Tuffs von Haar, fokussiert auf Thalia. Die Kreatur hielt Thalia's entdeckte T-Shirt als Skirt, mit einer Anzeige, die wie ein Fuß aussah, aber mit mehr Zeichen. Auf drei von den Dichtern lag der blaue Schalack, den Talia früher in den Wastepastel gelegt hatte. Schön. Die raste Worte kamen aus dem Schlitz in ihrem Gesicht.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Talia starrte, sauer. Der Kreatur sprach wieder, hängend seine Anzeige nach der Mädchen. Die Augen hielten eine Anzeige. The blue shellac slid off the digits and Talia could feel the frustration coming from the small body. She thought for a moment and then spoke softly. Maybe I can help you with some glue?
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
The creature kept large eyes on Talia as the girl moved slowly toward her desk drawer on the other side of the bed. She returned with a bottle of glue and motioned for the shellac. Once she put a drop of glue on it, she pressed it to the digit and put the creature's other appendage over it to hold it. She repeated the motion with the other pieces of shellac.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
She ran out before she could cover each of the fingernail-shaped scales at the tips of them. The creature began to tremble and looked woefully at the ones that remained naked. I have something that might help a little. Talia returned to her desk and picked up a black marker. She used it to cover the remaining tips.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Mit einer Waffe ist der Kreatur zurück in die Nacht gescheitert. Am nächsten Morgen hat Talia ihrer Mutter gesagt, dass sie sich über ihre Nähmchen wieder auseinandergesetzt hat. »Ich denke, ich könnte es besser mit Nähpulsen hier zu Hause machen.« Ihre Mutter wehte ihre Worte. »Das wäre günstiger. Ich könnte dir ein paar Bottle von Nähpulsen mit mir nach Hause bringen.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
All die kleinen Dinge, die uns machen sollen, dass wir uns gesehen und mächtig fühlen. Aber diese Schönheit ist nicht nur für uns. Es kann auch jemanden sein, der sie beobachtet. A Monster in Make-up and in our last story, a color to die for. And if you witches wouldn't take a minute to rate and review this podcast, it only takes one second and you can do it now or after the episode.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Gibt es irgendwelche besonderen Farben, die du willst? Keine rot oder rot-pink.« Talia lachte an ihre Mutter. »Eine Turquoise, bitte.« »Aber die Rest...« »Du wählst, Mama. Du weißt am besten.« Hi Witches, I wanted to let you know about some new Patreon tiers that we now have.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
If you go to patreon.com and sign up now, you can get exclusive videos, Horror Film Club live meetings with me, where we talk about horror movies every month, and horror movie writing sessions with our writers. Go to patreon.com to sign up now. Einige Geschenke stehlen nicht nur dein Atem, sie werden es nie zurückgeben.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Wie in dieser Geschichte, die aufgrund der urbanen Legende inspiriert wurde, von Kira. Die Box war klein, schwarz und verbunden mit einer perfekten roten Rippe. Eleanor fand sie an ihrer Tisch, als sie am Arbeitstag kam. Sie war zwischen ihrem Keyboard und einer stehenden Kuppe ihres gewöhnlichen Vanillelattes. Keine Note, keine Karte, nur das elegante Package.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Sein erster Gedanke war, dass es von Daniel gewesen sein musste. Er hatte versucht, in seinem eigenen schmerzhaften Weg, sie zurückzuholen. Er hat nie erlaubt, dass sie sich weiterentwickelt hat, dass sein Verzeihung unvergültbar gewesen wäre. Ein großartiges Gestüren wie dieses passt seinen dramatischen Tendenzen. Mit einem Schrei hat sie den Rippen entdeckt und das Lid geöffnet.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Innerhalb lag ein einziger Lippenstift. Es war exquisit, schwer, goldkastet, mit einem Eingriff, der so delikat war, dass sie es kaum aus den fliegenden Lettern machen konnte. Sie rollte es zwischen ihre Finger, bevor sie es öffnete, zeigte einen tiefen grünen Schatten, der in der dünnen Office-Licht blieb, eine Farbe, die wie Blut reich war. Despite herself, Eleanor smiled.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
She had always loved red lipstick. It made her feel powerful, untouchable. And after the week she'd had, she deserved to feel that way. By lunchtime, the mysterious gift had already slipped to the back of her mind. She was too caught up in emails, deadlines, and the endless buzz of office chatter. It wasn't until she was in the restroom, washing her hands, that she remembered. Warum nicht?
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Sie hat die Tüte geöffnet, hat einen bemerkenswerten Swipe angebracht und hat die Weise genäht, wie es ihr Gesicht instandiert hat. Es fühlte sich schmutzig, luxuriös, perfekt an. Eine Farbe, die ihr sah, als ob sie die Welt besitzt. Als sie zu ihrem Tisch zurückkehrte, war etwas falsch. Eine Schwachheit war in ihren Lippen. Langsamer zuerst, dann unbeheblich. Der Computerscreen blurrte.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Ihr Atem hitzte. Eine schreckliche Unruhe sprach von ihren Lippen herunter. Sie versuchte zu stehen, aber ihre Beine würden nicht hören. Ihre Arme, die Lippen an ihren Seiten, könnten vielleicht jemand anderem gehören. Eine steigende Panik streckte ihre Gedanken. Sie riefen aus. Wer? Jemand. Aber die Worte würden nicht formen. Ihre Vision war verblüfft.
Something Scary
Glamour and Gore
Das letzte, was sie sah, war die perfekte Tube roter Lippen, die von ihrem Tisch und auf den Boden rollte. Dann nichts. Die Polizei war überrascht. Eleonores Tod war plötzlich, unerlässlich. Keine Herzkrankheit, keine Geschichte von Schmerzen, keine Zeichen von Schwung. Die Autopsie zeigte nur eine Anomalie. Ihre Lippen, rot verkleidet, führten mikroskopische Tränen eines unbekannten Toxins.
Something Scary
Stone Cold-Hearted
The fire flicked out, sending the room into darkness. Then Jessa saw it. A tall figure stepping through the doorway, draped in white. Jessa's grandmother's voice was heard through the dark. You shouldn't have opened the door. And then everything went ice cold. By morning, the house was buried in snow and the girls were gone. Only the wind remained.
Something Scary
Stone Cold-Hearted
Have you ever felt something watching you just outside your window? Do you believe that the longest night of the year can bring more than just darkness? Sometimes, the quietest places hide the loudest horrors, especially in the dead of night, like in this story inspired by Schofund. In boarding school, weekends were for doing laundry.
Something Scary
Stone Cold-Hearted
The shared laundry room turned into a chaotic mess of buckets, clotheslines, and impatient girls. And just two weeks into the semester, I was already over it. During lunch one day, some seniors mentioned that late at night was the best time for laundry, when everyone was asleep and the washroom was deserted. But never go alone, one of them said with an intensity that lingered in my mind.
Something Scary
Stone Cold-Hearted
Join the Something Scary Storyteller Experience today for even more chills and insider treats. Head to patreon.com slash snarl to sign up now. So, wanna hear something scary? Stone Cold Hearted. Sometimes the sounds you hear in the night aren't just as innocent as the wind. Like in this story inspired by Jordan,
Something Scary
Stone Cold-Hearted
I didn't ask why, I didn't want to know. That night, I woke to the sound of the dorm door creaking open, blinking in the dim light of my bedside clock. I saw Lynn slipping out, bucket in hand, 2.50 a.m., Even without believing fully in ghosts, I'd heard the whispers about 3 a.m., the hour when the boundary between worlds thins. I told myself Lynn would be fine. She was practical, grounded.
Something Scary
Stone Cold-Hearted
If anyone could laugh off old superstitions, it was her. Still, I couldn't sleep. I stayed awake, watching the clock, waiting for her to come back. Time crawled. My chest tightened with every minute that passed. Finally, at 3.25, the door creaked open. Lynn stepped inside, her face pale and drawn. She didn't say a word, just set her bucket down and climbed into bed.
Something Scary
Stone Cold-Hearted
Her clothes were still wet and crumpled in the bucket. Something was wrong. The next morning, she was quieter than usual. Her movements were stiff, her gaze distant. She didn't meet my eyes. I wanted to ask her what had happened, but there was something about her silence, something fragile and strained, that stopped me.
Something Scary
Stone Cold-Hearted
It wasn't until later that I pieced together her story, though I sometimes wish I hadn't. Lynn had gone to the washroom expecting solitude, but instead, she found someone already there. A girl in a long white nightgown, crouched by the basin, scrubbing clothes. Relieved to not be alone, Lynn set her bucket down beside her and began washing.
Something Scary
Stone Cold-Hearted
The washroom felt colder than it should have been, the air heavy with the metallic tang of damp stone. Shadows seemed thicker in the corners, pulling like spilled ink. Each drop of water from the faucet hit the basin with a sharp, echoing note, like the ticking of the slow, relentless clock. The girl had smiled at Lynn, a wide, toothy grin.
Something Scary
Stone Cold-Hearted
It was polite but unnerving, her lips stretching just a little too far. Lynn smiled back and focused on her laundry, trying to ignore the crawling sensation along her spine. But as she worked, something drew her gaze downward. She glanced at the girl beside her and froze. The girl had no feet. Lynn tried to rationalize it at first. Perhaps the girl was kneeling in some strange way.
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or the folds of her gown obscured her legs. But the more she looked, the more certain she became. There was nothing beneath the hem of that gown, nothing at all. Fear rooted her in place. Her hands trembled as she picked up her clothes, trying to act natural.
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The girl scrubbed at the fabric with rhythmic intensity, but her movements were wrong, too fluid, too smooth, like a marionette pulled by invisible strings. Her arms moved, her shoulders shifted, but the rest of her body remained unnaturally still, as though the effort in her work didn't affect her at all. Ling quietly packed up her clothes, her heart hammering in her chest.
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Stone Cold-Hearted
Just as she stood, the girl spoke. "'Leaving already?' The words were soft, almost kind, but Lynn could hear the mockery in them. She didn't answer. She didn't dare. Her pulse pounded in her ears as she turned to leave. Just as she reached the door, the girl's voice came again, low and cold. Oh, so you finally noticed. Lynn didn't look back.
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She walked straight to the dorm, each step heavier than the last, the weight of that unnatural presence pressing against her back. She knew the girl was watching her, smiling, even as the door to the washroom closed behind her. After that night, Lynn changed. She stopped doing laundry altogether, waiting until her parents visited and could take her clothes home.
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She refused to go anywhere alone, even in broad daylight. Her once bold and easygoing nature was replaced by a quiet paranoia. She started sleeping with the lights on, waking often in the middle of the night to check the door or stare out the window, as if expecting someone or something. Sometimes, I'd catch her looking toward the washroom with a strange expression.
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Not fear exactly, but resignation. Like she knew something I didn't. Something she couldn't bring herself to explain. Months later, after we'd left boarding school, I ran into her at a cafe. She looked the same at first glance. Hair neatly tied back, posture straight. but there was an edge to her, a guardedness in her eyes that hadn't been there before.
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Stone Cold-Hearted
We spoke briefly, catching up on life, but when I asked if she'd ever gone back to the washroom that night, her face hardened. Some places, she said quietly, aren't meant for us. I never pressed her for details. The truth was already clear. Whatever Lynn had encountered that night, it had left a mark.
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She carried it with her, invisible but ever-present, like a shadow that didn't quite belong to her. And even now, all these years later, I can't help but wonder, was that girl still in the washroom, waiting for someone else to notice her missing feet? Have you ever felt something was watching you even when you were alone?
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Would you continue with your task or would you leave if something in your gut told you you weren't alone? This week's podcast stories were edited by Sarah Lukasiewicz, narration by Blair Bathory, audio edited and mixed by Fitz Harris, additional audio editing by Calvin Linderman, produced by Anna Villalobos, executive produced by Gil Gilman, music by Sapphire Sindalo and Calvin Linderman.
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Stone Cold-Hearted
It was the winter solstice, the longest night of the year, and James could feel its weight pressing down on him as he sat alone in the cabin. The wind outside howled like a living thing, its cold fingers creeping through every crack in the walls. The sun had disappeared hours ago, leaving the mountains covered in a thick veil of darkness and snow.
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Stone Cold-Hearted
If you have a story you'd like to submit, send me an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com. Don't forget to watch the video version of Something Scary over at youtube.com slash snarled. And if you'd like to support the show and everything we do at Snarled, join our Patreon at patreon.com slash snarled. As always, witches, thanks for joining me.
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I hope you enjoyed these three original stories and safe travels this week if you're going to visit family for the holidays. I'll see you next week. Sweet screams.
Something Scary
Stone Cold-Hearted
The fire in the hearth had long since dwindled to embers, and the only light came from the pale glow of the snow reflecting the moon. James had come to the cabin to escape, to find peace away from the world. The isolation of the Smoky Mountains seemed perfect for a quiet Christmas, just him and his thoughts. But as the night deepened, he realized how wrong he'd been. The quiet wasn't peaceful.
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Stone Cold-Hearted
It was suffocating. It started just after dusk, the bell. At first, James thought it was a figment of his imagination, the wind playing tricks on him. But then it rang again, low and mournful, cutting through the stillness. It wasn't the sound of wind or some distant farm bell. It was deeper, hollow, like something ancient.
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He tried to ignore it, pulling his blanket tighter around his shoulders, trying to focus on the flickering fire. But the bell rang again, louder this time, closer. James stood up, unease creeping through his body. The wind had died down, and the snow outside was falling in thick, heavy flakes. It should have been peaceful, but the bell's persistent toll gnawed at him, pulling him toward the door.
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He stepped outside, squinting into the night. The world was a blanket of white, the snow muffling the sounds of the forest. The bell rang again, cutting through the silence like a scream. It came from deeper in the woods, beyond where the trees began to thicken. Old stories bubbled to the surface of his mind. Tales of a creature that roamed forests at night. A thing not quite human.
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Eyes black as coal. Teeth that never stopped growing. A hunger that could never be satisfied. He'd heard these stories before, of course. Everyone in these parts had. But they were just stories, right? The bell rang again. James grabbed his shotgun from the closet.
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It was all he had to defend himself, and though he wasn't sure if it would do any good, he wasn't about to sit around waiting for whatever this was to come closer. The forest was thick with snow, the path nearly hidden beneath the drifts. The bell continued to ring, leading him deeper into the trees.
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His breath came out in visible clouds, and he trudged through the knee-deep snow, his heart pounding in his chest. The wind had died, but the silence felt oppressive, almost unnatural. The bell rang again, louder, closer. He pushed through the underbrush, every step slow and deliberate, his eyes straining for any sound beyond the ringing.
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Stone Cold-Hearted
On the night of the winter solstice, before the sun rises, Terrible things awaken, waiting for the light to return, if it ever does. First, a bell calls the dead, followed by the snow hides more than secrets. Finally, in our last story, she waits in the dark. Before we get to our stories, I wanted to ask if you had checked out our brand new Something Scary Patreon Storyteller Experience.
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Stone Cold-Hearted
The bell echoed through the trees, its sound twisting in his gut, pulling him forward as though it were a summons. Each toll seemed to grow more incessant, more desperate. He reached a clearing and there, standing at the edge of the forest, he saw it. The creature. It was half hidden in the shadow of the trees, its form barely distinguishable in the dim light. James froze.
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The thing was tall, its limbs twisted and unnaturally long. The skin was pale, stretched tight across its bones, and the air around it seemed to shimmer with a cold, unnatural fog. But it was his eyes that grabbed him, black pits where its eyes should have been, two empty voids that seemed to suck the light from everything around him.
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Stone Cold-Hearted
The bell rang again, louder, and the creature tilted its head as though it could hear it too. James raised the shotgun. His finger was trembling on the trigger, but he didn't hesitate. He fired. The blast echoed through the forest, and for a moment, there was silence. The creature stood still, its head cocked to the side, as if unaffected by the shot.
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Hi witches, I'm Blair Bathory and this is the Something Scary Podcast. Thank you so much for being here. Whether this is your first time or you're one of the brave souls who join us every week. Sometimes, on the longest night of the year, when the dark seems to stretch forever, something dark and sinister stirs in the shadows. The cold is biting and sharp, and the silence is thick with dread.
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Stone Cold-Hearted
The smoke from the shotgun hung in the air, but the creature did not move, did not flinch. Instead, its mouth stretched open, revealing row upon row of jagged teeth, each one more grotesque than the last. James stepped back, panic clawing at his chest. The creature stepped forward, its limbs bending unnaturally as it moved toward him.
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It was fast, impossibly fast, closing the distance between them in the blink of an eye. His heart pounded in his ears as he turned and ran. The creature's heavy footsteps were behind him, thumping through the snow like thunder. He could hear the bell ringing again, louder and closer.
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and he realized it was no longer just a sound, it was part of the creature, something it carried with it, dragging him toward it. James' legs burned as he sprinted through the snow, his breath coming in short gasps. He stumbled, nearly falling, but he caught himself and kept going.
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The trees blurred past him, the snow flying up around his boots, but no matter how fast he ran, he could hear the creature's footsteps behind him. always just a few steps away. Then he saw the cabin. His heart soared for a split second before the reality of his situation hit him. He was running straight toward it, but the creature was still behind him, faster than he could ever hope to be.
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He tried to push himself harder, but the snow was thick and his limbs were growing numb from the cold. He reached the door, his hands shaking as he fumbled with the handle. The bell rang again. louder, more incessant, and in that moment the world seemed to stop. James turned, his eyes searching the dark for any sign of the creature, but the forest was silent now.
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The bell had stopped, and then from behind him came a voice, a soft whisper, low and cold. He didn't need to be told twice. He yanked the door open and slammed it behind him. The cabin was dark, silent. The bell had stopped. For a moment, everything was still. And James thought, maybe, just maybe, he had escaped. But then the door rattled, shaking in its frame.
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The bell started again, not from outside. No, this time it came from inside the cabin. James turned, but before he could react, the creature stepped into the room, its black eyes locked onto his. And as it took the first step toward him, the door closed behind it, locking them both in. The bell rang for the last time. Do you think you could outrun a monster in the woods? Have you had to?
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Now you can dive even deeper into the eerie and mysterious with exclusive perks just for our storyteller fans. By joining this new Patreon tier, you'll unlock access to our monthly film club livestream with me, where we discuss horror films chosen by you. After each live stream, you'll also get exclusive behind-the-scenes access with a Q&A to answer your burning questions. But that's not all.
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Sometimes, on the coldest nights, when the darkness is infinite, the things we fear most may come closer than we think. Written by Sarah Lukasiewicz. The snow came early that year, covering everything in a thick, quiet blanket. The time winter break started, it had already piled up outside, making the world look like still and frozen.
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It was the kind of snow that made kids think of sledding and snowmen. But for the girls gathered at Jess's house, it meant something different. The sleepover was supposed to be a fun, relaxing night. They were all in their pajamas, sipping hot chocolate, and enjoying the warmth of the house while the wind howled outside. It was the first night of break, and everything felt cozy.
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Jess's grandmother entered the room carrying a cup of tea. She didn't say much, but her presence was enough to shift the atmosphere. The girls, already comfortable and familiar with her stories, turned to her expectantly. Everyone except Maya.
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She was new to the friend group, but the others warned her that based on previous sleepovers, Jess's grandmother told the best scary stories, stories that made them feel uneasy in the best way. She didn't waste any time. Without a word, Grandma sat down by the fire, her hands folded neatly in her lap, and began.
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The story she told them wasn't one of magic or fairy tale creatures, but something older, something that felt like it had always been there. She told them about Frau Hall, the snow woman. A figure that appeared in the coldest nights of winter, around the time of the winter solstice, when the days were shortest and the darkest stretched on forever.
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Frau Hall wasn't the warm, kind figure some people thought she was. She wasn't the one who made the snow fall to blanket the earth. Instead, she was a judge, a punisher. She appeared in the woods near the town, a tall woman dressed in white, her face hidden beneath her hood, and when she came, she was looking for those who had been selfish or cruel.
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She would take them, dragging them into the snow, and they would vanish, never to be seen again. As Grandma spoke, the room seemed to grow colder. The fire crackled, but its warmth didn't seem to reach as far. The wind outside picked up, pressing against the windows like an unseen hand.
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It was as though the very air in the house was beginning to change, and the girls, who had been laughing and joking only moments before, now felt the weight of silence settling around them. The clock on the mantel kept time, unnoticed by most of them, until one of the girls, Tara perhaps, glanced out the window.
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She thought she saw someone standing at the edge of the yard, just outside the reach of the streetlight, still and unmoving. The others laughed, shaking off the uneasy feeling, but even their laughter fell hollow in the quiet room. Jessa wasn't so sure. She opened the door, looking out into the heavy snow. But there was no one there. Just the swirling storm covering everything in white.
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The world beyond the door had disappeared beneath the snow, and the air felt thicker somehow, more oppressive. When she closed the door and turned back toward the others, there was a strange stillness in the room. Tara was still staring out the window, a frown on her face, her hand pressed against the glass. It was clear something was different now.
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Stone Cold-Hearted
The laughter had stopped, and in its place, an uncomfortable quiet had settled in. The wind outside picked up again, louder this time, rattling the windows. The snow continued to fall in thick, heavy flakes, like something being pressed down on them from above. The night had become something darker, something colder. Jessa looked out the window once more. This time she was certain.
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Storyteller Experience members will also enjoy a 20% discount on Something Scary merch and a chance to collaborate with our next spine-chilling story. Together, we'll create a terrifying tale that might just end up on the podcast. It's our way of saying thank you for being a part of this amazing community and keeping the spooky spirit alive all year round. Don't miss out.
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Stone Cold-Hearted
She saw the figure standing in the distance, a tall shape against the backdrop of the trees, motionless, draped and white. She couldn't see a face, only the silhouette of a person, standing still in the falling snow. Her heart skipped a beat, and she quickly pulled the curtain shut, turning away from the window. But the image wouldn't leave her mind.
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The night stretched on, the fire burned in low in the hearth, and the house felt colder than it should have. The storm outside continued to rage, but the house, though full of people, seemed empty somehow. The air was thick with an unease none of them could explain. At some point... The girls all fell asleep, but Jessa was restless.
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She woke up in the middle of the night and noticed one of the girls, Maya, was gone. Her sleeping bag was empty. The space where she had been just moments before left a vacant feeling. The others were still asleep, unaware. Jessa couldn't shake the feeling that the cold in the room was somehow tied to Maya's absence.
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It felt as though the very walls were closing in on them, and there was no way out. The snow hadn't stopped. The wind hadn't stopped. The house seemed disconnected from the world outside, as if the storm had come from another place, somewhere far away. Jessa looked out the window again, her eyes drawn to the woods beyond.
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Stone Cold-Hearted
There, at the edge of the trees, she could still see the figure standing, watching. Jessa couldn't shake the cold creeping through the house. Maya was gone, her sleeping bag empty, but no one had heard her leave. Jessa glanced out the window again. The figure at the edge of the woods was gone.
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For a moment, she felt relief, until she turned around and saw Maya standing by the fireplace, her back to the room. Jessa whispered her name, but Maya didn't move. Snow clumps stuck to her feet, melting into puddles on the floor. Jessa's stomach sank as she noticed the trail of wet footsteps leading from the door. The wind outside rattled the windows.
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Yeah, but the flowers, they weren't just left there. They were placed there. I frowned. "'What are you talking about?' He turned around and looked at me, his eyes wide with something like dread. When we were at the shop, I asked the owner about the flowers. He said he remembers them vividly. They were the last bouquet he ever sold before the shop closed.
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Sometimes the cost of your dreams isn't measured in money, but in something far more precious, like in this story inspired by Shelby Lane. Drake felt that life had been completely unfair to him. Despite being a talented, aspiring musician, he was having no luck and was currently between jobs. To add to his misery, his friend Connor, an artist, had experienced a recent boom of tremendous success.
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He thought it was strange, but he never sold them to anyone. My blood ran cold. There was no way my aunt could have gotten those flowers unless... unless they had been sent by someone who had no business doing so.'" Someone who had been in that apartment before her. Someone who had been there long before she ever thought to move in. And I realized then, it wasn't just the flowers.
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It was the apartment itself. It had been waiting for her, waiting for someone. And whoever sent those flowers hadn't just wanted to leave a gift. They wanted her there. They needed her there. But for what? I didn't know. and I don't think I ever will fully understand. What happened that day, what we learned, was only the beginning of a much deeper mystery.
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One that feels like it's still alive in the apartment, still watching, waiting. And it's been years, but sometimes when I close my eyes, I can still feel it. The eyes of whatever or whoever is inside those walls, watching, always watching. What would you do if you found out that something had been waiting for you long before you ever moved in?
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Do you think there is anything hiding in the walls of your home? If so, tell us your story by sending us an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com. They say envy can twist the human heart into something monstrous. Like in this story inspired by Kiki, In a small town nestled in the hills of West Bengal, there were two sisters, Asha and Priya. Asha, the older of the two, was the epitome of grace.
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She was a beauty not just in face, but in spirit. Her smile could light up even the darkest corners, and her kindness was known throughout the village. She had a way of making everyone feel special, making her the center of admiration wherever she went. Priya, the younger sister, adored her. She even looked up to Asha with a reverence that bordered on worship.
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But as the years went by, something dark began to simmer inside Priya. A feeling that she couldn't shake, no matter how hard she tried. No matter how much she admired her sister, the truth gnawed at her heart. Asha was everything Priya could never be. The whispers in the village only made it worse. Asha, the perfect one. Asha, the graceful one.
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Asha the kind-hearted beauty and Priya, as much as she loved her sister, could feel herself slowly becoming invisible. The jealousy started small. At first, it was a bitter taste whenever Asha received praise or attention. Priya tried to bury it, convinced that it was just a phase. But as the years passed, the jealousy grew into something darker, more sinister, and less controllable.
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Priya began to resent her sister, not for her kindness, but for her ability to draw love and admiration so effortlessly. Each smile Asha gave to someone else, like the knife in Priya's heart. Then came the night that everything changed. Asha was to be married to a well-known man from a neighboring town. The village was buzzing with excitement. This was a union that would bring great joy to all.
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Priya was expected to be a bridesmaid, to stand beside her sister in celebration. But as she watched Asha try on her wedding dress, her heart broke all over again. Asha's beauty was incomparable. She was radiant, as if the world itself had conspired to make her perfect. Priya stared at her sister, a hollow emptiness filling her chest. That night, something inside Priya snapped.
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In the dead of night, as the village slept under a blanket of darkness, Priya waited. She crept into Ash's room, where her sister lay asleep, unaware of the growing storm in her sibling's heart. Priya's hand trembled as she picked up the sharp, glistening knife from the kitchen. She could feel the weight of the blade, the coldness of it, matching the coldness in her soul.
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This was the only way to make herself feel free, the only way to rid herself of suffocating envy that had strangled her for so long. With a breathless whisper, Priya leaned over her sister's sleeping form. She hesitated for a moment, the face she had once adored now something she could no longer bear. And then, in one swift, terrifying motion, Priya ended Asha's life.
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The silence that followed was deafening. Asha's blood stained the sheets, and the room filled with the scent of death. Priya stood over her sister's body, staring in disbelief at what she had done. But there was no turning back. She had freed herself from the poison of envy. Only now, she was shackled by something far worse. The next morning, the town awoke to tragedy.
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Patrons paying hundreds of thousands, even millions, for his paintings and sculptures. Instead of feeling happy for his friend, Drake only felt envy. One night, while the two were enjoying drinks at their favorite bar, Connor sensed the tension in his friend. Reaching into his pocket, he handed Drake a business card.
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Asha's death shocked everyone and the grief that swept over the village was palpable. Priya played the part of the mourning sister well, shedding fake tears, her heart pounding with fear at the thought of being discovered. But deep down, she knew that the act of violence she had committed had set something into motion, something she couldn't control.
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The curse, they would say later, began that night. Priya's life was never the same. She felt a growing unease, as though the world inside her had shifted into something darker. The villagers, though they mourned Asha, began to whisper about strange occurrences that followed her death. Priya couldn't sleep, she couldn't eat.
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Every night she felt as though something was watching her, stalking her in the shadows. A cold presence that never left her. Then, it began to happen. During weddings, during childbirth celebrations, whenever there was happiness in the air, Priya's guilt began to manifest.
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First, it was small, an uneasy feeling at a wedding feast, a sudden cold gust of wind that would send shivers through the guests. But then it escalated. Brides would suddenly fall ill, their faces pale and drained. Infants would cry uncontrollably, as though terror had gripped them from the inside.
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Priya could feel the eyes of the villagers on her as she stood in the middle of it all, but she was helpless. She had no explanation. And then, one night, after a particularly disturbing incident at a local wedding, Priya saw it. The thing that had been stalking her waiting. It was a shatter, draped in the blackest night, standing at the edge of the wedding hall.
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Its face, once familiar, was now twisted into something grotesque. A face that no longer held any trace of Asha's beauty, only rage. Priya's heart stopped as she realized the truth. This was Asha, or something like her. Asha's spirit consumed by the envy she had died with. She had become a pret-atma, an angry ghost, doomed to wander the earth bringing misfortune wherever she went.
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The villagers were terrified. They knew that no matter how they tried to keep their celebrations joyful, the Pret Atma would find its way in. Priya tried to flee, but wherever she went, the ghost followed her, appearing in the shadows. In the reflection of mirrors and the silence of the night, it was Asha's face, but twisted, distorted, filled with the unrelenting bitterness of jealousy.
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The woman who once embodied beauty and grace had become the very thing that had always been feared. As years passed, the town developed strange rituals to protect themselves. They tied black threads around babies' wrists and smeared coal on their faces to ward off the phase of pret-atma. But even these precautions couldn't stop it entirely.
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The spirit of jealousy lived on, tormenting the living, feeding off the misfortune it caused. And Priya? She was cursed forever to witness the destruction her envy had wrought. Her sister's ghost always lurking in the background, a constant reminder of the price she had paid for her bitterness. Have you ever felt envy so deep that it started to consume you?
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"'There's someone who can help you,' goes by the name of Miss L. She helped me to get where I am. I owe it all to her." Drake snatched up the card, his eyes roving hungrily over the gleaming gold letters. Connor's expression was one of concern. "'Just be careful, man. Her price is steep.'" The next day, Drake followed the address written on the card, leading him to a palatial townhouse downtown.
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This week's podcast stories were edited by Sarah Lukasiewicz, narration by Blair Bathory, audio edited and mixed by Fitz Harris, additional audio editing by Calvin Linderman, produced by Anna Villalobos, executive produced by Gil Gilman, music by Sapphire Sandalo and Calvin Linderman. If you have a story you'd like to submit... send me an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com.
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Don't forget to watch the video version of Something Scary over at youtube.com slash snarled. And if you'd like to support the show and everything we do at Snarled, join our Patreon at patreon.com slash snarled. As always, witches, thanks for joining me this week. I hope you enjoyed these stories.
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And don't forget to leave a comment and let me know what version of the video podcast do you like the most. We're listening to you and we want to hear what you think. Until next time, sweet screams.
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As he approached, the door swung open on its own. A melodic voice called out, "'Come in. Come in. I've been expecting you.'" Wearily, Drake stepped through the threshold, marveling at the opulence of his surroundings. He followed the voice into a sitting room, where a woman lounged on a velvet chaise.
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She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, voluptuous and slender, with simmering red-gold hair cascading down her back, jade-green eyes, and porcelain-like skin. She wore an ivory pantsuit, golden jewelry gleaming under the light. This was Miss L. She smiled at him, and Drake sank into an armchair across from her. Miss L spoke as if she had all the time in the world.
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We've done a couple of variations of this, so let me know in the comments which one you like best. Sometimes, the things that haunt us aren't the ones we can see, but the ones we carry inside. The quiet jealousy that festers over time, the unspoken fears that linger in the corners of our minds, and the dark emotions we try to bury.
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She already knew who he was and why he was there. Her calm demeanor unsettled him as she explained her offer. I don't take money. What I take is time. Confused, Drake asked, Time? Yes, time, she replied. But not just any time. I take time off your natural lifespan, she chuckled, her eyes gleaning with something dark. Your friend Connor was able to haggle me down in one month.
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He promised to create a life-size portrait and a marble statue of me. Well, I simply couldn't resist. Drake's skepticism grew, but Miss L leaned in closer, her gaze intense. I'll do you one better. One single day of your life, Drake.
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Fame, riches, endless adoration. Still unsure, Drake hesitated. One day... That's all, she assured him. Her voice had a melodic but dangerous edge to it. And when you agree, I won't collect for ten years. You'll live gloriously for a decade.
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Without fully understanding why, Drake extended his hand and accepted. Deal, he said, his voice a little too eager. Miss L leaned back, a satisfied smile on her face. Then expect a surprise in the morning. That night, Drake lay in bed, restless, his mind racing. He hardly slept. But by 10 a.m. the next morning, his phone rang.
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It was the head of a record label who had seen one of Drake's videos and wanted to sign him. His heart raced.
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It had worked. The next 10 years of Drake's life was a whirlwind of fame and indulgence. He had everything he ever dreamed of, luxury, adoration, and power. But with success came excess. Drake gambled, drank, and used drugs. His behavior grew increasingly erratic. He abused his staff and took advantage of anyone who came in his way.
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Worst of all was the event with Natalie, a young girl who had tried to stand up for herself. Drake's actions led to her tragic death, and yet the media turned against her. They called her a liar, and in the end, the girl took her own life. As the years went on, Drake became more corrupt. Even Connor, his once closest friend, couldn't stand him anymore and severed all ties.
Something Scary
Death Lingers in Silence
Alone, Drake revealed in his power, his monstrous ego growing with every passing year. One night, after a late recording session, Drake received a call from an unknown number. Thinking it was his manager, he answered. A familiar, velvety voice echoed through the phone. Hello, Drake. Long time no see. Drake froze. He recognized the voice instantly. Time's up, Drake.
Something Scary
Death Lingers in Silence
Hi, witches, I'm Blair Bathory, and this is the Something Scary Podcast. Thank you so much for being here. Whether this is your first time or you're one of the brave souls who join us every week. And if you're watching on Spotify or YouTube, you may notice we're doing another video version of the podcast.
Something Scary
Death Lingers in Silence
Miss L continued, her voice chilling. Your payment is due tonight. Drake checked the date. It had been exactly ten years since their agreement. He groaned, already fatigued from the day. Can't this wait? It's late. No one keeps me waiting, Drake. Miss L's voice was sharp with authority. You know where to find me. Come now or else. And she hung up.
Something Scary
Death Lingers in Silence
Drake drove quickly, feeling a mix of dread and exhaustion. When he arrived, the door opened before he reached it. Miss L was waiting for him, looking exactly as she had 10 years ago. This time, she wore a blood red gown, her beauty unchanging, as though she had not aged a day. She looked at him with a strange hunger in her eyes. Did you have fun these last ten years? She asked, sipping wine.
Something Scary
Death Lingers in Silence
These are forces that shape our lives in ways we don't always understand. But be warned, when these shadows are unleashed, they have a way of taking control, and nothing will ever be the same again. First, fame at a deadly cost, followed by something sinister waits for you. Finally, in our last story, consumed by envy.
Something Scary
Death Lingers in Silence
I heard concerning things about you. Gambling, drinking, mistreating others. Is this the legacy you want to leave? Drake scoffed. I'm just living my life. Who cares about anyone else? Miss L's gaze hardened. Even Natalie?
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Death Lingers in Silence
drake stiffened but his response was cold it was her fault she shouldn't have been out walking when i was drunk she begged me to stop but i knew what she wanted she killed herself that's not my problem miss l's eyes turned to ice and she checked the time one minute to midnight she murmured drake's smug grin faltered as he began to feel the weight of his sins Do you regret any of it?
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Death Lingers in Silence
Miss L asked softly, her voice dark. No. Drake answered without hesitation. I'd do it all again. Miss L smiled, twisting into something far more sinister. That's all I needed to hear. The clock struck midnight, and the room seemed to shift. Drake was suddenly seized by excruciating pain, his body feeling as if it were being torn apart.
Something Scary
Death Lingers in Silence
As if he looked down, his body started to disintegrate into a wisp of black smoke. He collapsed on the floor, gasping in horror as Miss L stood above him, her appearance transforming into something monstrous.
Something Scary
Death Lingers in Silence
ears elongated her features sharp and angular and her eyes glowed like hellfire her skin became even paler her hair whipping around as though caught in an invisible wind she towered over him her grin widening i knew from the moment i saw you drake she said softly you were a wretch undeserving of life a blemish of humanity Drake tried to speak, but terror had seized his throat.
Something Scary
Death Lingers in Silence
He could only watch as his body continued to disappear. Misselle knelt, her voice cold and mocking. Care to know which day I took from you, Drake?
Something Scary
Death Lingers in Silence
Drake's mind raced, full of regret. For all he had done, Misselle's voice echoed in his fading consciousness. Your greatest desire was to be remembered. But no one will remember you now. He will never have existed. As his head finally began to fade, Drake's last words were a desperate, Who? What? Are you? Misselle's voice was the last thing he heard, filled with cruel amusement.
Something Scary
Death Lingers in Silence
I have been called many things, but you may know me as Lian Shi. I am the one who takes what's most precious when you dare to covet what you cannot earn.
Something Scary
Death Lingers in Silence
Have you ever promised something that was too good to be true? Did you agree to do it anyway? If so, tell us your story by sending us an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com. Sometimes it's the smallest things that hide the darkest secrets, like in this story inspired by Alicia. It was 2010 when my aunt, in her mid-20s, moved into her new apartment.
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Death Lingers in Silence
She had rented it from a friend who inherited the place after his grandmother passed away a couple of years before. The apartment was charming. The kind of place you could picture yourself settling into. Small, cozy, with a view of the city that felt like a secret. A few weeks after she moved, something strange happened. One day, she found a bouquet of flowers sitting on her doorstep.
Something Scary
Death Lingers in Silence
They were fresh, vibrant, clearly bought from a flower shop. No card, no delivery notice, just the flowers. At first, she thought it was just a gift from a friend, maybe something to celebrate Dio de los Reyes, which was just around the corner. The thought of someone being kind enough to send her flowers didn't feel strange. It was almost comforting.
Something Scary
Death Lingers in Silence
But before we get to our stories, I wanted to ask if you would take a minute to rate and review this podcast. It's one of the ways you can help Something Scary continue to grow, and it only takes a minute. We are so grateful for the support of all of our listeners around the world.
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Death Lingers in Silence
But when our family decided to celebrate the holiday at her place, our first time seeing her apartment, that's when the unease began. The moment we walked through the door, I felt it. There was something wrong with the place, something I couldn't put my finger on. But it gnawed at me, like a dark cloud hanging just over my head. The air felt thick. almost suffocating. But it wasn't just me.
Something Scary
Death Lingers in Silence
My grandmother's reaction told me everything I needed to know. She stepped into the apartment, froze, and then her face drained of color. Her eyes darted around like she was searching for something. Or someone. I didn't say anything. I thought I was just being paranoid, but I could feel the wrongness deep in my bones, and I wasn't the only one.
Something Scary
Death Lingers in Silence
My grandmother turned to my aunt, her voice low, almost frantic. You need to get out, she said. I could see the fear in her eyes. There's something wrong with the house. The words hit like a blow to the chest. My aunt stared at her, confused. What do you mean? There's something here. There's something you can't see, but you can feel it, can't you?
Something Scary
Death Lingers in Silence
She stepped forward, her hand trembling as she clutched my aunt's arm. Has anyone been here before us? No, my aunt answered, her voice small. A silence settled over us, and then my grandmother's voice cut through the air like a knife. Did anyone send you anything? My aunt's face changed, her eyes widened, and for a second, I thought she might faint. She froze, caught in the question.
Something Scary
Death Lingers in Silence
She didn't want to say it aloud, but I could see she was terrified. She finally spoke, her voice shaking. There were flowers, a few weeks ago. Someone left them on my doorstep. I felt my stomach drop. The same flowers, the ones that had been so innocuous at first, now felt like a signal. Like something was brewing just beneath the surface. Something dark and malevolent.
Something Scary
Death Lingers in Silence
My grandmother didn't want to waste a second. She looked my aunt in the eye and said, Get rid of them.
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Death Lingers in Silence
The words rattled around in my mind. My cousin and I exchanged a glance, our unease growing. We knew what we had to do next. We left the apartment to look up the flower shop where the bouquet had come from. We didn't think it would be much of a lead. After all, flowers are flowers.
Something Scary
Death Lingers in Silence
But the more we thought about it, the more we realized how strange it was that those flowers had been left there without a trace. No delivery, no note, no explanation. It wasn't the kind of thing you just forget. It took us a while, but we tracked it down. The flower shop was tucked away in an old part of the city, like it was trying to hide itself.
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Death Lingers in Silence
It was small, rundown, and barely noticeable, like the kind of place you would think was long forgotten. But the real shock hit when we discovered the shop had been closed for over 10 years. 10 years? ! How could that be? How could there be a fresh bouquet from a store that had been out of business for a decade? We stood outside the shop, trying to process the information.
Something Scary
Death Lingers in Silence
My head spun with questions, each one darker than the last. Who had sent the flowers and why? There was something deeply wrong about this. If the flowers weren't from the past, then where had they come from? Who had placed them on her doorstep and why? My stomach churned as I thought about the possibilities.
Something Scary
Death Lingers in Silence
I kept trying to tell myself it was just a coincidence, a strange one, yes, but not impossible. But then I thought about the feeling in my apartment, the way the walls seemed to press in on us, how the air turned thick and impressive the moment we stepped inside. It wasn't just the flowers, something more was going on.
Something Scary
Death Lingers in Silence
The house itself felt alive, like it was hiding something just out of view, something that didn't want us there. We went back to my aunt's apartment, both of us in silence, the weight of the discovery hanging over us like a storm cloud. When we walked in, it felt different. The apartment seemed quieter, colder. It was as if the walls had changed.
Something Scary
Death Lingers in Silence
They seemed to close in on us, as though they were watching, waiting. I felt like I couldn't breathe. I looked around at my aunt, who was sitting on the couch, her face pale. She seemed off, disconnected. She had been distant ever since we came back from the flower shop, as though she wasn't quite there. It was like she was somewhere else, staring at the walls, at nothing.
Something Scary
Death Lingers in Silence
I wondered if she felt it too, the pressure, the suffocation. Then my cousin spoke up. He'd been quiet up until that point. You didn't see it, did you? He said, his voice barely a whisper. I turned to him, confused. See what? He stood up and walked over to the window, his back to mine. The flowers weren't from the shop, he said slowly. The shop hasn't been open for years.
Something Scary
The Art of Murder
Letztendlich in unserer letzten Geschichte ein Masterpiece oder Mörder. Bevor wir zu unseren Geschichten kommen, wollte ich fragen, ob ihr unsere neue Merch gecheckt habt. Es heißt Camp Scary und wir haben alle Art von coolen Sachen für euch zu checken. Wir haben Klamotten, Muggs, Notenbücher, alle Art von wirklich tollen Sachen.
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The Art of Murder
Die Tür war mein einziger Weg in oder aus. Ich hatte keine Wahl, sondern zu warten. Ich konnte rennen, aber ich wäre nie genug schnell. Wenn ihr diese Fotos findet, tut es euch bitte. Schmutz sie, zerstöre sie, berühre sie. Alles, um sicherzustellen, dass niemand mehr sie anschaut. Denn sobald ihr sie seht, seid ihr nie wirklich allein. Und ihr wirst nie ausgehen.
Something Scary
The Art of Murder
Was würdest du tun, wenn du Fotos fandest, die nie gesehen werden sollen? Könntest du den Wunsch, sie zu schauen, resistieren? Oder ist deine Wunsch rausgegangen? Hast du jemals etwas gesehen, das du wünschst, dass du nicht siehst? Sometimes the price of immortality isn't fame, but a soul lost to the art that was meant to preserve it. Inspired by the true crime death of Cuban artist Ana Mendieta.
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The Art of Murder
Written by Sarah Lukaskowitz. The gallery buzzed with soft murmurs as visitors wandered between art displays. Each piece seemed to tell a story or hold a secret, but none more than the centerpiece. A massive installation titled The Final Descent, the piece featured shattered glass suspended in mid-air, glowing under a crimson spotlight.
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The Art of Murder
Unternehmlich, ein schwarzer Soil, vermischt mit kräftigen Porzellan-Fragmenten, hat ein bescheuertes Display geschaffen. Ein kleines Plastikpapier, das zu Elena Medina gedreht wurde, dessen Kunst über uns alle geblieben ist. Martina Reyes stand mitten im Publikum, die Notbücher festzulegen. Elena Medinas Tod war nicht nur eine andere Anzeige für sie.
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The Art of Murder
Martina hat Elena's Arbeit jahrelang gewünscht, gefühlt in der Art, in der sie mit Leben pulsierte. Jedes Stück zeigte eine rauhe Intimität. Aber es war nicht nur die Anerkennung, die sie heute Abend in dieser Galerie gebracht hat. Sie konnte die Parallelen zwischen Elenas Geschichte und ihren eigenen Erfahrungen nicht schütteln.
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The Art of Murder
Die Geräusche der Kontrolle, der Leidenschaft und der Ambition fühlten sich ehrlicherweise bekannt. Und Martina brauchte zu wissen, ob die Geheimnisse der Kunstwelt einen dunkleren Untergrund hatten. Einen, der sie auch einschneiden könnte. Elena Medinas Tod, nur ein paar Monate zuvor, hat die Kunstwelt geschockt. Die kubanisch-amerikanische Performanztin ist vom 34.
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The Art of Murder
Flur des Wohnzimmers, das sie mit ihrem Mann, Charles Archer, geteilt hat. Ein berühmter minimalistischer Skulptor. Die Behörden nannten es einen tragischen Unfall. but whispers of something darker lingered in the air. Martinez's eyes flicked to Charles, who stood near the installation. He was calm, almost unnervingly so, dressed sharply in a grey suit.
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The Art of Murder
There was no grief on his face, no triumph either, just an unreadable expression. Die Leute um sie herum schluchzten. Manche spekulierten über Charles, andere über Elenas mysteriöses letztes Projekt. Martina hat die Gerüchte gehört, ihre Argumente, seine Leidenschaft, ihr neues Werk, das sie sogar von ihm versteckt hat. Aber nichts davon erklärte, was wirklich passiert ist.
Something Scary
The Art of Murder
Und wenn ihr auf somethingscary.com geht, könnt ihr es jetzt checken. Außerdem wollte ich fragen, ob ihr die Chance gehabt habt, dieses Podcast zu raten und zu revieren. Ihr könnt jetzt stoppen und es machen oder bis zum Ende warten. Aber wir würden es wirklich appreciieren, weil es die Worte verbreitet und unsere Ratings erhöht und uns weiter nach vorne drückt, um noch mehr zu wachsen.
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The Art of Murder
Am nächsten Tag besuchte Martina den Lofthaus, wo Elena und Charles lebten. Der Konzernvorsitzende von dem Gebäude, Gus, gab ihr die Schlüssel, aber seine Augen flickerten nervös, als er über seine Schulter schlug, fast als ob er jemanden oder irgendetwas erwarten würde. Er sah nicht zu sprechen, und als er das tat, waren seine Worte leise, fast wie eine Warnung.
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The Art of Murder
Not many people come back from there the same, Gus muttered. He quickly added, there's something about that place, some things you shouldn't look too closely at. His reluctance was clear and the air between them felt tense. He seemed to be trying to shake something off. His eyes darting toward the door as if ready to leave. Martina took the key, noting how he stiffened as she turned to leave.
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The Art of Murder
There was no further explanation, but Gus's unease lasted long after she stepped into the elevator. Der Lauf war ein Verlust von Gegnern. Einer Seite war stark und präzise, dominiert von Charles' Skulpturen. Geometrische Formen, die mehr wie Wälder als Kunst aussehen. Die andere Seite war lebendig mit Farbe und Texturen. Elenas Kampfen hielten sich gegen die Wälder.
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The Art of Murder
Seine Materialien verbreiteten sich überall. Der feine Geruch der Erde blieb noch in der Luft, als ob etwas unbeendet war. Auf einem Tisch bemerkte Martina ein offenes Schriftbuch. Sie versuchte dann, es durchzuführen. Page nach Page zeigte eine Frau, die fallende, ihre Haare fliegenden nach oben wie Feuer.
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The Art of Murder
Die Bilder waren detailliert und schrecklich, und je länger Martina schlug, desto mehr sah die Figur sich in die Kante ihres Sehens verändern. Gus's voice startled her. She called it Ascension, he said from the doorway, with a hint of disdain in his voice. Said it was going to be her masterpiece, but she never told anyone what it really meant. Martina felt a chill.
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The Art of Murder
Was Elena's death part of her art? Or was there something more sinister at play? Later Martina tracked down Lila, one of Elena's closest friends. They met in a quiet café, where Lila's tear-streaked face told Martina everything about her grief. Elena, Lila said, had always been intense. Every piece of her art had to mean something profound.
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The Art of Murder
Sie hat einmal Lila erzählt, dass Kunst der einzige Weg war, um den Tod zu verletzen, um ein Stück von sich hinterher zu lassen, für immer. Als Martina über Charles fragte, hat Lilas Ausdruck verändert. Seine Augen wurden breiter. Die Beziehung hatte sich kompliziert, hat sie ermittelt. Sie liebten einander, aber Charles kämpfte, als seine Karriere zerstörte, während Elena starb.
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The Art of Murder
An der Nacht, als Elena gestorben ist, haben sie argumentiert. Elena hat etwas darüber gesagt, dass sie endlich frei ist, obwohl Lila nicht sicher war, was sie bedeutet. Danach, am Abend, kam Martina zurück in die Galerie. Die letzte Installation des Descents lag in dem dünnen Licht. Starend nach ihr zurück, war der Raum sauber.
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The Art of Murder
Als sie die Erde unterhalb der Skulptur beobachtete, hat sich etwas in ihr Auge gefangen. Ein kleines metallisches Objekt, verbrannt in der Dürre. Sie hat es vorsichtig herausgefunden und hat einen gebrochenen Lockett gefunden. Darunter stand ein Foto von Elena und Charles, lachend. Auf der Rückseite hatte jemand eine Begegnung. Die Nacht, an der Elena gestorben ist, Du solltest nicht hier sein.
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The Art of Murder
So, wanna hear something scary? The Art of Murder Sometimes the things we create can take on a life of their own in ways more terrifying than we ever imagined. Like in this story inspired by Kee Lee. I used to love painting. Days would slip by as I worked on a single piece. Each one was a labor of passion that adorned every wall of my house.
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The Art of Murder
Martina froze. Charles stepped out of the shadows, his face partially lit by the glow of the installation. He looked calm but intense, his eyes fixed some locket in her hand. He took a step closer, his voice low and measured. He spoke about Elena's obsession with creating unforgettable art. Ascension was meant to be her ultimate piece, he said. She believed it would make her immortal.
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The Art of Murder
Martinas heart raced as she pieced it together. Elena had staged her own fall as part of her performance. But something had gone wrong. Or had it. Charles' tone hinted at a different story. One where jealousy or anger might have driven him to intervene. He took the locket from her hand, his fingers brushing hers. Elena wanted to be remembered, he said, almost a whisper.
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The Art of Murder
Die nächste Morgen ging Martinas Artikel live. Seine Headline fragte die Frage, die jeder antworten wollte. Ist Elena Medina für ihr Kunstwerk gestorben? Oder ist sie es? Sie hat alles herausgebracht, was sie gelernt hat, um den Lesern zu entscheiden, was sie glauben. Die Begleitung der Galerie wurde in den nächsten Wochen gegründet.
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The Art of Murder
Die Kritiker fehlten Charles' neueste Skulptur, eine zaubernde Figur eines Mädchens, als sein bestes Werk noch. Manche nannten es eine Begrüßung, andere sahen es als eine Entschuldigung. Aber Martina konnte nicht aufhören, zu fühlen, dass die Wahrheit noch da war, versteckt in den Schatten der Kunst, die Elena hinterlässt.
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The Art of Murder
Jedes Mal, als sie über die Galerie ging, stellte sie sich Elena an, als ob sie schweigte. Kunst ist der einzige Weg, um Tod zu verletzen. Würdest du alles für deine Kunst versorgen? Wie weit würdest du gehen, um dich zu erinnern? This week's podcast stories were edited by Sarah Lukaskowitz. Narration by Blair Bathory. Audio edited and mixed by Fitz Harris. Produced by Annie Villalobos.
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The Art of Murder
Gail Gilman is our executive producer. Music by Sapphire Sindalo and Calvin Linderman. If you have a story you'd like to submit, send me an email at somethingscaryatsnarl.com and I might read it on the podcast. Don't forget to like, comment and subscribe and share this if you know somebody that likes spooky stories.
Something Scary
The Art of Murder
And if you'd like to support the show and everything we do at Snarled, join our Patreon at patreon.com slash snarled. And until next time, sweet screams.
Something Scary
The Art of Murder
Whenever people visited, they couldn't help but comment on the sheer number of paintings. I would beam as I told them about each one. One night, I finished a piece I'd been working on for two weeks. It depicted a dense forest, shadowy and foreboding. mit der feinen Figur eines Mannes, der sich unter den Bäumen ausgeschnitten hat. Es war dunkler als mein gewöhnlicher Stil.
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The Art of Murder
Inspiriert von einem Overdose-True-Crime-Podcast, aber ich fühlte mich stolz auf die schreckliche, unermessliche Vibe, die es entdeckt hat. Obwohl es einen ominösen Ton hat, hat es mich nicht bedroht. Auch in der dünnen Lichter meiner Kunststunde, zu müde, sie zu hängen, habe ich es gegen den Wall geploppt, um es am nächsten Tag zu handeln.
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The Art of Murder
Mein Schlafzimmer war direkt neben meinem Werkstatt, separiert nur von dünnen Wäldern. Normalerweise kamen die einzigen Geräusche, die ich am Abend hörte, aus meinen Katzen, die durch meine Verpackungen rutschten. Deshalb hat mich das stürmische Schlägen gegen die Wälder überrascht. Ich habe mich aufgeräumt, mein Herz schmerzte.
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The Art of Murder
Mein erster Gedanke war, dass die Katzen zu der Katnipp gekommen sind und Schmerzen verursachen. But then I glanced across the room. Both cats were fast asleep on their beds. I froze, staring at my open bedroom door. A long, sharp black hand curled around the edge of the doorframe and then quickly withdrew. My breath caught in my throat.
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The Art of Murder
As I searched the room for anything to defend myself, all I found was a can of sunscreen, which I clutched like a weapon as I crept into the dark hallway. The banging continued. Lauter jetzt, aus dem Kunstraum. Meine trimmelnde Hand fliegt auf das Licht, als ich die Tür öffne. Die Wohnung war, als ich sie verlassen habe.
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The Art of Murder
Eine chaotische Messe von Farben und Brötchen, die sich über den Boden verteilt haben. Meine Augen sind auf die Farbe geschlossen, die größte in der Wohnung. Und mein Stomach hat gedroht. Der schädelige Mann im Wald war weg. Wie war das möglich? Ich dachte, steigend näher. Ich rief aus, als ob das Anzeigen des Kampfs die Unmöglichkeit vor mir erklären würde.
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The Art of Murder
Aber die Figur war einfach... ...verloren. Mein Instinkt schreit mich, um zu gehen. So habe ich es gemacht. Ich bin zurückgekehrt in die Küche, um ein Glas Wasser zu kühlen, um meine Nerven zu kühlen. Aber als ich in die Halle ging, war das oppressive Gefühl, dass ich gesehen werde, mich überwältigt. Nicht nur durch ein Paar Augen, sondern durch Hunderten.
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The Art of Murder
In the kitchen the water did little to steady my nerves. I returned to my room, lay in my bed and stared at the ceiling, too shaken to sleep. Hours passed before exhaustion finally dragged me under. The next morning, the unease clung to me. Heading to the kitchen, I was hit by a foul stench that made me gag. It was metallic, sickly, the unmistakable smell of blood.
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The Art of Murder
Der Geruch sah aus wie aus dem Fenster. Aber als ich draußen schaute, gab es nichts. Verletzt, bin ich zurück in die Küche geflogen. Die Auslösung des Geruchs war nicht draußen. Es war die Klammer. Mein Stomach schurrte, als ich Töpfe des Haares in die Fabrik zog. Es war Dolly's Haar. Panik schlug mich durch, als ich das Haus für Darla, meine andere Katze, suchte. Ich stürzte in den Kunstraum.
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The Art of Murder
Der Geruch von Blut war jetzt überwältigend. In der Runde hutschte Darla über eine gemengelte Flasche. Schmerz schlug mich an, als ich bemerkte, dass sie Dolly's Blech gegessen hatte. Träume stürzten mir in den Gesicht, als ich Darla nahm, als ihr Muskel mit Blut schlug und sie in den Bett schlug. Schreckend, ging ich zurück in den Kunstraum, um zu verstehen, was passiert ist.
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The Art of Murder
Dolly's blutige Körper lag leidenschaftlich auf dem Boden und mein Bild? Mein Herz sank, als ich sah, dass es zerbrochen war. Lange Klauenmarken, die den einmal präzisen Kamin verbrachten. Ich staggerte zurück, mein Kopf schwindelte. Ein feiner, langer Geräusch sah durch die Wälder zu schweigen. My pulse raised as I looked around, desperate for the source. Was I hearing things? Losing my mind?
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The Art of Murder
I fled to grab gloves and trash bags to clean up the mess, determined to regain some sense of control. But when I returned, the room was pristine. No blood, no smell, no body. Even Darla, locked in the bathroom, was clean. My legs buckled as I dropped to the floor, clutching my head. How could this be happening? I scanned the room for some clue, any explanation.
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The Art of Murder
The painting fragments seemed to pulse faintly in the light, and a chilling thought surfaced. Had I invited something into my home? Grabbing my keys, I fled the house, needing to escape the madness. I drove to my friend Crystal's house. She was into all things supernatural and might have answers. Als ich hergekommen bin, bin ich in ihre Küche gerutscht, über das, was passiert ist.
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The Art of Murder
Ihr Gesicht wurde weich, als ich die Events beschreibte. Hast du eine schattige Figur in den Wald gedreht? Sie fragte. Ich klingelte. Aber er ist jetzt weg. Das Bild ist zerbrochen und Dolly... My voice broke. Crystals expression darkened. I've read about entities like this, she said, pulling an old leather-bound book from her shelf.
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The Art of Murder
Flipping through pages filled with faded ink drawings, she stopped at an image of a skeletal creature with elongated limbs and sharp claws. They're called image spirits. They're drawn to emotions poured into art, especially darker ones. The more you fear them, the stronger they become. My stomach churned. How do I stop it? Crystal hat gezwungen. Du musst ihre Verbindung zerstören.
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The Art of Murder
Wir müssen jedes Bild mit dem, von dem es kam, ausbrechen. Diese Nacht, mit Knöpfen und einer Waffe, hat Crystal gezwungen, sie zu bringen. Wir sind zurückgekehrt zu meinem Haus. Wir haben alle Bilder nach vorne gedreht und haben alle beendet. Stunden sind übergegangen, bis das Bängeln wieder begonnen hat. Lauter dieses Mal. Die Wälder sahen mit der Kraft zu vibrieren. Wir riefen in die Halle.
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The Art of Murder
Jedes Bild zeigte die selben Wälder und in der größten war der schädelige Figur vor uns. Als er auftauchte, wurde er in einen zauberhaften, skeletalen Biest mit verlängerten Lippen und Raserscharkklauen verwendet. Crystal führte ihre Waffe an, aber die Kugeln fuhren ihn nicht. In Bedrohung fliegte ich in die Halle, schlug jedes Bild an.
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The Art of Murder
Hi Witches, I'm Blair Bathory and this is the Something Scary Podcast. Thank you so much for being here. Whether this is your first time or you're one of the brave souls who join us every week. Manchmal ist das Kunstwerk des Mörders nicht so, wie es scheint. Hinter jeder Bruststrecke, jeder Fräne, sind dunkle, verschwörte Wahrheiten, die warten, bis sie entdeckt werden.
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The Art of Murder
Eines nach dem anderen verwandelten sich die Bilder in ihre originalen Formen. Der Biest klingelte, als ich das letzte Bild zerstörte, sein Körper flickerte wie Statik. Es schlug für mich, Klauen, die meinen Arm zerstörten, bevor es in den leeren Frame des originalen Bildes verschwand. Ich verschloss, meine schmerzhafte Arme zu schlagen. Crystal lag auf dem Boden, ihr Blut unter ihr zu drücken.
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The Art of Murder
Die Tränen blürten meine Vision, als ich draußen stürzte, das Haus und seine Schmerzen hinter mir zu lassen. Das Gewicht von vielen Augen öffnete den Moment, als ich den Threshold überschritten habe. Aber ich wusste, dass ich nie frei wäre von dem, was ich gesehen habe. Oder was ich verloren habe. Hast du jemals etwas geschaffen, das fühlt sich an, als hätte es ein eigenes Leben?
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The Art of Murder
Was würdest du tun, wenn etwas, das du gedreht hast, dich angefangen hat zu sehen? Manchmal sind die dunklen Geheimnisse in vergessenem Bild und sollten nie wieder gesehen werden. Wie in dieser Geschichte, inspiriert von Solar496. I was a video archivist at a police foundation. On paper it seemed like one of the easiest jobs in the organization.
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I was responsible for reviewing every tape found in the field, every convict interview and every log recorded. If something passed my desk, it meant my boss wanted its contents transcribed and the original footage preserved. My job seemed harmless enough, right? But now I realized applying for this position was the worst mistake of my life.
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The Art of Murder
Es hat innen genug angefangen, als mir eine Box von VHS-Tapes mit dem Namen RECOVERED FOOTAGE 1976 gegeben wurde. Die Box war nicht seltsam. Eine Box von Tapes zu bekommen, war nicht ungewöhnlich. Aber die Label hat mich bemerkt. Es kam aus einem Kühlschrank, der über vier Jahrhunderte lang ungeschlossen war.
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Es gab kein Manifest, keine Beschreibung der Inhalte, nur das seltsame Label schrottete in Sharpie. Das erste, was ich bemerkte, war die Unwahrheit eines Manifests. Es war nicht wie die gewohnte archivierte Fotos mit klaren Labels und Referenzen. Die Tape war schmutzig, alt und mit Erwachsenheit schmutzig, aber ihre Markierungen waren kräftig, handgeschrieben in einem hübschen, schmutzigen Stil.
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Ich wusste nicht, was zu erwarten ist, aber ich war sicher, dass ich es schlechter gesehen hätte. Ich habe mit der ersten Tape angefangen. Der Titel, unser neues Zuhause, füllte das Bild, dann schlug es sich zu einem grausamen Schuss eines kleinen Wohnzimmers. Ein junger Junge stand im Schrank. Die Kamera schlug seltsam, als hätte er es selbst aufgestellt.
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He was no older than ten, his face gaunt and pale. His clothes torn, his eyes bloodshot. The house in the background was dilapidated. Decay and neglect were evident in every shot. This wasn't a place a child should call home. And yet, there he was. Er sprach fast monoton, berichtete, wie er und seine Eltern gerade eingestiegen sind.
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Sie hatten ihr altes Haus in warmen, westlichen Australien verlassen, um zu diesem verlassenen Ort in Darwin zu kommen. Ein Kind, das an schlechten Bedingungen, nichts Neues zu mir hatte. Aber seine Stimme, flach, emotionlos, hat meine Nerven auf den Eck gesetzt. Er hat auch etwas erwähnt, das mich aufmerksam machte. Er wünschte, sie hätten sich nicht bewegt.
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Er sagte, dass ihr altes Zuhause, trotz des Schadens, nicht so schlecht war wie dieses. Das Kinds Wort klingelte, wie ein kleiner Schrei um Hilfe. Aber es war nicht genug, um mich zu erlärmen. Noch nicht. Ich stoppte die Tape. Die Kamera ging schwarz. Aber etwas in mir fühlte sich ungeheuer. Es war nur die erste Tape und es war nichts furchtbar. Nur ein Junge, der über sein neues Zuhause klagte.
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Aber ich fühlte, dass etwas falsch war. I moved on to the second tape, I blew off the dust, popped it in and pressed play. This time the screen was overtaken by the words, first day of school. It showed the same boy, his face was bruised now, a large black eye darkening his features. He stood in the same room, holding a backpack, looking smaller, even more beaten down.
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He began speaking again, his voice wavering. His first day at the new school hadn't gone well. The kids there were cruel, he said. And the bullying had started almost immediately. What struck me more was what he said next. Things at home were worse. His parents were fighting. The yelling was incessant. Loud enough that I could hear it clearly in the background. The boys' words faltered.
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Manche werden in vergessenen Fotos gefiltert, andere unter Lagen von Ambition und Verletzung. In diesen Geschichten blüht die Linie zwischen Kreation und Zerstörung, und manchmal ist der Preis des Kunstwerks viel mehr, als man sich vorstellen könnte. Zuerst ein Kamin von schrecklichem Schmerz, folgendes folgt, wenn du siehst, kannst du sie nicht aussehen.
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He paused, then groaned. Lowering the camera to the floor, I could hear the bickering between his parents growing louder. Their voices muffled by the walls. The tension palpable. The boy leaned forward and hit the button to stop the recording. I was unsettled. Sure, kids get bullied and parents fight, but why did this feel different? This wasn't just a video of a troubled child.
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There was something in the boy's eyes, something that screamed for help. But even so, I moved on, thinking it was just another sad case of a broken home. Der dritte Film ist dort, wo es sich wirklich erschreckend anfing. Der Titel war einfach, Home Alone. Die Kamera flickerte auf das Leben, und die Stimme des Jungs war unerwünscht über das Schreien im Hintergrund. Das Haus war ein Mess.
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Er erklärte, wie er von allem traurig war. Traurig von der Schule, dem Verbrechen, den ständigen Kämpfen zwischen seinen Eltern, dem rotierenden Haus. Er sagte, er sei fertig und er hätte nicht mehr geholfen. The recording went silent for a moment as the boy continued speaking, his words becoming more fragmented, the tone dead, like a small candle being snuffed out by the wind.
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Then the noise of yelling drowned out everything else. His parents were arguing again, louder this time. The camera shook violently as the boy kicked the tripod, knocking it over, leaving the lens pointed at the floor. For two hours nothing happened. The recording filled with the muffled sound of the parents screaming while the camera sat still. The Boys' silence, as heavy as the air.
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When the tape finally ended, I felt nauseous. The Boys' brokenness was suffocating. And the house, dark and unsettling, felt like a prison from which no one could escape. I reached for the final tape with shaky hands. This time there was no title. It started immediately with a scene that made my stomach twist. The screen showed a bed, but the sheets were stained. Something was underneath.
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The figure lying beneath the blanket was moving. Das Geräusch, ein hoher, zerstörterer Rippenausruf, rief durch das Audio. Der Schrein des Jungs folgte, einen, den ich nicht ignorieren konnte, auch wenn ich versucht habe. Es war nicht nur ein Schrein, es war etwas Primales. Etwas, das nicht zu einem Kind gehören sollte.
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Seine Stimme wackelte, und das Blut begann durch die Schuhe zu fliegen, die Farbe schwarz-grün auszuspülen. Dann eine Hand, gebraten in Blut, drückte die Schuhe weg. Das Gesicht des Jungs war zwischendurch in Schmerzen. His empty eye sockets gaping. His mouth was open, but no words came out. He dropped something, two small round objects wet with blood. I zoomed in. They were his eyes. Human eyes.
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I froze, sickened, but the worst was yet to come. The boy, if you could even call him that, suddenly leapt off the bed and crawled onto the floor. He moved frantically, like an animal searching for something, his empty sockets dripping blood, his hands reaching out to grasp anything until they found the camera.
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His face filled the lens, his lips curled into a grotesque smile, and a voice, cold and guttural, hissed. Deine eigene Sicht ist gefährlich. Entschuldige. Die Klappe hat geschlossen. Der Raum scheint um mich herum zu schließen. Ich konnte nicht atmen. Als ich dort saß, in Unwahrheit, begann das Schreien. Soft zuerst, dann lauter, mehr frantisch.
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Ein verstörter Schreie folgte, sich über den Raum zu drücken. Ich schlug nach der Tür. Das Blut war unter dem Gap, jetzt auf dem Boden. Es war er. Er hatte mich gefunden. Sein Geräusch klingelte in meinem Kopf, so wie es in dem Video war. Ich bin sorry. Es war zu spät. Die Warnung war zu spät gekommen. Ich ging in meine Schuhe, mein Herz schlug in meinen Körper. Die Schrecken wurden lauter.
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A Mother's Deadly Instinct
The words landed like blows, making his skin crawl. That night, Jose came home to find Cristina standing in the kitchen, her face calm but her eyes hollow. You've made me do something I didn't want to do, she said softly, but with a sharp edge in her voice. Jose's stomach dropped. What? Jose stepped back, his heart racing. This wasn't the woman he had been living with. This wasn't Christina.
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This was something else. Something darker. Without warning, she lunged at him, the knife poised to strike. But then, something stopped her. It wasn't Jose. Jose. He wasn't close enough to touch her, but the air around them thickened, the room suddenly freezing. Christina froze too, her arm rigid in midair, the knife suspended. The lights flickered, the drawers rattled.
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Sometimes, lullabies aren't meant to comfort. They're meant to warn, like in this story written by Sarah. Mara had whispered it every night for months, rubbing slow circles over her swelling belly beneath the glow of the nursery lamp. Sweet dreams, Junebug, she'd murmur.
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The sound of clattering kitchen utensils filled the air as knives, spoons, and forks flew toward Christina. One knife dug deep into her shoulder, another sliced her cheek open. She screamed, but it was a shrill sound, swallowed by the chaos. But then it happened. The music began, a song Jose and Petipita used to dance to, the familiar guitar riff filling the room like a ghost.
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The melody twisted the air, making it feel as though Pepita herself had returned. From the corner of the kitchen, a figure appeared, a woman in white, her black hair cascading around her shoulders. Pepita's hair ornament, one that Jose had given her, now adorned the woman's hair. Pepita stood before him, but her face was no longer that of the mother he had known.
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It was decayed, skin stretched tight over bones, eyes hollow and dark. Mom? Jose whispered, his voice cracking. Pepita smiled, her voice both soothing and terrifying. You're not alone, mijo, she whispered, her words filled with love and something more. Christina still suspended in air, tried to scream, but her mouth was frozen in terror.
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The knives withdrew from her body, leaving deep, gaping wounds. She was lifted higher, her body contorting in a way that made Jose's stomach turn. The woman, Pepita, held her there, suspended by invisible hands, as if controlling her fate. Christina's body fell to the ground with a sickening thud. Her eyes were wide open, a final scream frozen in place. Her terror was clear, but it was too late.
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Pepita's spirit had claimed her. Jose could only stare, his heart swelling with a mixture of gratitude and fear. Thank you, Mommy, he whispered, his voice trembling. Pepita smiled down at him, the warmth of her presence surrounding him like a protective shield. Always, mijo. I'll always be here.
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And as Cristina's lifeless body lay in a pool of blood, it was clear no one would ever harm Jose again, not while his mother's love and her wrath remained. Is it possible to protect someone too much or to go too far for those you love? Have you ever had an experience like that? Send me an email and tell me about it at somethingscaryatsnarl.com.
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A Mother's Deadly Instinct
So I think horror is really having a renaissance right now. We just had the incredible Film Centers. I think it's still in theaters as of this week. So if you get an opportunity, go see it in IMAX. It's an incredible film, especially because it's about the... location that my family resides in and is from. So it felt very cool to see a film that was set in the South.
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All of my films that I write typically land somewhere in Appalachia or in the South. So this film really spoke to me on a lot of levels, including the musical elements to it. I don't want to give too much just in case you haven't seen it because it's still in theaters. But another film that I recently saw that I was obsessed with last year was The Substance.
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Feeling the faint flutter of tiny feet, the soft push of an elbow just under her ribs, she knew this child the way she knew the sound of her own breathing. She knew the rhythm of her daughter's heartbeat before she ever saw her face. So when Junebug came early, a blood-slick arrival under the cold buzz of hospital lights, Mara told herself the fear she felt was normal.
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And sadly, it didn't win Best Picture because horror always gets known at the Academy Awards. But I'm really hoping this year, well, the coming year for the academies that may be hopefully crossing my fingers centers will get nominated and win. Yeah. Also, I recently saw a film called Nocturna. This was recommended to me from a film festival director that I was speaking to about Argentinian films.
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And I'm a big Jacob's Ladder fan, and he said this was akin to that. So I checked it out. Excellent, excellent film. So Nocturna. And another film that I always go back to, that I recommend all the time to newbies to the genre, is Evil Dead 2. It's just such a fun movie. It's really just Evil Dead again, but it's slightly more elevated because it is Sam Raimi's second attempt at the film.
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And it's just so fun. I mean, Raimi just does... horror comedy like nobody else. And fun fact, his daughter is the lead in my new film, which I said earlier, I'm announcing that project soon. And hopefully she'll join me on a live stream to announce that project in Cannes. Yeah, so let me know in the comments the horror films that you like the most and the ones that you go back to.
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And you might, probably not, but you might suggest something that I haven't seen before. Sometimes there are bonds strong enough to pull you back, even from the other side. Like in this story inspired by Jennifer. This happened long before I was born, but it's a story my mom told me. One that still makes her blood pressure spike, even now.
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When my mom was just 14, she lost her mother, my grandmother, suddenly. The grief hollowed her out, left a quiet, aching emptiness she couldn't explain. Eventually, life pushed her forward. She met my dad, and together they left Mexico to start over in the United States. She was only 16, young, scared, but determined. Not long after they arrived, she found out she was pregnant with me.
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Even though she was terrified, she said she felt something else too. Hope. As if this baby, this new life, could finally stitch the wound her mother's death had left behind. But a few months into the pregnancy, the dream started. One night, she dreamt she was back in her childhood home. Every detail was perfect. The worn wood of the stairs, the smell of damp earth through the cracked windows.
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She wandered the empty rooms, feeling a growing dread pressing against her chest when she heard it. A baby's cry. She followed the sound to the kitchen, and there, standing barefoot in the moonlight, was her mother. She was holding a baby, me, cradled tightly in her arms. But when my mom stepped forward, my grandmother didn't smile.
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She turned and bolted through the back door, clutching the baby to her chest. Panic clawed at my mother as she chased after them, through twisted hallways that didn't belong to her house, across fields that seemed to stretch endlessly, always just a few steps behind, screaming, Give me my baby! Finally, near a dry, cracked riverbed, place my mother had never seen before, she caught up.
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She grabbed the baby back from my grandmother's arms, yanking me free. For a moment, they stood there, frozen. My grandmother looked at her, tears pouring silently down her face, but not with anger, with sorrow. Then, without a word, she faded into the dark. My mother woke up gasping, clutching her belly, her arms aching as if she'd fought someone real.
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She told herself it was just grief, just stress. But the feeling lingered, gnawing at the edges of her mind. When I was born, she nearly dropped me. Because I was identical to the baby she had ripped from her mother's arms in the dream. Even the tiny birthmark tucked behind my ear. Even now, my mother wonders. What if she hadn't caught up? Was my grandmother trying to steal me away?
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The hours had blurred into white noise, nurses shouting, her husband's pale face, the endless drum of machines. Junebug was rushed to the NICU. Just a precaution, they said, common with early births. Mara counted the hours until she could hold her own. When they came, they placed the baby in her arms. She was perfect. Dark hair, tiny curled fingers, soft gurgling breaths.
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Or was she trying to save me from something my mother couldn't see? Life moved forward. For a while, everything seemed normal, until I turned five. One night, I was playing quietly with my dolls in my room while my mom took a shower. I didn't even notice when the lights flickered. When my mom came out, she didn't hear me laughing or moving around, just silence.
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She found me standing on the couch, hands pressed flat against the living room window, staring out at the moon. When I turned to look at her, my face was pale and tear-streaked. I saw Grandma, I whispered. She came to play with me. My mother's stomach dropped. But she had to leave, I said, voice cracking. She said she couldn't finish the game. Not yet.
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At first, my mother tried to dismiss it, just imagination. But when she glanced the floor, her blood ran cold. The dolls I had been playing with, they weren't mine. They were hers. The same worn, cloth doll she had played with as a child. Dolls she'd left behind in Mexico decades ago. Dolls that should have rotted away, lost to time. But there they were, sitting neatly in a circle, waiting.
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After that night, strange things started to happen. Sometimes I would have conversations in my sleep, murmuring soft, frantic words to someone who wasn't there. Sometimes I woke up sobbing, reaching out as if trying to catch something slipping away. Sometimes the air around me felt heavy, thick, like walking through water, especially during full moons.
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And sometimes, when the house was too still, my mother swore she heard small, padded footsteps creeping from my room to hers. But when she checked, I was always asleep. At least, that's what she told herself. Years later, when I was older, she finally told me everything. The dreams she had before I was born, the chase, the crying. And she told me the secret she had buried deep inside herself.
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Sometimes, she whispered, I wonder if you were ever meant to stay with me at all. Sometimes, I think I stole you. I asked her quietly what she thought my grandmother had been trying to do. She hesitated for a long time before she answered. I used to think she wanted to take you with her because she missed me, because she was lonely. She swallowed hard.
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But for now, now I wonder if she was trying to protect you from something I couldn't see. Something that still wants you. Now that I'm grown, I still wonder. Sometimes, when the world is quiet, I feel it. A soft tug at the edge of my mind, like something waiting, watching. Sometimes, I wake up to find my old doll sitting at the foot of my bed.
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Even though I packed them away years ago, sometimes, when the moon is heavy and full, I catch myself standing at the window again, my hands pressed against the cold glass, waiting, listening. And sometimes, just for a second, I catch a glimpse of her reflection behind me. But it's not just my grandmother anymore. There's something else standing with her now, something I can't quite see.
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But that fills me with a fear so old and deep it feels like it was planted inside me before I was even born. Something that has been waiting a very, very long time. And sometimes I wonder, did my mother save me? Or did she only delay the inevitable? What if the ones we love the most aren't always trying to save us?
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Okay, so last but not least, I thought it would be fun to share my Fangoria collection with you all. Since I'm doing a project with him this week, I thought it would be cool to show off some of the magazines that I've collected. I'll show you my favorites last. But for now... One of the first covers that I have is the Saw X cover.
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This is actually a really cool cover because I'm buddies with the guy that wrote this script. And he actually asked me to co-write something not too long ago. Maybe it'll happen. Also, inside this one, we have the new Exorcist movie, which...
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but as Mara rocked her, a hollow note thudded in her chest, a sense, sharp and unwelcome, that something essential was missing. The doctors smiled. They called it postpartum anxiety, hormones, exhaustion. The doctors kept saying, Mara nodded and smiled, too tired to argue, but the feeling burrowed deeper every day. The first night home, Mara placed the baby monitor on the nightstand.
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also very cool the vfx supervisor and creature designer for my film was the vfx supervisor on this film mr josh stevens so that's pretty cool that that's in there so we've got two and i actually think i just saw another hold on hold on hold on no that's not it follows um but yeah uh i love the saw movies comment below and tell me which song movie is your favorite
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Okay, so I actually have a lot of Fangorias, but I'm trying to find my favorites here. Okay, we've got a Talk To Me cover. I'm actually really obsessed with these directors because they started as YouTubers, which I try and find that balance between content creation and filmmaking myself. So I'm really inspired by their work, and I'm also really stoked about their new project coming out.
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I thoroughly enjoyed Talk to Me. I thought there was a lot of risks taking in this film and just the idea was original. The cast was really great. So this is one of my favorite Fangoria covers as well. Okay. I have a bunch more y'all, but, um, just to save time, I'm going to show you my last two. Okay. Um, this is my second most favorite. This is, uh, Jennifer's body cover. This is a classic.
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Um, it actually came in a sleeve, but I've had it on display for a in this movie is incredible. I'm glad it's having a resurgence and people are finding it again and giving it the respect that it deserves because it's actually such a great film. This is a classic Fangoria cover. And last but not least, my favorite of all time. This is in its sleeve. I don't know if I'll ever take it out.
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The owner of Fangoria gave this to me personally, and this is The Craft. If you haven't seen this movie and you're a horror girlie, what are you doing? It's a perfect film in my humble opinion, and I'm really into witches. Go figure. I love this cover. I've actually never taken out of its sleeve to even look inside because I'm very careful with it.
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But this is my favorite Fangoria cover of all time. Oddly enough, it's one of the only ones that's not a red Fangoria, so... All right, I hope you enjoyed that little tour. Let me know in the comments if you want to see some more of my horror items that I have collected over the years. And thanks for watching. Sweet screams.
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This week's podcast stories were edited by Sarah Lukasiewicz, narration by Blair Bathory, audio edited and mixed by Fitz Harris, additional audio editing by Calvin Linderman, produced by Anna Villalobos, executive produced by Gail Gilman, music by Sapphire Sindalo and Calvin Linderman. If you have a story you'd like to submit, send me an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com.
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Don't forget to watch the video version of Something Scary over at youtube.com. And if you'd like to support the show and everything we do at Snarled, join our Patreon at patreon.com. Well, thank you, witches, for joining me again for three brand new stories.
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I woke up to the sound of my mother calling my name from the kitchen. But as I stumbled out of bed, I saw her standing beside me, whispering, Don't go down there. I heard it too. From the darkness below, I heard her voice again, this time calling, Sweetheart, come down and eat breakfast. Hi, I'm Blair Bathory, and this is the Something Scary Podcast.
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Let me know in the comments which one of these stories were your favorite, and I hope you have a happy and spooky Mother's Day with all your mummies out there. I'll see you next time. Sweet screams.
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She watched the screen obsessively. Junebug's crib bathed in the soft gray light of the camera. The baby barely moved at first, only a twitch here and there. But as the hours dragged past midnight, the movements changed. Junebug didn't stir like a newborn. Her limbs twitched too sharply. Her spine arched. Her tiny fists curled and clawed against the mattress. Mara leaned in, her breath catching.
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On the monitor screen, the baby twisted unnaturally, her head jerking once, twice, almost like she was listening for something. Her husband sleepily called for her to come to bed, but when Mara tried to show him, Junebug lay still, serene, angelic. You need to rest, he said, pulling her back to bed. Days blurred into nights. Mara fed, rocked, and changed Junebug.
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But the feeling grew, that deep, primal wrongness. Her mother came to visit once and offered an awkward, brittle hug. You're just overwhelmed, sweetheart, she said. Everything feels strange at first. But when Mara handed Junebug over, her mother flinched, a small, involuntary shudder she tried to hide. Mara noticed. She noticed everything now. By the third week, Mara couldn't sleep at all.
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Thank you so much for being here, whether this is your first time or you're one of the brave souls who join us every week. And this Mother's Day, we honor the incredible strength and love of the mothers who shape our lives for the better. Those of us lucky enough to have them or other nurturing figures are truly blessed. But remember, not all maternal bonds are pure.
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The house, once warm and comforting, felt too quiet, too expectant, like it was holding its breath. She started hearing it at night, the soft, wet slapping sounds on the floorboards. Tiny hands, tiny knees sliding across the wood. But Junebug wasn't crawling yet. She shouldn't even be rolling. Mara clutched her husband's arm one night, shaking him awake. Listen, she hissed.
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They both strained to hear, but only the hum of the heater answered back. Mara, he said, more gently this time. She's asleep. Look. On the monitor, Junebug lay limp and still. Mara almost believed it. Almost. She began keeping the baby close during the day, watching for proof she wasn't losing her mind. Junebug stared up at her, wide-eyed and unblinking, lips working as if tasting the air.
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She rarely cried, not real cries, not familiar newborn squalls Mara had prepared for. Instead, the sounds almost like a whisper speaking in tongues or some foreign language. The cries she made were low, guttural whimpers that grated at Mara's nerves.
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One afternoon, Mara dug out an old recording from her phone, a video she had made two weeks before the birth, humming a lullaby she sung to Junebug every night in the womb. Heart thudding, she played it aloud. Junebug's face twisted instantly, not in recognition, but in rage. She wailed a thin, mean shriek that didn't sound like her daughter at all. Mara dropped the phone.
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Desperation gnawed at her. She called the pediatrician. She's not responding normally, Mara said. There's something wrong with her eyes. She doesn't smile. She doesn't cry right. The doctor listened kindly but dismissed her fears, telling her maternal intuition is powerful. But sometimes, after a traumatic delivery, it turns on you. She's hypervigilant. But the baby is fine, Mara nodded.
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But inside, she screamed. That night, the monitor caught something else. Junebug was standing, not pulling herself up, not wobbling, standing. Both tiny hands pressed flat against the crib rails, head cocked unnaturally to the side, eyes staring straight into the camera lens. Frozen, Mara watched as the baby's lips peeled back, not quite smiling, something more ancient than joy.
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A Mother's Deadly Instinct
The floor creaked. The slapping sounds began again, closer this time. A rhythmic drag of knees on wood, a shuffle of tiny palms. Mara locked the bedroom door. She shook her husband awake, sobbing. He held her as she shuddered and whispered, That's not our baby. The next morning, Mara made her husband take Junebug to the park, just for an hour. She needed time to think, time to know.
Something Scary
A Mother's Deadly Instinct
She dug through the hospital discharge paperwork, through the bag of clothes the nurses had returned, through the belongings from the NICU, At the very bottom of the bag, crumpled and half-forgotten, she found it. A second hospital bracelet. Not the one Mara wore during delivery. Not the one she remembered seeing on Junebug's tiny wrist. This one was different. Faded. Scratched.
Something Scary
A Mother's Deadly Instinct
And the name printed on it wasn't Mara's. Wasn't even close. Heart hammering, Mara rushed to the hospital, clutching the bracelet and shaking fingers. The receptionist smiled too brightly. A nurse offered her a careful, pitying glance. Someone made a call from behind the desk, whispering urgently. Mara was ushered into a back room, a social worker already waiting.
Something Scary
A Mother's Deadly Instinct
What you think is love may be something darker, something that lingers long after the last breath. Proceed with caution, for not all mothers are what they appear. Some don't live up to the title, even if they're living at all. First, when instincts scream, followed by a mother's wrath. Finally, in our last story, a child almost taken.
Something Scary
A Mother's Deadly Instinct
Mara, the woman said gently, your baby is healthy. You're under a lot of stress. Why don't we sit down and talk? No, Mara said, voice breaking. That's not my baby. The social worker's mouth pressed into a thin line. Very carefully, she folded her hands on the table. She looked around cautiously, as if the walls were listening. She was scared. Mara could see it all over her face.
Something Scary
A Mother's Deadly Instinct
In a whisper, she told Mara, we're aware. But you need to understand, Junebug isn't the only one. Outside in the maternity ward, new mothers cooed over their newborns, tying perfect bundles tucked into pink and blue blankets, rows and rows of bassinets.
Something Scary
A Mother's Deadly Instinct
Mara pressed her face to the glass, bile rising in her throat, because now she saw it, the small things she hadn't noticed before, the unnatural stillness, the way some babies blink too slowly or not at all. The way one baby opened its mouth in a silent wail, and something inside flickered. Something black and endless. Sweet dreams, Junebug. Sweet dreams, all of them.
Something Scary
A Mother's Deadly Instinct
What would you do if everyone told you the baby in your arms was yours, but every instinct inside of you said it wasn't? Can you really trust what you see in a hospital nursery? Hi, witches. Like I said last week, I am going to start talking to you one on one a little bit more in between the stories. I want to get to know you more and I want you to know who I am a little bit more.
Something Scary
A Mother's Deadly Instinct
I've been your host for about three years and I've not really taken the opportunity to share things about my life, what I do for a living and my hopes and dreams and things I want to accomplish in the spooky community. So if you didn't know, I think I say this almost every week, but I guess it's a nice reminder. I'm a full time writer and director.
Something Scary
A Mother's Deadly Instinct
I've been doing this for almost 17 years now, and I actually have a new film coming out and I will be announcing the project live with Fangoria this week. So please go to their channels because it's going to be really awesome. And we're doing this at the Cannes Film Festival. So by the time this podcast comes out, this will already be announced in the trades and people will be talking about it.
Something Scary
A Mother's Deadly Instinct
And I'll be posting content about this multiple times a day, every day on all my platforms. If you didn't know, Cannes is one of the oldest and most prestigious film festivals in the world. It's also iconic for fashion and, of course, film.
Something Scary
A Mother's Deadly Instinct
I'm very excited to go because some of my heroes, Alfred Hitchcock, Sam Raimi, a lot of other horror film directors have premiered there and have been staples at this film festival. So it's really iconic that I get to go and represent the horror film community. I'll be hosting a digital series alongside Fangoria and my friend Gigi Sal Guerrero.
Something Scary
A Mother's Deadly Instinct
And we're rolling out the bloody carpet for the horror fans and everyone that has always seen the outside of canon, but not the inside. So during this time, I will also be taking the opportunity, gratefully, to announce my project. So please go to the livestream, which is happening every day on the Fangoria social media platforms. And... I just want to give a little bit of a hint.
Something Scary
A Mother's Deadly Instinct
But before we get to our stories, I wanted to remind you to subscribe to the Something Scary podcast on Spotify or wherever you listen to your podcasts. That way, you'll never miss an episode. You can also leave us a comment or a rating. We love hearing from you, and I try and answer as many people as I can. So, wanna hear something scary? A mother's deadly instincts.
Something Scary
A Mother's Deadly Instinct
It's about a sleep paralysis demon. That's all I'm going to say. It's also inspired by a good friend of mine, Briscoe Park. He's a photographer that is known for Southern Gothic style. And I was really inspired by him. And I wrote a script based off his photography. I really wanted the film to feel like his photos come to life. And I hope that we accomplish that.
Something Scary
A Mother's Deadly Instinct
Throughout the rest of the year, I'll be screening this film, hopefully all over the world. And I can't wait to take you on the journey with me. And yeah, so let me know what you think in the comments about this fun announcement. And if you have any ideas for horror films, let me know. I'm always on the lookout and I do write all my own stuff. So you never know.
Something Scary
A Mother's Deadly Instinct
Sometimes, the love of a mother can be the most terrifying thing of all. Like in this story inspired by Luis. Jose had always been close to his mother, Pepita. Their bond had been unbreakable, or so he thought. When Pepita passed away from cancer, Jose believed their connection would live on in his heart.
Something Scary
A Mother's Deadly Instinct
His father, Hector, had survived the virus without issue, but Pepita, the woman who had been his world, was gone. When Hector remarried Cristina, Jose hoped it would be a fresh start, but it wasn't. Cristina wasn't cruel at first, no. Her kindness was a mask that barely concealed the venom beneath. At first it was subtle, Cristina's casual comments that seemed harmless.
Something Scary
A Mother's Deadly Instinct
Jose would feel the sting long after the words had been spoken. It was as if his feelings weren't just flaws, they were something to be ashamed of. Christina would talk about Pepita's love for music, but it was always with a quiet condescension. Your mother had such great taste, she'd say. But she had time for things like that. Maybe you'll have time when you're older.
Something Scary
A Mother's Deadly Instinct
The words made Jose feel small. His interests, his memories of his mother, felt trivial in her eyes. Then the subtle manipulation escalated. Christina began rearranging his room, moving his things without asking. Pepita's gifts, his favorite concert t-shirt, the small statue from their trip, disappeared. When he confronted her, she smiled sweetly and dismissed him. Oh, mijo.
Something Scary
A Mother's Deadly Instinct
It's for your own good. Your room was getting cluttered. You don't need all that junk anymore. Let's focus on the future, not the past. Each time she moved something, she erased a little more of his past, making him feel ungrateful for holding on to it. Jose started to dread coming home. The house felt suffocating, as if he were slowly being erased from it.
Something Scary
A Mother's Deadly Instinct
The breaking point came one night when Jose framed a photo of him and Pepita at one of their favorite concerts. He had saved for weeks to get it done, a way to hold on to her in the world that now felt emptier without her. He placed it proudly on his nightstand, a small but important act of remembrance. The next morning, Christina found the photo.
Something Scary
A Mother's Deadly Instinct
Her smile was tight as she picked it up, her fingers caressing the glass. Such a lovely photo, she said, but her eyes narrowed. But don't you think it's a bit childish? Jose froze, his chest tightening with dread. He could already hear the words that would follow. You're not a little boy anymore, Mio. You need to grow up.
Something Scary
A Mother's Deadly Instinct
She glanced at the photo again, a flicker of something darker crossing her face. Your mother wouldn't have wanted you holding on to this. Let go, Mio. It's time. I don't care, he said, his voice shaky. It's mine. It's all I have left of her. Cristina's smile twisted, her eyes colder. You'll never be good enough for me, mijo, no matter how hard you try.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
Danach ist es die Wunsch, die aufwacht und die Ruhe. Letztendlich, in unserer letzten Geschichte, vergeben sich alte Häuser nicht oder vergessen sie. Bevor wir in die heutige Geschichte reisen, habe ich etwas Erstaunliches mit euch zu erzählen. Heute haben wir unsere neue Something Scary Patreon Storyteller Experience eröffnet. Und lasst mich euch sagen, das ist so cool.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
Die Tage passen und Elisa fühlte sich gut. Zuerst. Aber dann, eine Woche nach dem Geräusch, begann sie, sich jede Nacht zu erwachen, um zu atmen. Zuerst war es nur ein bisschen Schmerz, aber am siebten Abend fühlte sie etwas Stinkiges in ihrem Hals. Sie starrte in den Sink, furchtbar, als Strähnen dunkler Haare aus ihrem Mund drückten.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
By day 14, Elisas own hair began to fall out in clumps, replaced by coarse blonde strands. Every time she looked in the mirror, she felt as though someone else was staring back at her. Someone angry, with unfamiliar pale eyes. She recognized that hair. Marias statue had the same light blonde locks. Her dreams grew worse too.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
Now, not only was Jack there, but Maria herself appeared, staring at Elisa, her mouth moving in a silent scream. Elisa would wake up gasping, convinced she could feel the stone fingers of the statue pressing down on her shoulders. Desperate to escape the curse, Elisa decided to destroy the statue. She called her friend Tanya, who reluctantly agreed to help.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
Under the cover of night, the two girls brought hammers and smashed at the stone figure until cracks spidered across Maria's face. Her once haunting eyes reduced to rubble. Elisa breathed a sigh of relief, convinced she had broken the curse. Three days later, however, she was back in the hospital. The paralysis started in her fingers, then moved to her legs.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
Her body grew cold and unresponsive, and soon she could barely hold a pen. Determined to leave a final note, she scrawled in her diary. Dear Diary, I am so sorry. Jack Markey Asher, I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I thought destroying the statue would save me. I was wrong. Her legs had fully paralyzed by day 31.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
She dragged herself, diary in hand, to the lake near the park, hoping the water might soothe her growing terror. But as she lay there on her back, feeling her arms grow stiff and her breath shallow, she heard a sound. The haunting whistle she'd first dared Jack to perform under Maria's statue. It grew louder, echoing off the lake, until she realized it was coming from the water itself.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
The sound became a whirlpool, circling, growing faster, until the waves roared around her paralyzed body. Seine Atmung schwindelte, aber sie konnte nicht bewegen, konnte nicht schreien für Hilfe, als das schüttelnde Wasser ihre Arme und Beine kreppte, sie schlug sie runter. Das letzte, was sie sah, war Marias Reflexion in der Wasser.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
Seine Mund streckte sich in einem Grin, als sie endlich ihr Preis bekam. Als die Polizei Elisas Körper gefunden hat, waren sie überrascht. Sie war in dünnem Wasser gestorben, die Arme und Beine zwischendurch, als ob sie von einer unbekannten Kraft verbunden wären. Ein paar Wochen später hat Tanja, die Freundin, die ihr geholfen hat, die Statue zu zerstören, seltsame Träume und Nase.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
Sie fand sich enttäuscht von dem feinen Geräusch des Rattern, das je nach der Nacht größer wurde. To this day, the townsfolk say the curse lingers. If you see Maria's statue in the park, don't make the mistake of whistling beneath it. Because once you do, Maria's restless spirit will come for you too.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
Wir wissen, wie sehr ihr Thrilling Tales liebt. Und jetzt könnt ihr noch tiefer in die Ehrgeiz und Mysterien reisen, mit exklusiven Perksen nur für unsere Storyteller-Fans. Untertitelung des ZDF für funk, 2017 But that's not all. Storyteller Experience members will also enjoy a 20% discount on Something Scary merch and a chance to collaborate on our spine-chilling stories.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
Sometimes a place holds onto its secrets and those who get too close may find it holds onto them. Like in this story inspired by Chad. My mom's aunt owned an old antique house where we lived for a time. Though we eventually moved, my dad and I would still return every day to feed the chickens we kept there. It was routine. We'd just visit every morning at 6am and again at 4 in the afternoon.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
My dad loved that old house, calling it a piece of family history. I wasn't so sure about that. The air inside was stale, heavy, and somehow it never felt like it truly belonged to us. The house itself had an unusual design, its long wooden hallways creaking even under light footsteps.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
The furniture was dark, the wallpaper peeling, and there was a faint scent of something burnt, no matter how many times my dad and I cleaned. Außerhalb hatte mein Vater einen kleinen Schauer neben dem Küppchen. Nach dem Füßen der Küche hätte er es manchmal zum Waschen benutzt. Es war der Art von Ort, wo du Augen auf dich fühlst, auch wenn du allein warst. Untertitelung des ZDF, 2020
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
As I sat outside the house that day, lost in thought, a loud thud broke the silence from somewhere upstairs. I froze, listening, but then relaxed, thinking it must have been a stray cat. But a second thud came, then a third, then a fourth, each one slow and deliberate, like the sound of someone walking. But somehow it sounded like only one leg was making the noise.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
My heart raced as I told my dad what I'd heard when he came out of the shower. He brushed it off with a smile, saying it was probably a tuko, a large house lizard, known to make strange sounds in the old wooden houses around here. Trying to shrug off my fear, I waited outside while my dad went upstairs to change. I glanced around, my gaze falling on the mahogany tree just beyond the chicken coop.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
A figure stood there, dark and shadowy, hidden beneath its thick branches. I couldn't make out a face, but I could feel it staring at me. I thought I heard a faint whisper, like the wind hissing through the trees. When I looked again, the figure was gone. I didn't mention it to my dad, not wanting to sound childish.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
But as we rode back home on his motorcycle, the unease settled in, sinking deeper as we passed familiar spots, the chapel, the gas station. Something felt wrong. I noticed people on the street watching us, shouting, »Don't drive! You might get into an accident!« I clung tighter to my dad, my nerves on edge, but he stayed calm, as if he couldn't hear them.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
When we were almost home, my dad suddenly braked his knuckles white as he gripped the handlebars. People rushed over, shouting and trying to pull him off the bike. He was frozen, eyes wide, his fingers locked around the handlebars so tightly they'd gone pale. He wouldn't let go, and I began crying, begging him to snap out of it.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
Eventually, they managed to pry his hands free and rushed him to the hospital. At the hospital, I sat with my mom as we both anxiously waited for the news. She hugged me tight when the doctor told us he'd had a mild heart attack, but was stable. He'd need rest, but he'd be okay. That night back home, we cried, and I could barely sleep, still haunted by what I'd seen and heard at the house.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
Weeks passed before my dad returned home. One night, I woke up to find someone standing beside my bed. For a moment, my heart leapt in my throat, but then I recognized him. It was my dad. I hugged him tightly, and soon my mom joined us, laughing and crying at once. He seemed different, though quieter, and when we asked him about the accident, his expression darkened.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
He remembered driving, he said, and the strange shouting disappeared. But the last thing he recalled clearly was seeing a dark figure standing in the middle of the road. He thought it was some trick of the light. But then, just before everything went blank, he felt a sharp blow to his chest, as if someone had thrown a stone at him. After that, things grew even stranger.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
Every time we visited the house, little accidents happened. Milk spilling, food burning, strange cuts and bruises appearing on our hands. It felt like the place was feeding off of us. My dad grew more and more distant, his gaze often lingering on dark corners, as though something invisible lingered just out of sight.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
Finally, my mom and I convinced him that it was just time to abandon the house for good. Not long after, while sorting through some old family photos, I came across an image that shook me to my core. It was a faded photograph of my mom's aunt, taken when she was much younger. She was standing by the mahogany tree outside the house, smiling.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
But behind her, barely visible, was the same shadowy figure I'd seen. I took the photo to my mom, showing her the figure, her face turned pale. Sie sagte, sie war nie allein in diesem Haus, sie schrie, als ob sie Angst hatte, dass die Figur sie hören würde.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
Together we'll create a terrifying tale that might just end up on the podcast. It's our way of saying thank you for being a part of this amazing community and keeping the spooky spirit alive all year round. Don't miss out. Join the Something Scary Storyteller Experience today for even more chills and insider treats. Head to patreon.com slash snarled to sign up now. So, wanna hear something scary?
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
Sie erklärte, wie ihre Tochter oft von einer seltsamen Präsenz schrie, von Schreien am Abend und manchmal sogar von Fußstücken, obwohl niemand mehr da war. That night, as I lay in bed, something drew me out of sleep. From down the hall, I heard a soft, uneven thud, thud, thud. Es war der selbe langweilige, rhythmische Geräusch von jemandem oder etwas, das mit nur einem Bein geht.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
Mein Körper prickelte und dann kam ein Geräusch, ein Geräusch so nahe, dass ich es auf meinem Körper fühlte. Bis heute kann ich nicht aufhören zu fühlen, dass das Haus noch für uns wartet, nur seine Zeit aufzuhalten. Und ich frage mich, war das Haus selbst gegrüßt? Oder ist es etwas Älteres, etwas, das an dieser dunklen Figur unter dem Bahagian-Tree gedrängt ist, um uns für immer zu behalten?
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
Was würdest du tun, wenn du aufgewacht wärst, um jemanden zu finden, den du verloren hast, der an deinem Bett stand? Würdest du glauben, dass sie wirklich da waren? Untertitelung im Auftrag des ZDF, 2020 If you have a story you'd like to submit, send me an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com Don't forget to watch the video version of Something Scary over at youtube.com slash snarled.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
And if you'd like to support the show and everything we do at Snarled, join our Patreon at patreon.com slash snarled. As always, thank you for joining me. I'll see you next time. Sweet screams.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
The Hexed and the Haunted. Sometimes the allure of beauty can blind us to the darkness that lies within, especially when that beauty comes with a deadly curse, based on a real object and written by Sarah. The blue diamond glimmered under the museum's soft lights, casting a strange glow across the dark room. Known as the Hope Diamond, it was beautiful, yes, but notorious, too.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
People came from all over to witness it, but few knew its true history. Stolen from an idol in India, the stone carried an ancient curse – Anyone who possessed it, no matter how briefly, would suffer unimaginable misfortune. Amy Henshaw didn't know or believe much of this. She was an aspiring journalist, bored to tears covering pumpkin patches and bake sales for the local paper.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
So when her editor sent her to cover the Hope Diamonds exhibit at the Smithsonian, she saw an opportunity, finally, something that might make her a household name. On a crisp November evening, she joined a handful of journalists at the press preview, all corralled by guards who looked just as unimpressed. She found her way to the front and stopped.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
Transfixed, the diamond was larger than she'd expected, its deep blue so mesmerizing that she almost missed the guard speaking next to her. You believe in the curse? He asked, his tone low, as if whispering a secret. Amy laughed it off, but the guard didn't smile. I've been here ten years, he said, glancing at the diamond. Seen people faint, collapse. One guy even lost his mind just looking at it.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
His voice dropped. I don't get too close. Intriged, Amy gathered all the lore she could find, taking notes long after the crowd left and the lights had dimmed. When she was finally alone in the dark, silent hall, she noticed something strange. There was a faint flicker inside the diamond, a shift in the depths, like smoke in a glass bottle.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
She leaned in, closer than she'd meant to, her breath fogging the glass. It wasn't a trick of the light, or her own reflection. Something inside the diamond was moving. Ein Knall machte sie auf. Ein Guards wartete, gestern für sie zu gehen. Sie sammelte ihre Dinge. Das ehrliche Bild, das immer noch im Kopf lag. Die feine, schmutzige Figur im Herzen des Diamants. Etwas mit Augen.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
Over the next few days, Amy couldn't shake the feeling that something was following her. She'd glimpse shadows in her peripheral vision, hear faint whispers that vanished the second she tried to listen. Her dreams turned into nightmares, filled with the desperate faces of the diamond's past owners. Marie Antoinette, pale as she screamed.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
A French merchant, clutching the stone as he lay dying beneath a carriage wheel. An American Socialite with wide, frozen eyes staring out into the void. Sleep deprived and frazzled, Amy grew erratic, missing deadlines and worrying her co-workers. But she couldn't tell them the truth. The diamond had embedded itself in her mind, just like the legend stated, and she needed answers.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
She returned to the museum late one night, bribing a cleaning staff member to let her slip in after hours. Die Freude, eine echte Geschichte zu fassen, blieb ihr auf jeden Fall auf. Standen vor dem dunklen Display, fühlte sie den selben Stille, und ihr Herz rief.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
Schatten kreppten über die Wälder, streckten sich nach ihr, als die Dämonen scheinen zu blühen, die Raum in einem schmerzhaften Blau zu stellen. Sie schluchzte, trübbelnd, als ob sie etwas auf der anderen Seite erreichen könnte. Die Dämonen-Dämpfe schurrten und Dread schlug sie über in eine Waffe, die so mächtig war, dass sie sie fast aus ihren Füßen knackte.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
Sie sah sie, die Füße derjenigen, die die Dämonen vor ihr besitzt hatten, verletzt in einem Zyklus von Ruhe und Regret. A priest in robes, chanting in horror, watching as the diamond glowed blue with an unholy flame. A flash of blood on a blade as the gem was stolen from the idol. An endless river of agony and death. The room swam and Amy stumbled backward.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
A cold hand gripped her shoulder, but when she turned to see who it was, no one was there. Backing away, her body tense with terror, she saw something more terrifying still. A shadowy figure materializing behind the glass. A man with sunken eyes, his clothes shifting in style. A robe, then a suit, then rags. His expression twisted with pain, but his eyes held a terrible rage.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
Hello, I'm Blair Bathory and this is the Something Scary Podcast. Thank you so much for being here. Whether this is your first time or you're one of the brave souls who join us every week. Most of us find comfort in the familiar, believing that curses and spirits are tales best left as folklore in our freaky stories.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
He whispered, though his lips didn't move. She froze, horrified but unable to look away. She knew, somehow, that this was one of the Diamonds' owners, long dead and condemned to haunt it forever. You took it, she stammered. You stole from the idol. His face darkened, lips curling back in a grimace. A sickening realization dawned on her. The curse wasn't misfortune. The curse was ownership.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
Everyone who had possessed the Hope Diamond, whether by choice, theft or accident, was bound to it eternally. Welcome to Eternity. When the staff arrived the next morning, they found her lying there by the case, her eyes wide open and unblinking. She was alive, but barely. Her pulse weak, her stare empty. The press called it an unexplained illness, a sudden lapse in catatonia.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
In her mind though, Amy wandered the halls, her spirit part of a legion of lost souls, cursed to drift in the shadow of the blue flame. Now they were bound together in silence, trapped in the cursed depths of the Hope Diamond. Back on display, the diamond gleamed in the museum lights. Beautiful and undisturbed. Hiding within it the faintest whispers.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
A quiet invitation for those bold enough to look too long. Have any of you ever visited the Smithsonian Museum? Have you seen the blue diamond with your own eyes? If so, tell us your experience by sending us an email at somethingscaryatsnarl.com Einige Legenden sind Warnungen und diejenigen, die sie testen, zahlen oft einen hohen Preis. Wie in dieser Geschichte, inspiriert von Olivia.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
Elisa war zwölf, als sie zuerst die Legende von Marias Statue hörte. Seine Großmutter repeatierte es oft, Augen breit mit Warnungen. Never whistle under Maria's statue, Elisa. A curse will follow you if you do. In their quiet town near Manchester, stories like these weren't uncommon, but this one was different.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
Maria's statue stood in the local park, carved from stone, staring down as if she were watching every passerby. Maria hat während der 2. Weltkriege gelebt und als Küche für die Soldaten gearbeitet hat. Seine Küche war eine Sanctuary von Wärme und Freude für die jungen Männer, die kämpfen wollten. Sein Mann war in der 2. Weltkriege unterwegs.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
But as daylight fades into night, shadows deepen, and dark whispers grow louder, we must ask ourselves if those old tales have clawed their way back into our world becoming reality. A realm where hexes linger, restless souls stir, and a brush with the supernatural might be waiting for anyone who dares to look. Zuerst ist es die Schönheit, die mehr schlägt als die Augen.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
Und während er auf langen Schuhen kämpfte, wurde Maria mit einigen der Soldaten in ihrer Küche nahe. Es wurde bald gespürt, dass Maria mit mehr als einem Soldaten involviert war, die das gleiche zu jedem von ihnen sagte. Er wird es nie herausfinden, so lange die Kriege weitergehen. But he did find out. Her husband, enraged at the betrayal, placed a mine under her kitchen counter.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
One afternoon, while she was cooking and whistling a tune, the device detonated, ending her life in a fiery blast that echoed throughout the town. The townsfolk, unaware of the dark secret behind her death, felt sorry for her and honored her memory by erecting a statue. But from then on, people said Maria's spirit was restless, full of vengeance, cursing anyone who dared whistle near her likeness.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
Elisa glaubte nicht an ihre Großmutter, sie verabschiedete sie als alte Geschichten. Ihr Bruder, Marky und Asher, waren ebenfalls skeptisch. Wie kann eine Statue jemanden verurteilen, würden sie lachen. Aber die Schatten von Marias Statue schickten eine lange, ehrliche Präsenz über den Park. Und sogar Elisa fand sich, wenn sie es passierte, wegzusehen.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
Years went by, and Elisa grew into a rebellious teenager. She got a boyfriend named Jack, but eventually grew bored and began dating her brother's girlfriends behind his back. When Jack found out, he was furious. They argued often, and one afternoon, their fight spilled out into the park beneath Maria's statue.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
Jack, seine Stimme steigend in Schmerzen, drohte, ihre Geheimnisse an alle zu entdecken. In einem Moment von Frustration tauntete Elisa ihn. Warum klingelst du nicht unter Marias Statue, Jack? Vielleicht wird sie dir eine Lektion erlernen. Whether it was anger or disbelief, Jack did just that. He glared at Elisa, his whistle echoing beneath the statue.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
She felt a shiver, but dismissed it as just nerves from their fight. They stopped talking soon after, but Elisa thought nothing more of it, until Jack was found dead in his bathroom a month later. He had slipped in the shower, his head cracked open, eyes wide as if frozen in fear. Elisas blood ran cold. Could it be connected to the statue? But no, she quickly shook off the thought.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
Accidents happen all the time. After Jacks death, Elisa became more withdrawn, haunted by memories of that night. Her brothers, noticing her unease, taunted her about the statue and the curse. If you're so sure it's just a story, why don't you try it yourself? Elisa laughed it off, but that night she began having nightmares.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
She dreamt she was paralyzed, staring up at Maria's statue while her ex-boyfriend Jack stood beside it, his face ashen and lifeless, whistling a chilling tune. In the dreams, her childhood teddy bear would wrap its arms around her neck, tightening until she felt herself slipping into unconsciousness. Every time she'd wake up gasping for air, drenched in sweat.
Something Scary
The Hexed and Haunted
After nights of these restless nightmares, she caved. Fine, she said to her brothers, her voice shaky. I'll whistle under Maria's statue. So one evening, Marky, Asher, their girlfriends and Elisa gathered in the park. The statue loomed over them, cold and indifferent. Asher counted down. One, two, wait! Elisa hesitated, feeling the weight of the legend pressing down on her. Drei.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
In einer letzten, bescheidenen Versuchung, zu fliehen, schlug Aiden hin, aber er hat es nie weit gemacht. Das letzte, was er sah, bevor die Dunkelheit ihn überbrach, war Maeve. Nein, der Katze in der Tür. Seine blauen roten Augen, voll mit Hunger. Am nächsten Morgen stand das Haus sauber. Der Sturm war vorbei, leaving only the heavy stillness of the woods around Killikai House.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
The cat was gone, but its presence lingered. An undeniable imprint on the land. Maeve and Aiden were never found. Some say they hear scratching at the door at night, faint whispers in the wind like a cat calling from the shadows, waiting for the next lost soul to wander too close.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
And sometimes, on moonless nights, when the wind is quiet, you might glimpse glowing red eyes lurking just beyond the trees, waiting. Have you ever felt like you were being pulled towards something you couldn't understand, yet couldn't resist? And have you ever had a cat that terrified you?
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Sometimes the things we think we know are just the beginning of what's hiding in the dark, waiting for the right moment to reveal itself. Like in this story inspired by Wren Colt. Viele von Irlands Legenden und Mythen werden kaum gesprochen, aber einige sind genug, um jemanden die Wahrheit zu fragen. Ich war ein völlig rationales Kind, bevor mir das passiert ist.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Ich war ungefähr zwölf, als es alles begann. Als ich in einem verschlossenen Teil der irischen Landwirtschaft wuchs, habe ich die meiste Zeit mit dem Motorrad gefahren, umfasst von unendlichen Feldern und dünnem Wald. The nearest houses were my uncle's place and a few others nearby, but other than that, there was no one for miles. It was a peaceful, quiet existence, too quiet sometimes.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Letztendlich, in unserer letzten Geschichte, ist der Teufel mit uns. Bevor wir zu unseren Geschichten kommen, wollte ich kurz fragen, ob Sie einen Moment nehmen würden, um diesen Podcast zu raten und zu revieren. Sie können hier pausieren und es jetzt machen, oder Sie können es nachdem Sie gehört haben.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
I'd always bike up the hill near our house, past a crumbling stone wall, through the thick overgrowth, and all the way up to a small abandoned schoolhouse. It was the same route every day, familiar and comforting, until one day, it wasn't. It started with a strange feeling in my stomach, an odd twisting sensation, like I had swallowed something cold.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
I was really sick, so this felt wrong, but I thought the fresh air and a bike ride would clear my head, so I geared up and headed out. As I passed my uncle's house, the unease grew. The air felt colder, even though it was a warm afternoon. The wind was still, but there was a tension in the silence. Then I saw it. The stone wall had been knocked down. It wasn't the first time.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
It happened often enough, as sheep tended to tear down fences when they were restless. But this time, something was missing. No sheep, no sound, not a single bleat. No stomping hooves. It was dead silent. I got off my bike and approached the broken wall, my eyes scanning the area. That's when I saw it.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Der Kälte in der Luft schlug sich um mich herum und ich konnte nicht aufhören zu fühlen, dass etwas falsch war. Aber ich schlug es weg und ging weiter, versuchte den Knoten in meinem Körper zu verhindern. Am nächsten Tag kam ich zurück. Diesmal habe ich niemandem gesagt, nicht meinem Bruder, nicht meinen Cousinen.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Es fühlte sich an, als ob ich zurückgezogen werde, obwohl jeder Instinkt mir sagte, dass ich wegstehe. Die Wälder waren immer noch aufgeräumt. Die Wälder riefen weit, als ob sie für mich warten. Ich versuchte, aber mein Wunsch war vorbei. Die Luft wurde noch kälter, als ich über die Ruinen der Wälder steigte.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Die Bäume riefen über mich, wie lange Schatten, die für mich reichen, auch wenn die Sonne immer noch hoch im Himmel war. Der Weg vor mir wurde mit Brüllen und Hüften zerstört. Es machte es schwer, schnell zu bewegen. Der Kälte sah aus, als ob das Land selbst in meinen Beinen hängt. Und dann hörte ich es. Eine Lache. It wasn't the playful sound I had imagined. It was cold, mocking and wrong.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Es ist einer der vielen Wege, wie Sie etwas Schreckliches weiterentwickeln können, und es dauert nur einen Moment. Ich freue mich sehr, sehr viel, und so auch der Rest des Teams. Wir sind unglaublich dankbar für die Unterstützung aller unserer Zuhörer. So, wanna hear something scary? Shamrocks and Shadows. Some places don't just remember a tragic past, they invite it back in.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Something inside me whispered. Ich drückte vorwärts. Mein Herz schlug in meinen Körper. Ich kam auf eine Schafskulle, halb in der Dürre geboren. Es war nicht ungewöhnlich. Schafe sterben immer hier draußen. Aber das war seltsam. Seine Augen waren leise. Aber die Art, wie sie sich befindet, so perfekt umgebracht, fühlte sich falsch.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Zu deliberativ. The ground around it was soft, the grass wet from the rain. But I couldn't shake the feeling that the skull hadn't been here by chance. Something had placed it here. I stepped back, the knot in my stomach tightening. I needed to leave, but as I turned to head back, I heard the laugh again, unmistakable now, right behind me. Nicht in der Distanz, aber nahe.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
So nah war es, als würde es aus meinem Gehirn kommen. Ich spürte herum, mein Herz fliegte, aber es war nichts da, nur die dicken Schatten der Bäume und der schmerzhaften Ruhe. Ich ging weiter, meine Schritte rückgängig, als ich eine kleine Klärung vor mir erreichte. Letztendlich zerbrachten die Bäume und das Sonnenlicht brach durch, aber es fühlte sich nicht nach Erleichterung an.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
The air was thick, oppressive, as if the sun could never fully pierce the darkness here. The ground squelched beneath my boots, soaked from the dew. But I didn't care. I just wanted out. Then I saw it. Die Sache, die meine Träume für immer beschädigen würde. Sie war groß, größer als jedes Tier. Seine Körper war in dünnem, schwarzem Haar, aber ihre Beine, ihre Arme waren zu lang.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Sie streckten sich unnachhaltig, riefen sich aus wie gezwickte Bäume. Und ihr Gesicht, Gott, ihr Gesicht. Sie grinnete mir, ihr Mund weit und bedrohlich, zeigte Zähne, einige menschliche, andere nicht. The gums were dark, like they hadn't seen the light of day in years. Its eyes gleamed at me in horror, like it had been waiting for me, watching me for a long time.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
It didn't move at first, just hung there in the trees, staring at me. I froze, paralyzed by fear. The laugh came again, but this time it was a sound I can't describe. Something inhuman, full of malice, reverberating through my skull. Die Luft wurde kälter, ein kräftiger Frost, der den Atem in meinem Körper verbrannt hat.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Ich konnte meine Beine kaum fühlen, aber irgendwie, ich wusste nicht, was ich tun soll. Ich fuhr, stürzte durch den Unterbruch. Mein Atem war schmerzhaft in meinem Gehirn, meine Beine schmerzhaft mit dem Versuch, zu fliehen. Ich stoppte nicht, bis ich mein Haus erreicht habe. Meine Hände waren schäbig, als ich die Tür hinter mir geschlagen habe, sie mit trommelnden Fingern geschlossen habe.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Ich konnte niemandem erzählen, noch nicht. Ich wollte nicht einmal davon sprechen, aber ich wusste, dass etwas mich folgte. Ich konnte seine Präsenz fühlen, eine kaltes Schatten, das sich gegen die Wälder des Hauses drückte. Danach habe ich meinem Bruder gesagt, dass er immer auf seltsame, geistige Dinge ging. Er hörte ruhig auf, sein Gesicht wurde ernst, als ich das, was ich sah, beschrieb.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
»Es war wahrscheinlich ein Puka«, sagte er, seine Stimme weich. »Sie sind Schleifschützer, schreckliche Geister. Sie können in alles verändern, Pferde, Katzen, sogar Menschen. Sie lieben es, mit dir zu messen, dich zu verwirren, dich in Gefahr zu führen.« Was du sahst, war wahrscheinlich ein Pucca in der Mitte von schiffenden Formen. Diese Erklärung hat mir nicht geholfen.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Es hat mich nicht sicherer gemacht. Wenn etwas, es hat mich schlimmer gemacht. Ich wollte nicht glauben, dass etwas wie das existierte. Aber die Angst, die ich in der Entfernung fühlte, das war nicht etwas, das ich einfach ausdrücken konnte. Das Gelächter klingelte immer noch in meinem Geist. Und das Bild dieser Kreatur, ihre gezwungenen Beine und groteskes Geräusch, hat mich jede Nacht verletzt.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Like in this story inspired by David. Michael glaubte nicht an Geister. Er glaubte an Geschichten, an viralen Inhalte, an Mythos, die für einen Publikum, wie Kaffee, seinen Skeptismus verursachten. Darum stand er außerhalb der rüsten Gäste von Loftus Hall, der Wind, der die skelettischen Erinnerungen an das heiligste Haus Irlands, Kamera in Hand schlug. Die Haustür war jahrelang verlassen.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Manchmal fühle ich es immer noch. Ich fühle es, als ob es mich wartet. Ich weiß nicht, ob es wirklich die Puka ist oder etwas anderes. All ich weiß, ist, dass ich nie wieder auf dem Berg reisen werde. Und manchmal, wenn die Nacht still ist, schwöre ich, dass ich den feinsten Gurgel auf dem Wind hören kann. Have you ever experienced something that made you question what you saw or heard?
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Are you familiar with other shapeshifters? Do you know about the Pucca? This week's podcast stories were edited by Sarah Lukasiewicz. Narration by Blair Bathory. Audio edited and mixed by Fitz Harris. Additional audio editing by Calvin Linderman. Produced by Anna Villalobos. Executive produced by Gil Gilman. Music by Sapphire Sindalo and Calvin Linderman.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
If you have a story you'd like to submit, send me an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com Don't forget to watch the video version of Something Scary over at youtube.com slash snarled And if you'd like to support the show and everything we do at Snarled, join our Patreon at patreon.com slash snarled As always, witches, thanks for joining me.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
I hope you enjoyed this week's stories and the video version. I'll see you next week. Sweet screams.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Seine Wände waren schwarz, seine Augen schüttelten. Seine ehemalige große Fassade lag unter dem Gewicht von Jahrhunderten. Der Sturm, der sich die ganze Nacht bedroht hatte, brach endlich. Und der Regen begann, die steilen Wälder zu fressen. Er drehte die Erde unter Michael's Boots in den Müll. Eine perfekte Nacht für einen Geisterhunt. Eine perfekte Nacht, um alle falsch zu zeigen.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Michael schüttelte durch einen Gap in der Tür und ging den übergrownen Weg nach der Tür, filmte, als er fuhr. Loftus Hall, er murmelte in den Mikrofon, der Wind nahe an seinen Worten zu schwalmen. Die Geschichte geht so, ein Sturm wächst, ein Traveller erscheint an der Tür. Die Familie nimmt ihn ein, nur um zu entdecken, während eines Kartenspiels, dass er nicht menschlich ist. The stranger?
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Wenn der Winddruck verändert wird, denken die Leute, die Häuser seien beschädigt, wenn es wirklich nur die Physik ist. Seine Stimme klingelte zu laut in der leeren Haustür. Die Halle streckte sich vor ihm, liegte mit fehlendem Wallpapier. Der dünne Boden warpte mit Zeit. Er schlug tiefer rein, die Lichter schlug durch den Schmerz. Der Sturm schlug die Wände.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Aber unter dem Wind rief ein anderes Geräusch in seine Ohren. Geräusche. Er ist gefroren. Der Mikrofon hat einen feinen, rasselnden Geräusch getroffen. Wie Farbe, die sich gegen die Farbe bricht. Michael hat scharf gedreht. Nichts. Nur Schatten, die sich ungewöhnlich lang gegen die Wälder strecken. Er hat einen langen Atem ausgelöst und hat sich gezwungen zu lachen.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
I'll check out the tapestry room. That's where Lady Anne was locked away after she saw... whatever she saw. His footsteps echoed as he climbed the grand staircase. Halfway up he hesitated. Another sound. Soft. Rhythmic. Like footsteps matching his own. Michael turned abruptly, shining his flashlight behind him. The staircase was empty. His fingers clinched the banister. Keep moving.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
In the tapestry room, the door stood ajar. Michael pushed it open, swallowing the sudden nausea that rolled through his gut. The room was musty. The air now held the scent of burning fabric. Dust coated the furniture, the edges of a forgotten rocking chair disappearing into shadow. His flashlight flickered. The mirror in the corner caught his reflection, except it didn't.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
For a split second, Michael saw something else. A figure in the glass, sitting in the rocking chair. His pulse thundered. He turned. The chair was empty. But the reflection remained. The fingers trembled as he lifted his camera. If there's anyone here, he said, forcing his voice to stay steady. Make yourself known. Silence. Then a knock. Michaels Stomach clenched.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
The sound had come from just outside the room. He swallowed, gripping his flashlight, stepping toward the doorway. Hello? Another knock. Closer. He braced himself and swung the door open. The hall was empty, but the air, the air had changed. It was charged, thick with static, humming against his skin. The storm outside roared, wind shrieking through unseen gaps in the walls.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Dann Fußgänger, langsam, gemessen, kommen auf die Stiefel. Michaels Körper wurde gestärkt. Seine Kamera war immer noch rollend. Das rote Licht blinkte in der Dunkelheit. Das war ein Squatter, der sie sehen würde, aber es gab nichts. Nur der stetige Geräusch der Fußgänger. Dann stoppten sie.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Right outside the tapestry room, the hallway stretched before him, empty except for shadows shifting unnaturally, bending toward the ceiling. Then the whisper started again. This time, he could almost make out the words. Not Irish, not English, something older, something wrong. Michael drehte sich in Richtung des Schauspielers und das war, als er es sah.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Nicht seine eigene Reflexion, sondern der Auferstehende. Eine dunkle Kleidung, eine breite Brille, die alles versteckt hat, außer den Lächeln, der zu weit für jeden menschlichen Mund ist. Michaels Atem hitzte. Er drehte sich in Richtung des Schauspielers, leer, aber die Reflexion blieb. Und dann, es bewegte sich. Die Figur im Schauspieler stand auf. Michael konnte nicht bewegen.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Er sah, als das Ding nach vorne stieg. Unmöglich langsam, unmöglich leise. Bis es hinter ihm im Glas stand. Und dann landete eine Hand auf seinen Schulter. Michael schrie. Er spannte den Raum leer. Seine eigene Schatten streckte sich gegen den Wall. Das Bildschirm brach. Eine lange, scharfe Linie splitt die Reflexion in die Mitte. Etwas in Michaels Geist brach. His camera slipped from his hands.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
He ran, down the stairs, across the hall, through the door that should have been locked. The storm swallowed him as he sprinted into the night, breath coming and ragged gasps. He didn't stop running until he reached the cliffs, his heart hammering against his ribs. Behind him, Loftus Hall loomed, its windows watching, and in the highest window, the tapestry room window, something moved.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Hi, I'm Blair Bathory and this is the Something Scary Podcast. Thank you so much for being here. Whether this is your first time or you're one of the brave souls who join us every week. And we're back again with another video version of the podcast. I'm so excited to be doing this for you now and we're working very hard to bring you one every week.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
A dark shape, a grin too wide, and then the knock came again. But this time, it was inside his skull. Michael's Livestream ended abruptly. His fans watched in horror as the feed went dark. Days later, authorities found his camera abandoned in the tapestry room. Michael himself was discovered miles away, wandering aimlessly. He didn't remember what happened. He didn't remember how he escaped.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
But he knew one thing. The stranger hadn't left. And every night, in the silence of his room, just before sleep, he heard a knock at the door. What would you do if you had heard a knock at your door in the dead of night when you knew no one was there? Would you be brave or curious enough to go visit Loftus Hall in Ireland? Has anyone ever visited there?
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
If so, tell us your story by sending us an email at somethingscaryatsnarl.com or leave us a comment here on Spotify or over on our YouTube channel. Untertitelung des ZDF für funk, 2017 Killikee House, auf der Außenstrecke von Dublin, war schon lange verabschiedet. Seine krümmelnden Steinwälder und übergrümmelte Bäume, ein mal ein laviges Gebäude.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Es wurde jetzt gesagt, dass es von Gerüchten von Kult-Ritualen verhäumt wurde und die Präsenz eines schrecklichen, massiven schwarzen Katzen mit gläubigen roten Augen. Die Legende sagt, dass der Katz kein nur Tier war, sondern eine dämonische Kraft, die sich mit den schwarzen Zeremonien des Hellfire-Clubs im 18. Jahrhundert verbunden hat.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
In den letzten Jahren sprachen die Leute über seltsame Ereignisse, über den Blick des Katzes, der sie in den Wäldern folgte, über Geräusche am Abend. Aber wenige durften sich nahe an die Geschichte erinnern. Aidan O'Connor, ein kurzer Geschichte-Professor an einer nahen Universität, hatte nie viel Gedanken zu den Geschichten gegeben. Er hatte ein kleines Stück Land nahe dem Estate geerbt.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Nichts Spektakuläres, nur ein paar Äcker Wald, ein kleines Farmhaus und ein distantes Aussehen von Killikai-Haus. Sein Leben war Routine, zu lernen, zu lesen, den ungewöhnlichen Pint am lokalen Pub zu trinken. Das war, bis seine verheiratete Schwester, Maeve, nach einer Jahrzehnte im Ausland zurückkehrte. Maeve hatte immer unabhängig gewesen, suchte für etwas, das sie nicht definieren konnte.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Sie sprach oft von dunklen Träumen und einem nackten Sinn, sich in Orte zu bewegen, in die sie nicht gehen sollte. Seine Rückkehr, aber, sah anders aus. Sie war krank, both physically and emotionally drained. Doctors found no explanation for her sudden decline. When Maeve moved in with him, Aiden didn't question it. He just wanted to help. But soon, things began to change.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Maeve sprach in ihrem Schlaf, murmerte über einen Beobachter, über Augen, die ihr folgten, über einen Katzen in den Wäldern, der auf etwas wartet. Am Anfang dachte Aiden ein wenig darüber, aber bald wurde Maeve mehr entfernt, pale und verblüfft. Sie starrte in den Wäldern für Stunden, um etwas zu erneuern. Verrückt, wollte Aiden sie zum Arzt nehmen. Aber bevor sie gehen konnten, verschwand Maeve.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
So let me know in the comments how we can make it better. I read everything you all say. Und wir sind alle irische an St. Patrick's Day, richtig? Wir feiern mit Schamrocken, Leprechaunen und der Vermutung eines Pots von Gold am Ende des Rheingaus. Aber unterhalb des emeraldischen Glücks von Ireland's rolling hills liegt etwas viel dunkler.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Stunden später fand sie sich auf der Ecke des Waldes, nahe der Ruinen von Kilikai-Haus, starrte an ihren dunklen Wänden in einer Trance. Sie schrie. »Er kommt. Der Katz kommt.« Desperate. Aiden researched the history of Killikai House.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
He uncovered old accounts of the Hellfire Club's occult practices, rituals said to have summoned a powerful demon, a black cat with glowing red eyes, who haunted the mansion and its surroundings. The cat was said to possess those who ventured too close, driving them mad before claiming their soul. Aiden couldn't dismiss what he found. He returned to the woods that evening, hoping for answers.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
As dusk fell, the air grew unnaturally still, and then he saw it. A massive black cat appeared on the edge of the clearing, its eyes glowing like twin embers, watching him with a knowing gaze. Frozen, Aiden felt a strange pull to approach the creature, to step into its gaze. He wanted to run, but his body refused to obey. Maeve's voice echoed in his mind. »The cat is coming, Aiden.«
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Er wird dich holen. Er wird uns beide holen. Um all seine Kraft zu holen, brach Aiden frei von der Katze und flog, nicht aufzuhören, zurückzusehen. Maeve war niemals der gleiche nach der Nacht. Sie wurde mehr ausgedrückt, ihre Augen ständig in den Wäldern zu scannen, warten auf etwas oder jemanden.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Aiden, auch er, fand sich in Kilikai-Haus gezwungen, unabhängig von der Wanderung in den Wäldern am Abend, als ob das Land selbst ihm geholfen hätte. The Black Cat of Killikai House was no longer a myth. It was an entity, a force that had never truly left. And now, it seemed, it had chosen them. Weeks passed.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Aiden konnte ihre Schmerzen nicht brechen. Sie würde nicht das Haus verlassen, starrte sich aus dem Fenster für Stunden. Ihr Blick war auf Kilikai-Haus fest. Einen stormigen Abend kam Aiden zurück, um das Haus ehrlicherweise sauber zu finden. Er nannte Mays Namen. Her voice laced with dread. When he found her, she stood in the living room, staring out the window with the same vacant expression.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
She'd worn for weeks, but this time she wasn't alone. The black cat was there. It stood in the shadows behind her, its sleek body blending with the darkness. The faint red glow of its eyes, the only sign of its presence. Maeve's hands gripped the air as though holding onto something or someone who wasn't there. Maids Voice rasped. Her back turned to him. It wasn't quite her voice.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
It was distant, twisted, foreign. Aedens Herz schloss, als seine Augen zwischen Maeve und der schädlichen Form hinter ihr fliegen. Die Katzen Augen schlossen sich auf ihn, prädatorisch und ruhig. Sein Körper war groß, mehr Schatten als ein Kreatur, bewegt mit einer ungewöhnlichen Gnade.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Ireland ist steif in Legenden, ihre Verzeihungen in die Kloven geworfen, ihre Schatten zu den leiblichen Geistern Zuhause. Manche sagen sogar, dass der Teufel dort lebt. Also, während ihr in den Festivitäten reist, vergesst nicht diese urbane Legende, die nur über die Lichter fliegt. Ich warte auf dich. Zuerst das Verlust von Loftus Hall, nach dem Schicksal, der nie aufsteht.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Aedens steckte näher, schlug Maeves Schulter, ihr Kopf schlug zur Seite, und als sie an ihn schaute, glöckten ihre dunklen Augen mit einer berühmten roten Farbe. It's me, Aiden, she whispered, but the words were wrong. I've always been this way. The truth hit him like a blow to the chest. Maeve wasn't just under the cat's influence. She had become it.
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
Her face melted, features distorting and stretching into the contours of the beast's own. Her limbs elongated unnaturally as though she was merging with the dark force. The eyes staring at him were no longer hers but the cat's, cold, cruel and filled with malice. No, Maeve! Aiden's voice cracked, horror rising within him. Please, no!
Something Scary
Shamrocks and Shadows
The cat let out a guttural growl, its massive form rippling as it moved toward him. Its eyes never left him. He's waiting for you, Maeve's voice came again, distant. He's always waiting. Aiden stumbled backward, heart pounding. He turned to flee, but the cat was faster. Es blockte die Tür, füllte den Raum mit einer schmerzhaften Präsenz.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
The last thing I felt was the sharp, piercing pain of teeth sinking into my neck and the warm trickle of blood down my skin. Welcome… Her voice purred as the darkness claimed me. Have you ever fallen for someone too perfect to be true? We love hearing your stories, so send us an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com. Where are all the horror lovers at?
Something Scary
Venomous Love
We have brand new merch for our Something Scary and horror film fans on somethingscary.com. We have hats, mugs, blankets, t-shirts, all kinds of really cool stuff. I particularly like the blanket. But go to somethingscary.com to grab something now. They say some loves never die, but sometimes that love claims more than your heart.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
Like in this story inspired by an urban legend and written by Sarah. It began with a room. At first, it seemed like a romantic getaway, an anniversary weekend to celebrate what they thought would be a lifelong love. Ritza and Mark had been together for five years. And when they checked into the cozy vintage hotel for their anniversary, they couldn't have been more excited. The staff was warm.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
The room was perfect. Everything seemed to be just as it should be. They were given room 213, a small, elegant suite adorned with solitude of the misty garden below the hotel had an air of timelessness and it made it seem like it had existed forever the floorboards creaked with each step and the scent of lavender torched the halls but it was the kiss that changed everything
Something Scary
Venomous Love
Mark had just settled into the armchair by the window when Ritza stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a plush robe. The room seemed to pulse with a strange energy, though neither of them noticed at first. As Ritza walked toward the bed, she paused. A cool breeze blew through the curtains, though the window had been shut tight. She felt something graze the back of her neck, light as a whisper.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
She turned quickly, half expecting to find Mark standing behind her with a mischievous grin. But he was across the room, reading a small brochure about local sites. A strange shiver shot through her bones. Then it happened. Ritza felt lips pressed softly against her cheek, cold, as though they weren't quite human. It wasn't Mark. She froze, her breath catching in her throat.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
The sensation was delicate, gentle, but shocking. "'Mark?' she whispered, turning to him. He looked up from the brochure, startled. "'What's wrong? You okay?' I, I don't know. I swear someone kissed me, but it wasn't you. Mark laughed lightly, brushing it off. You're just tired. It's been a long trip. Ritza tried to shake the unease, convinced she was imagining things.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
The kiss was just too strange, but it felt real. Later that night, after dinner, they returned to their room, the evening winding down. The lights were dim, casting shadows that danced across the walls. Ritza slipped into bed first, pulling the covers up to her chin. Mark went into the bathroom, humming softly. That's when she felt it again. This time, it was different.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
The kiss was heavier, lingering, like it was meant to consume her. Ritza jerked her head toward the door, but Mark was still in the bathroom, his voice echoing as he spoke to her. Ritza, you okay? He called out, his voice warm and distant. I felt it again, she muttered under her breath. A kiss. Mark came out, wiping his hands on a towel, a puzzled look on his face.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
Ritza, you're starting to scare me. But Ritza wasn't looking at him anymore. She was staring at the reflection in the full-length mirror on the wall. The dim light made the shadows dance strangely, distorting her own image. But in the reflection behind her was the shape of a figure, pale, almost ethereal. It wasn't Mark, and it wasn't anyone she recognized.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
Even though the booth he was sitting in was covered in plush pink and red velvet, he couldn't help feeling caged in. But he reminded himself that he willingly signed up to be a contestant on the Love Bubble, the experiment for good people dying to find love. He was ready for the hour of speed dating in this tiny room separated into two booths by a one-way mirror.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
The figure's face was blurred, but its lips, the lips were red, and they were smiling. Ritza turned, her heart pounding. No one was there. The room was silent, save for the sound of Mark's breathing behind her. I felt it, she whispered, fear creeping into her voice. Mark, concerned but still skeptical, checked the room, the windows, the closet. But everything was as it should be.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
No intruders, no sign of anything strange. The next morning, Ritza's memory of the kiss lingered. It gnawed at her, an uncomfortable weight, like a dream that wouldn't fade. When she asked Mark if he had noticed anything odd during the night, he shrugged. You're just imagining it, babe. It's all in your head. But Ritza wasn't convinced. By the third night, the kisses had grown bolder.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
The air in the room felt colder, as though it had been touched by something that didn't belong. Mark had grown distant, too, more absorbed in his phone, scrolling through pictures from their trip. and Ritza had noticed a strange absence in his eyes. He wasn't looking at her the same way anymore, and that's when the truth hit. In the reflection of the window, she saw it.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
The figure was standing beside Mark. The lips, still red, still smiling, were moving closer to him. She could see them as if they were inches away, the figure bending toward Mark's neck, preparing to kiss him. Ritza cried out, but Mark didn't react. He didn't turn around. She ran up to him, shaking him violently. "'Mark, wake up! Someone's in here!'
Something Scary
Venomous Love
But when Mark turned, his face was blank, almost empty, like a shell that had lost its soul. His eyes, his once warm, loving eyes were glassy, unblinking. He didn't speak. Then the cold kiss touched her cheek, colder than before." Ritza scrambled back, her skin going numb. The figure was there, pressing against her, as though it had materialized out of thin air, intent on claiming both of them.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
It was the ghost of the hotel, the one that had been searching for a lover, for someone to love her, for someone to steal away. But the kiss didn't feel the love anymore. It felt like death. in a trance-like stupor, where it's a grab mark by the wrist, dragging him toward the door. She couldn't leave him behind. She couldn't let him fall to whatever this was.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
But as she touched the doorknob, her vision blurred. The world spun, and then everything went black. The next morning, the hotel staff found the room empty except for the lingering scent of roses. There was no sign of Ritza or Mark, only two glasses of wine on the bedside table, untouched. Guests who checked in afterward reported strange occurrences.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
Some spoke of the feeling of a cold kiss on their skin in the middle of the night. Others said they saw a figure in the corner of their rooms, a pale, smiling face watching them. But no one could explain what had happened to the couple who had checked into room 213. They were gone, as if they had never been there at all.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
But the kissing ghost of the hotel still waited, still sought new lovers to claim its cold, eternal kiss, a reminder that some loves are never meant to be. What would you do if you woke up to a kiss from a stranger, one who's already dead? Have you had any crazy, scary, or creepy interactions with the dead? We love hearing your stories, so send us an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
As they began, a woman started speaking in his ear. She was the matchmaker. The matchmaker was the one running the show. Sid was a handsome man with a good head of hair and sparkly eyes. He wore that expensive watch to show women his worth. He hadn't been ready for a relationship before. He'd admitted to the matchmaker over the phone.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
This week's podcast stories were edited by Sarah Lukasiewicz, narration by Blair Bathory, audio edited and mixed by Fitz Harris, additional audio editing by Calvin Linderman, produced by Anna Villalobos, executive produced by Gail Gilman, music by Sapphire Sindalo and Calvin Linderman. If you have a story you'd like to submit... send me an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
Don't forget to watch the video version of Something Scary over at youtube.com slash snarled. And if you'd like to support the show and everything we do at Snarled, join our Patreon at patreon.com slash snarled.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
He'd blown many women off, maybe one too many, maybe far too cruel at times, but now he was ready for his dream girl. And remind me, Sid, who is your dream girl? The matchmaker asked now, through an earpiece. Sid answered without hesitation. She's beautiful and warm, like a ray of sunshine. Understanding and a good listener. Someone who will take care of me until I'm old and gray.
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Venomous Love
So basically, everything I'm not, he joked. Except the beautiful part, the matchmaker joked back. She advised him to stay true to himself, answer the questions honestly, and he'd leave today a changed man. On cue, his first match entered the other side of the booth. Sid's date couldn't see the enchanting smile he was flashing. Eventually, Sid heard an impatient, Hello? He felt foolish.
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Venomous Love
He introduced himself and told the person he'd hoped was his dream girl about his high-paying job and well-off family. But his date wanted to talk about something else. What keeps you up at night, Sid? The words felt flirty and a little dangerous. Sid liked it. He answered honestly, ending up in a big house with everything he wanted but no one to share it with.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
But why would that happen to a nice guy like you? Sid tiptoed around the fact that maybe he hadn't always been the nicest. His date hummed, marinating over Sid's omission. He waited for a reaction. The one he got surprised him. His date empathized, telling Sid his behavior was understandable, considering there are a lot of nightmares out there. What's the scariest nightmare you've ever had?
Something Scary
Venomous Love
Hi, spooky friends. I'm Blair Bathory, and this is the Something Scary Podcast. Thank you so much for being here. Whether this is your first time or you're one of the brave souls who join us every week. Love is often seen as the most powerful force in the world, but love isn't always as sweet as it seems.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
Sid was now taken aback. He described an old witch with scraggly hair and spindly fingers, tickling him in bed. He laughed that it was inspired by a bad date. But the contestant in the other booth wasn't laughing. Their voice grew deeper, more demanding when they instructed Sid to be silent. He complied out of shock. Then his date told Sid to grab a chunk of his precious shiny hair.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
Sid started to do it, but hesitated until his date commanded, "'Now!' For some reason, he couldn't help but obey. He wanted to stop, but the voice was too delicious to ignore. He could feel his date's power pulsing through the walls. He felt the weight of the control and an insane desire to please involuntary filled his pores." Now pull. Sid's eyes started to water.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
He didn't want to, but he had to. He yanked his hair, but that wasn't good enough. He was met with demands to go harder, harder now, until a tuft of perfectly shampooed locks were sitting in his palm. He touched the raw spot on his scalp, where blood pooled. The person on the other side of the booth laughed. Sid questioned why she made him do that, and said he wanted to leave.
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Venomous Love
His supposed dream girl told him he wasn't allowed to leave yet, not when they were so close to falling in love. The voice compelled Sid to go to the desk in the corner of the room where a pen and paper were laid out. Then they told Sid to rip the pen open. When he didn't know how, they growled for him to bite it. Quickly, Sid listened, gnarling the pen in two with his perfectly white teeth.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
They were marred with black ink as he cracked the pen open. But what was coming next was worse. Drop the blackness in your eyes. Sid begged for mercy through shaky breaths, but none came. He whimpered out a weak, why? And was met with a chilling response. Because I want your eyes to be black to match your soul. Sid tried to restrain his right hand with his left, but it was no use.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
He poured the black into each of his oceanic eyes, screaming as the dye transformed his world into darkness. His dream girl was pleased, but had one more thing in mind. Sid begged for release. Instead, he was commanded to take off his watch and pop out the shiny gold links that made up the band. Ruining his prized possession was almost the worst part of all of this. But Sid did it, one by one.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
He callously asked what she wanted next, since it couldn't get any worse. He was wrong. Swallow them all, one by one. Sid kicked his feet, begging for a way out. That's when he finally remembered. The matchmaker. He called for help, pressing the piece in his ear. The matchmaker calmly replied, Keep going. I'm on the way. Sid didn't want to keep going.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
He wanted to curl into a ball and disappear, but his dream girl wasn't having it. Sid's date repeated the command over and over until the voice reverberated through every pocket of the booth, shaking the mirror. Sid was crying by now, his face red with agony. He reluctantly opened his stained mouth only an inch and dropped in a tiny chunk of gold.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
Beneath the surface of passion and devotion can lie obsession, jealousy, and desire, forces that can twist affection into something far more cruel. So as Valentine's Day approaches, this is your warning to steer clear of the darker side of love, where it consumes, haunts, and leaves nothing but fear in its wake. First, a match made in hell, followed by love bites, literally.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
He coughed and sputtered unable to breathe as it clinked in his esophagus. Sid was choking. He fell on the floor gasping for air, yelling for help. But was it too late? The corners of the room became fuzzy and dark, closing in like the ending credits of a vintage film. Until she entered the matchmaker. Sid could barely see her face when she touched him. The pain went away.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
He could breathe again as she guided him to the chair. She calmly asked if he wanted to meet his dream girl. Sid's brow collapsed in anxiety. He was terrified, but he had to meet the monster who did this to him. Looking into the mirror, the one-way facade dropped. It became a two-way mirror. It was himself. A godlike version of himself, grinning back at the broken version of Sid with no remorse.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
He even winked and told Sid he was a good boy. Sid nearly fell back out of his chair. He turned to find the matchmaker, but she was gone. The door to the booth was open. As Sid ran for it, someone or something whispered, now you're ready for true love. Do you think we're capable of escaping or changing the worst parts of ourselves? Or do they always resurface to haunt us? Hi, witches.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
As a Valentine's Day gift to you, we've put our cozy blanket on sale. It's perfect for cuddling up to someone you love. Go to somethingscary.com to grab yours now. It's only on sale until February 15th. Love is supposed to be blind, but sometimes it hides something far more sinister than we're prepared to see. Like in this story inspired by Victoria. There's something about that girl.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
I knew it from the moment we met Imelda, though my brother James refused to listen. He was infatuated, blinded by her beauty and charm. Her skin was porcelain smooth, with an almost unnatural glow in the moonlight. Her lips were crimson, though I never saw her wear lipstick, and her eyes, black pools without a glimmer of light, framed by long, feathery lashes. seemed to pierce right through you.
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Venomous Love
James wasn't the kind of guy to fall head over heels. Before Imelda, he was grounded, practical, and skeptical of anyone who seemed too good to be true. He loved his cheesy horror movies but never believed in monsters or ghosts. Life's scary enough, he used to say with a grin. But the moment he met Imelda at the campground, it was like something in him shifted.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
Her family occupied the site next to ours, and though they were polite and friendly, there was an unsettling air about them. They were too perfect, too composed. Their words were warm, but their smiles never reached their eyes. James didn't seem to notice. By the end of the first evening, he was completely captivated, sitting by the fire with her, hanging on every word.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
That night, as I lay in the tent, I couldn't shake the discomfort crawling up my spine. Every sound from the forest, the snap of a branch, the rustle of leaves, felt like a whisper just out of earshot. When I finally drifted to sleep, my dreams were thick with shadows. In the dream, I was wrapped in darkness, a suffocating weight pressing down on me. My arms were pinned, my legs immobile.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
The air was thick like breathing through cloth. I heard whispers, low and guttural, forming words I couldn't understand. Shadows emerged, their edges flickering, as though made of smoke, surrounding me in a tight circle. Their eyes glowed faintly, and their hands moved in synchronized, deliberate gestures.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
As they chanted, the shadows began to shift and twist, growing taller, their forms grotesque and distorted. Long, clawed fingers reached for me, and the chanting grew louder, filling my ears until I thought my head would split. A deep, resonant voice boomed from somewhere above me, its words indecipherable, but heavy with malice. I tried to scream, but the sound was swallowed by the darkness.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
I woke with a gasp, my chest heaving, but the sense of dread lingered like a shadow in the corner of my mind. The next morning, I was quiet as I watched James with Imelda. He was different, lighter, almost giddy, like a lovesick teenager. It didn't suit him. James was always the responsible one, the realist, but now he seemed blinded by this girl who had appeared out of nowhere.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
That evening, as the sun set, the campground grew quiet. The once vibrant chatter of families had faded, replaced by the occasional crackle of fire or the hoot of an owl. I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched. When the scream shattered the silence, I bolted upright, heart pounding. It was James.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
I didn't need to think twice before running toward the sound, my flashlight bouncing wildly as I tore through the trees. Near the pond, I found James lying on the ground, clutching his chest. Imelda knelt beside him, her expression blank, almost bored. "'James!' I called, rushing toward him. He sat up suddenly, staggering to his feet with a low groan. His face was pale, his eyes glassy. "'Brains.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
Finally, in our last story, a kiss from beyond. So, wanna hear something scary? Nemesis Love. It's said that love can change you, but sometimes it reshapes you into something unrecognizably horrible. Like in this story, written by one of our featured writers in honor of Black History Month, Marissa Dowell. Sid straightened his shirt and adjusted his watch as he got comfortable in his seat.
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Venomous Love
Brains.' He muttered, shambling toward me with jerky, exaggerated movements. My stomach dropped. I froze, heart hammering in my chest, until I heard their laughter. James burst into hysterics, doubling over as tears streamed down his face. Imelda smiled coyly at him, her laughter soft and musical. They sat together by the water, her head resting on his shoulder.
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Venomous Love
As I turned to leave, I tried to shake the lingering unease. Maybe she's harmless, I thought. But the thought felt hollow. That night, the dream returned. This time, the darkness was heavier, thicker. I couldn't move, couldn't even turn my head. The whispers were louder. forming a cacophony of voices that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
The shadows reappeared, but now their forms were clearer. Gaunt faces with hollow eyes, their mouths stretched unnaturally wide as they chanted. I was lifted weightless and dragged toward the circle's center. A blinding red light erupted above me, and the shadows fell to their knees. Bowing its source, my skin burned as the light grew brighter.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
Searing into my eyes, the chanting turned into laughter, deep, guttural, and cruel. I woke up with a start, my body drenched in sweat, the echo of laughter still ringing in my ears. When I opened my eyes, I realized the nightmare wasn't over. My arms were bound tightly to something rough and splintered, rope bit into my wrist, and my mouth was gagged.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
The smell of smoke and damp earth filled my nostrils. My vision was blurry, but I could make out figures moving in the flickering torchlight. James stood at the center of the circle, cloaked in black. His face was gaunt, his eyes shadowed and hollow. His teeth gleamed, unnaturally sharp, as he smiled. This wasn't my brother. Behind him, Imelda emerged, her bare feet silent on the damp ground.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
Her flowing black dress shimmered in the torchlight, her hair cascading like waves of ink. She moved with a predator's grace, her lips parting in a grin that revealed long, sharp fangs. I thrashed against the ropes, panic surging through me. James began to chant, his voice low and guttural, the words foreign and sinister. The other figures joined him, their voices rising in unison.
Something Scary
Venomous Love
Imelda approached, her eyes locked on mine. "'Don't fight it,' she whispered, her voice smooth as silk. "'You'll understand soon.'" Her cold fingers brushed my neck, and I shuddered violently, trying to scream against the gag. Her grin widened as she leaned in, her fangs glinting in the torchlight.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
No, she replied, her tone flat. This isn't you. The words stung more than he cared to admit, but he brushed them off. She didn't understand. How could she? He'd spent years clawing his way out of mediocrity, and now he finally had a taste of something better. Still, her rejection gnawed at him. At a party a week later, Ravi saw his chance to prove himself when JC arrived, uninvited.
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Debt To The Devil
JC was drunk and loud, pushing his way through the crowd like he owned the place. Ravi's stomach tightened as he watched him shove past people, slurring insults and laughing at his own jokes. The flicker of resentment inside Ravi grew hotter with each step JC took. The moment came when Jay-Z stumbled too close. His mocking voice louder than the music. The crowd quieted as Ravi stepped forward.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Words were thrown like punches, sharp and biting. Then came the real shoves. And before Ravi knew it, he had swung. Seine Füße brachten in Jacey und die Kraft sendete ihn auf den Boden. Ravi registrierte kaum den Schrei um ihn herum. Die Heizung sprach durch seine Hände, eine seltsame, brennende Sensation. Und als er nach unten guckte, sahen seine Finger nicht richtig aus.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Seine Zähne waren schwarz und scharf. Untertitelung des ZDF für funk, 2017 His nose was broken, his lips split wide. Ravi grabbed him again, yanking him up only to throw him down harder. The weight of his own strength felt alien, as if it didn't belong to him. The room was silent except for Jaycees broken gasps.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Ravi stood over him, breathing hard, his hands trembling as he stared at the damage he'd caused. Ravi! Edie shouted, her voice sharp and filled with horror. He turned to see her standing in the doorway, pale and wide-eyed. She didn't move, her shock freezing her in place when she asked what he was doing. The words felt distant, unreal, when Ravi said he was proving he wasn't a joke.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Letztendlich, in unserer letzten Geschichte, wollen die Leute ihre Endpunkte kennenlernen. Bevor wir zu unseren Geschichten kommen, wollte ich fragen, ob Sie sich unsere neue Something Scary Patreon-Storyteller-Erfahrung anschauen. Sie können jetzt noch tiefer in das Eerie und Mysteriöse mit exklusiven Perken für unsere Storyteller-Fans.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Edie shook her head and backed away, her face twisted, not in anger, but something worse, disgust. You're not the Ravi I knew, she said, and then she was gone. The arrest was swift. By the next morning, Ravi's face was splashed across social media and the local news with assault charges. The boy who had once been invisible was now infamous.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
In the confines of the jail, Ravi sat on the cot, staring at the floor. His world, once so full of promise, had crumbled. The wealth, the power, the fleeting attention of strangers, all of it felt meaningless. Edie besuchte ihn einmal. Sie saß von ihm. Seine Arme schlug sich fest. Sie wusste nicht, warum sie da war. Sie fühlte sich nur noch einmal an, um ihn zu sehen.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Ich habe es für dich gemacht, rief Ravi. Alles wollte nur, dass du mich bemerkst. Seine Lache war bitter, fast ein Schrei, als sie sagte, du denkst, ich habe dich nicht bemerkt? I already liked you, Ravi. The real you. This? Whatever you've become? I can't even look at you. Her words landed like a punch to the gut. As she left, the room grew colder.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Ravi stared at his reflection in the glass divider and froze. The man in black's face appeared, his smile wide and full of cruel satisfaction when he told Ravi, he now belonged to him. Ravi's shadow began to shift, detaching from his body. It loomed over him, its eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. As it took a step toward him, Ravi couldn't even scream.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
If you were in Ravi's position, feeling invisible and powerless, would you be tempted to make a deal for instant success? What would you pay? Sometimes the stories you leave unfinished find their own way to an ending. And it might just include you. Like in this story written by Christopher Barron. Gil arbeitete einen einfachen Job als Bürgermeister.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Er helfte, den vorderen Bürgermeister des lokalen Staatsgebäudes zu halten. Er liebte die Routine, aber manchmal fühlte es sich an, als ob er auf Autopilot lebte. Arbeit, um seine Familie zu kümmern, Videospiele zu spielen und zu schlafen. Wieder und wieder. Eines Tages kam Gil in den Bürgermeister, um den Bürgermeister ungewöhnlich ruhig zu finden, als er den Computer am vorderen Tisch schlug.
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Debt To The Devil
Ein seltsames Symbol schlug auf dem Bildschirm. Es riecht wie ein Treffbein, aber mit scharfen Linien und zwei extra Lücken. Gil schrie. Der Computer war bekannt für Glitches, also brachte er es aus und ging weiter. Ein paar Tage später kam ein junger Mann in, um ein paar Dokumente zu vermitteln.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Mit der Einladung zu diesem neuen Patreon-Tier eröffnen Sie den Zugang zu unserem monatlichen Filmclub-Livestream mit mir, wo wir über Horrorfilme, die von Ihnen ausgewählt wurden, diskutieren. Nach jedem Live-Stream erhältst du auch exklusive Hintergrund-Szenen-Ansatz mit einem Q&A, um deine brennenden Fragen zu beantworten. Und wir werden unser erstes Meeting am 16. Dezember haben.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Gil hat ihn am Anfang kaum bemerkt, aber je länger er sich an ihn angeschaut hat, desto seltsamer wurde er. Es war nicht offensichtlich, es war nur eine seltsame Energie, die Gil ungeheuer gemacht hat. Der Mann handelte über sein Papier und blieb ohne Wort. As Gil reviewed the document, his heart skipped a beat. Next to the man's signature was the same symbol from the computer. Coincidence?
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Gil muttered under his breath, filing the papers away. But as the days passed, the young man returned again and again, each time signing with that eerie symbol. Gil versuchte, es zu ignorieren, sich in seinem Werk zu verletzen. Er hatte sich immer auf das Leveln gehalten.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Vor Jahren hatte er Horror-Storys als Hobby geschrieben, so er wusste, wie einfach es war, sich zu verletzen, wenn man ein Pattern sieht, das nicht wirklich da ist. Aber er hatte in Jahren nichts geschrieben. Das Leben ging los und seine kreative Sparge war gestorben. Eines Nachmittags wurde Gil an den Laufwagen angerufen, um einen Anruf zu bekommen.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Als er die Anrufer helfte, beobachtete er eine Figur, die sich über die Strecke drehte. The man's face looked disturbingly decayed, as if it was rotting away. Um seinen Nacken hängte eine Maske. Bevor Gil reagierte, schlug der Mann die Maske über seinen Kopf, zeigte einen völlig normalen Gesicht. Er schlug, lockte die Augen mit Gil und schlug. Dann ging er weg.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Gil rief zurück zu seinem Tisch, schockiert. Als er saß, standen zwei ehrliche Mädchen neben seinem Monitor. Eine war eine junge Ärztin, ihre porzellanen Gesichter kratzten, und die andere war eine ältere Frau mit einem schmerzhaften Geruch. Okay, who's playing jokes? Gil called out, but his supervisor's office was empty and his cubicle neighbors were nowhere to be found.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Sudden giggles broke the silence. The sound was faint, but unmistakable, and it seemed to come from the dolls. Gilles stand abrupt, sein Herz zu erheben. Er fuhr nach draußen, überzeugt, dass er überarbeitet war. Er sass auf einer Bühne, inhalierte das krispe Luft, als er bemerkte, dass jemand neben ihm stand. Es war ein junger Mann mit einem Symbol.
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Debt To The Devil
Seine Ausprägung war nicht mehr neutral, es war furchtbar. Er hat eine Hand gehalten, die Palme ausgestreckt, und der Baum neben Gilles begann zu schütteln. Die Wurzeln stürzten aus dem Boden, schnackend nach ihm. Gil schlug sich wieder rein. Als er zu seinem Tisch zurückkehrte, hatten die Däume die Positionen geändert, jetzt direkt vor ihm. Der Ältere hielt eine Note.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
«Konferenzraum, jetzt!» Gil hesitierte, aber beschloss, es zu beobachten. Ein Treffen wäre ein Willkommen-Repriez von seinen überraschenden Nerven. Als er in den Raum steckte, schlug die Tür hinter ihm auf. Weine schlug sich über ihn um, ihn innerhalb zu schließen. The young man stood in the corner, arms crossed. Beside him was the rotting man, his grotesque face barely concealed beneath his mask.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
On the table, the doll sat with devilish smirks. »Why are you doing this?« Gil stammered. »What do you want from me?« »You!« The rotting man rasped. »You abandoned us, left us to rot!« What are you talking about? Gil demanded. The young man held up a laptop, Gils laptop. This is our home, he said, voice trembling with rage. This is where you left us, unfinished and forgotten.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Aber das ist nicht alles. Storyteller Experience-Mitglieder werden auch einen 20%-Discount auf Something Scary Merch und eine Chance, auf unsere nächste Spine-Chilling-Story zu kollaborieren. Zusammen werden wir eine furchtbare Geschichte erschaffen, die einfach auf dem Podcast enden könnte. So, wanna hear something scary? Debt to the Devil Debt to the Devil
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Memories flooded back, the stories Gil had started but never finished. The young man, the rotting figure, even the dolls, they were his creations. He had given them life, only to abandon them in his hard drive. You want me to finish your stories? Gil said, his voice barely above a whisper. They all nodded. The rotting man shoved a chair toward him. You've had long enough.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Gil sat down and started typing. His hands trembled and his mind raced to remember the stories he had left behind. But the words didn't come. »Faster!«, gräbte der junge Mann. »Wir haben lange genug gewartet!« Vine schlug sich um Gills Beine, schlug ihn in die Schuhe. Die Nurse-Doll stieg auf den Tisch, ihr gebrochenes Gesicht splitterte weiter, als sie schlug.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
»Du hast uns mit Macht geschrieben!«, hieß sie. »Aber du hast nie fertig gemacht, was du angefangen hast!« Die ältere Kugel hat sich an ihrem eigenen Gesicht geklaut und Gills Hand hat die Bewegung involontär vermimmt, leaving scratches across his cheek. You made us, she sneered. You should know what we're capable of. Gills' fear turned into desperation.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
If they wanted a story, he would give them one. He typed furiously, weaving a tale where each of them found resolution and disappeared into the world they were meant to inhabit. As he typed the final sentence, the room grew silent. When he hit the last period, they vanished. Too late, Gil. You took too long. The room faded into darkness. All around him, familiar settings emerged.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
The forest, the hospital, the decrepit house. He wasn't in the office anymore. He was inside his own stories. Trapped inside his stories. And this time, the characters were writing his fate. And it was certainly going to be a torturous one. Do you believe stories or ideas can take on a life of their own? This week's podcast stories were edited by Sarah Lukasiewicz. Narration by Blair Bathory.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Audio edited and mixed by Fitz Harris. Additional audio editing by Calvin Linderman. Produced by Anna Villalobos. Executive produced by Gil Gilman. Music by Sapphire Sandalo and Calvin Linderman.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
If you have a story you'd like to submit, send me an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com Don't forget to watch the video version of Something Scary over at youtube.com slash snarled And if you'd like to support the show and everything we do at Snarled, join our Patreon at patreon.com slash snarled
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Sometimes the most terrifying things are the ones you can't see. While you may feel them creeping closer, no matter how hard you try, you won't be able to ignore them. Like in this story inspired by Daniele. Mein Name ist Dani. Bevor das geschehen ist, glaube ich nicht an Geister oder etwas Supernaturales. Jetzt habe ich keine Wahl. Es war November 2017.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Damals war ich ein 20-jähriger Babysitter, gut bekannt und vertraut in meinem Nachbarland. Die Leute liebten mich, weil ich vertraut war, gut mit Kindern war und ich hatte einen süßen, anspruchsvollen Demeanor. I also had a young daughter of my own, which made parents feel I understood their needs.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
The holidays were quickly approaching, and I was looking for last-minute gigs to make extra cash for gifts. While scrolling through a Facebook group of local moms, I came across a post from a new neighbor, Ginny, who had just moved into the area with her six-year-old daughter, Kim. Ginny suchte einen Babysitter und bestellte einen absurd genügend 70 Euro pro Stunde.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Die Bestellung sah zu gut aus, also sendete ich sie sofort an. Ginny war erstaunlich, jung, verpolstert und scheinbar zusammengebracht. Aber es fühlte sich ein wenig gezwungen an, als ob es eine Front war. Sie hat versucht, mich mehrere Male zu treffen, bevor sie versagt hat, mich an Kim zu verabschieden. Wir haben Wege gechattet, besuchte unsere Häuser und bauten Vertrauen. Als sie endlich sagte,
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Du bist bereit. Ich dachte, es war nur, dass sie eine überprotektive Mutter war. Schauend zurück, sollte ich die Warnung, die in ihren Worten versteckt wurde, erkennen. Am Tag, an dem ich angefangen habe, kam ich zu Jennys Haus, die sich für irgendwas vorbereitet hat. Oder so dachte ich. Das Haus war seltsam.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Von außen war es präzise und moderne, aber innerhalb, die Wälder fühlten sich alt, fast älter. The air was heavy, as if something unseen was pressing down on the space. Kim was sitting on the couch when I walked in. She was pale, with dark circles under her eyes, and she avoided looking at me.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Ginny gave her a sharp, unnatural smile as she left, and the tone of her goodbye to Kim sent a chill through me. The moment the door closed, Kim's demeanor shifted. She began crying silently, her shoulders shaking, and she wouldn't tell me what was wrong. Instead, she pointed toward a door at the end of the hallway. It was plain and unassuming, but something about it felt wrong.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Its placement seemed unnatural, as though it didn't belong in the house. Ginny hatte die Tür vor unserem letzten Telefonanruf erwähnt. Sie war fest. Diese Tür bleibt geschlossen, solange es keine Unruhe gibt. Du wirst wissen, ob du sie öffnen musst, aber sonst, lass sie allein. Ihre Worte klingelten in meinem Geist, als Kim mit mir gebeten hat, sie zu öffnen.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Ich habe ihr gesagt, dass ich die Tür nicht öffnen konnte, dass ich keine Kugel hatte. Kim lachte, ein hohler, unerheblicher Geräusch, der ihr kleine Bild nicht zutrifft, und wanderte weg, um TV zu schauen. The rest of the evening was spent in a state of unease. The house felt alive, but its silence was unnerving. Every creak of the floorboards and groan of the walls set my nerves on edge.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
While I was making dinner, Jenny called to check in. She sounded calm at first. When I mentioned Kim asking about the door, her voice tightened. She told me to call her immediately if Kim asked again, then hung up abruptly. An hour later, the knocking started. At first it was faint, like a tree branch tapping against the windows, but the sound was too deliberate, too rhythmic.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
It came from every direction, the walls, the ceiling, even the floor beneath my feet. I tried to ignore it, brushing it off as my imagination, but the knocking grew louder. more incessant. Kim appeared in the kitchen, standing eerily still. She didn't say a word, just pointed toward the door. The air around us seemed to shift, growing colder and heavier, and I felt a pressure building in my chest.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
I tried calling Jenny again, but she didn't pick up. Panic set in as the knocking turned into pounding, each thud reverberating through the house. Kim walked down the hall, her tiny frame dwarfed by the oppressive shadows that seemed to gather around her. I wanted to stop her, but my feet felt rooted to the floor. She reached the door and, without hesitation, opened it.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
The room beyond was dark, too dark. It wasn't just the absence of light, it was a void, an emptiness that seemed to swallow everything. For a moment, I thought I saw movement in the darkness, shadows twisting and writhing like living things. A low, guttural whisper filled the air, words I couldn't understand but instinctively feared. Then Kim stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Mein Telefon klingelte, die schmerzhafte Ruhe zu brechen. Es war Jenny. Seine Stimme war frantik, fast hysterisch, als sie beantragte, was passiert ist. Als ich ihr sagte, dass Kim die Tür geöffnet hat und ins Zimmer gegangen ist, schrie sie. Ein rauhes, schmerzhafter Geräusch. Sie hat mir gesagt, dass ich sofort weggehen soll, aber ich habe mich auf die Tür gezwungen.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Hi Witches, I'm Blair Bathory and this is the Something Scary Podcast. Thank you so much for being here. Whether this is your first time or you're one of the brave souls who join us every week. Also, ich hoffe, ihr hattet eine tolle Weihnachtszeit mit eurer Familie und spart Zeit zusammen. Und hoffentlich hört ihr vielleicht ein paar schreckliche Geschichten zusammen.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Jenny kam wenige Minuten später, enttäuscht und schüttelnd. Sie schlug mich herüber und schlug die Tür öffnen. Ich schlug mich hinein und mein Herz stoppte fast. Schatten schlossen die Wälder, aber diese Erinnerungen an das Leben waren nicht noch da. Sie pulsierten und schifften, formierten groteske Formen, die die Erklärung verleugneten.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Das Geräusch wurde lauter, eine Kakophonie von Geräuschen, die im Zusammenhang sprachen. I thought I saw eyes, dozens of them, watching us from within the dark. Ginny stepped inside, calling for Kim, but I couldn't move. My body was frozen, paralyzed by a fear I'd never experienced before. Moments later, Ginny reappeared, her face pale and streaked with tears.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
She slammed the door shut and handed me an envelope with my payment, begging me to leave. I didn't argue. I booked it to my car, the envelope of cash clutched in my trembling hand. The whispers hadn't stopped, faint but constant, like a breath just behind me. The driveway felt endless, and the flickering streetlights didn't help my confidence.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
I made it to the car, but when I started the engine, I heard a knock on the roof. A deliberate, rhythmic sound. My stomach turned, but I didn't look back. Gravel sprayed as I sped away, but the whispers followed. At home, it got worse. Lights flickered, the faint smell of damp earth lingered, the knocking started again. This time on the walls, shadows shifted in the corners of every room.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Eine Nacht wuchs ich auf, um meine Tochter zu finden, die an meinem Bett stand, schweigend. »Wer ist die Dame in der Runde?«, schrie sie, bemerkend die dunkle Seite des Raumes. Ich rief Jenny an, besorgt für Antworten, aber ihre Stimme war kalt. Sie hat mir gesagt, weil ich es nicht alleine lassen würde. Nun, es würde mich nicht alleine lassen. Dann ging die Linie tot.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Letzte Nacht sah ich in der Tür und sah etwas, das zurückstrahlt. Augen, die dunkler als meine sind, voll mit einer Leerheit. I don't sleep anymore. I can't. Every time I close my eyes, I hear them whispering, waiting, watching. That door should have never been opened. Have you ever felt like something was watching you, even when you were alone?
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
What would you do if you were told to never open a door, but you couldn't shake the feeling that something was waiting behind it? Would you have opened the door? Sometimes the price of a dream is far greater than anyone is prepared to pay. Like in this story inspired by Sarah. Ravi hat seine Hände auf seine Brust geschnitten. Der feine Geruch von Salami und Mustard klingelt an seinen Fingern.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Ein weiterer unendlicher Abendabschluss in Delmonicos. Der Sandwich-Shop, der die meiste seiner Zeit außerhalb der Schule verwendet. Sein Traum, in der Schule studieren zu können, sah fast lachbar aus. Er hat nicht nur für die Ausbildung gespart. Er hat auch für einen Ausflug gespart. Von der Dreckigkeit dieser Stadt. Von Leuten wie Jaycee. Two turkey subs, light mayo, no pickles.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
He repeated the order under his breath, trying to focus on the rhythm of the job. Ravi, register! Edie called out, pulling him from his thoughts. His heart jumped at the sound of her voice. Edie, with her effortless wit and sharp humor, was the only person in school who truly got him. Her presence made the long hours bearable.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Wir werden bald etwas Neues über unsere neue Patreon-Erfahrung haben. Und hoffentlich sehr, sehr bald die Video-Version des Podcasts. Manchmal führt die Druck, die man für die Weihnachten bietet, die Menschen zu schmerzhaften Messungen.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Even if the fact that she was the boss's daughter made their easy camaraderie feel precarious. As he slid behind the counter, the door jingled and in strutted J.C., the school's self-proclaimed king of everything. Ravi braced himself, the air thickening with dread. J.C. bestellte eine BLT mit einem exagerierten Ausdruck, bemerkenslos Ravi's Präsenz.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Ravi arbeitete schnell, versuchte zu beenden, bevor J.C. Zeit hatte, etwas zu ridiculieren. Als das Sandwich übergegeben wurde, schlug J.C. nicht mal an, bevor er es zurückzog. Es schlug Ravi direkt in den Körper, fiel auf den Boden. J.C. 's Stimme schlug mit einem schrecklichen Ton, als er schreite, dass er mehr Bacon benötigte. The shop fell silent.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Ravi bent down to pick up the sandwich, his face burning with embarrassment. His apology was automatic, muttered through clenched teeth. He hurried to the back to clean up. While seething in the break room, Ravi didn't hear Edie snapping at Jaycee, nor did he see the light in her eyes as she defended him. All he felt was the crushing weight of inadequacy.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
He spent the rest of the shift in a daze, the humiliation weighing on him like a second skin. On the walk home, the cold air did little to soothe his frayed nerves. Each step felt heavier, each thought more painful and depressing. By the time he reached the empty park near his apartment, his frustration boiled over. I just need someone to give me a chance.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
The words tore from his throat, jagged and raw. Suddenly, the night answered with an unnatural stillness. Then, a voice cut through the silence.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Ravi spun around. A man in a black coat stood a few feet away, his face pale and sharp featured. Ravi couldn't recall seeing him approach. He asked who he was. The man smiled, an unsettling curve of his thin lips when he told Ravi he was just there to help. Ravi stepped back, weary, but the man's tone was soothing, almost hypnotic.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Ravi's breath hitched. The words sank into him, filling the hole in his heart that had been left by years of feeling invisible. How? It's simple.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Der Versuch, glücklich zu sein, der Wunsch, mit lustigen Geschenken und Partys zu beeindrucken, und der Angst, die Liebhaber zu verletzen, führen zu Entscheidungen, die einen schrecklichen Kosten führen. Wenn die Suche nach Geld eine dunkle Runde nimmt, sind die Auswirkungen viel schlimmer, als es sich jemals vorgestellt hätte. Zuerst erwartet Curiosity Gefahr, dann wird ein Deal umgekehrt.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Your soul. Ravi froze. The absurdity of the statement almost made him laugh, but the man's unwavering gaze rooted him in place.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Ravi thought of Jaycees Sneer, the endless grind of sandwich making. He thought of how small he felt every day and how badly he wanted to be someone else, someone important. Deal, he said. die Worte, die auf seiner Zunge ausgeschnitten waren. Der Mann streckte eine Hand und Ravi schlug sie. Ein kühler Schmerz fuhr durch ihn. Als er blinkte, war der Mann weg. Die Änderungen waren sofort.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
Am nächsten Tag war Ravis Name auf allen Lippen. Geld kam in seinem Account ohne Erklärung. Und die Leute gravitationierten vor ihm, ehrgeizig für seine Aufmerksamkeit. Auch Jaycee, einst ein leuchtender Schatten, seemed to shrink in his presence. Ravi quit his job at Delamonaco's with a smirk. He didn't need it anymore.
Something Scary
Debt To The Devil
He bought new clothes, threw lavish parties and drove to school in a sleek car he hadn't even realized he owned until it was in his driveway. But none of it mattered without Edie. When he approached her after school, expecting the admiration he had now received from everyone else, her expression stopped him cold. You've changed, she said. In a good way, right? He asked, his voice too eager.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
She said she heard the knocking before it happened. That night, Emma sat at her desk, AOL instant messenger glowing faintly on the monitor. She hovered her mouse over Danielle's name, considering, but when she opened her inbox to forward the message, it was gone. Not in her inbox, not in trash. It had vanished. Her clock glowed, 11.45 p.m., and then she heard it. Knock, knock.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
Two knocks this time, but not at the window. They came from inside the wall behind her closet, slow and heavy. The knuckles dragging along the plaster. Scrape, knock, scrape, knock. Her chest tightened. She couldn't move, could barely breathe. Then she ran, straight down the hall, into her mother's room. Her mom searched the closet. Nothing. It was probably the wind, she told her.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
But Emma had heard it. She felt it. Something had been inside the wall. It was April 2nd. At school, Emma was pale and jittery. Heather found her in the cafeteria, sitting alone. What's wrong with you? Heather asked, half teasing, half concerned. Emma told her, not everything, just enough to make Heather's voice twist into an uneasy frown. Later that night, Emma stayed over at Heather's house.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
They watched DVDs and ate popcorn until the clock crept toward 11.45. Emma's body was wound tight, heart hammering as they lay in the dark basement. Heather was already asleep. Then it came. Knock, knock, knock. Three times. Not at the window, not at the closet, but from everywhere.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
From inside the walls, dragging knuckles scraping as they moved, slow and steady, like someone searching for the right spot. Emma squeezed her eyes shut, praying it would stop, but it didn't. The scraping sound slithered behind her ears, and then Heather's breathing changed. A sharp gasp, a wet choking noise. Emma turned. Heather's eyes were wide open, staring straight ahead.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
Her mouth opened in a silent scream, and then she stopped breathing. They said Heather died of sudden cardiac arrest, probably from a condition that was undiagnosed. But Emma saw the bruises on her arms. Long, dark finger-shaped bruises. When Emma returned home, she found a new email waiting. From UnknownSender666 at AOL.com. Subject, too late. Message, too late.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
You can still live, but you have to make a trade. Send the message to someone who won't forward it. They'll take your place. Her hand shook on the mouse. She could do it. She could send it to Jason or Tiffany, someone who wouldn't believe. It would be easy. And then she remembered. She had already sent it. To Heather. Heather had it forwarded it. That's why she died.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
Emma stared at the message on her screen, bile rising in her throat. Even if she forwarded it again, would it really save her or just delay what was already coming? How many people had played along, thinking they'd escaped until the knocks returned, until there was nowhere left to run? The reply came before she could finish the thought. You already traded, but there's one more thing you can do.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
Come see us. There was an address, an abandoned house on the edge of town. Everyone said it had been empty since 1987. No one said why. Emma went anyway. The house was waiting. She stepped inside and heard it almost immediately. Knock, knock, knock, knock. the dragging sound of bones scraping along wood, coming from beneath her feet.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
Behind the walls, above the ceiling, she turned to leave, but there was no door anymore, only darkness. They say Emma was never seen again, but sometimes late at night, people still get emails from emmaforward at gmail.com. The message always says the same thing, for this or die. And now there's something new at the bottom. Five knocks, you're next.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
Now, as she walked home, the sky had faded to bruise purple, and the air had a cold, damp bite. Her phone said 7.13 p.m., but it felt much later than that. The neighborhood was too quiet. No cars, no people, just the scuff of her sneakers on the sidewalk and the dull thud of her backpack against her back. Maya hugged her arms around herself, picking up her pace.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
Have you ever shared a chain mail letter before? If you got that email, would you forward it or would you just wait for the knocks?
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
This week's podcast stories were edited by Sarah Lukasiewicz, narration by Blair Bathory, audio edited and mixed by Fitz Harris, additional audio editing by Calvin Linderman, produced by Anna Villalobos, executive produced by Gil Gilman, music by Sapphire Sindalo and Calvin Linderman. If you have a story you'd like to submit... send me an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
Don't forget to watch the video version of Something Scary over at youtube.com slash snarled. And if you'd like to support the show and everything we do at Snarled, join our Patreon at patreon.com slash snarled.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
They sounded about seven years old, but something about it was weird, too flat, too mechanical, like a toy running low on batteries. Maya frowned, and that wasn't her ringtone. Probably her brother's, she thought. They must have changed it to mess with her again. It was their favorite thing, April Fool's pranks. She rolled her eyes and picked up. Hello?
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
The same little girl voice whispered through the speaker, sweet as syrup. Okay, who is this? No answer. The line went dead. She stood there for a second, frowning at the screen. No number, just unknown caller. Shaking her head, she stuffed the phone back in her pocket and kept walking. Ten minutes later, it rang again.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
She sighed, already annoyed, and answered. What now? I'm in your country, the voice said. Her stomach tensed. This time it wasn't funny. Stop calling me, she snapped and hung up. Her hand shook just a little as she shoved the phone away. The streetlights overhead buzzed faintly. One flickered. She walked faster. Her house was still 15 minutes away.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
That's because I'm filming some really fun stuff for the month of April and May, so stay tuned for that. But for now, let's get into our news stories. Did anything scary happen to you last week on April Fool's Day? We all know that sometimes what starts as a harmless joke can spiral quickly into something much darker.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
After another ten minutes, the ringtone blared again. Red roses, red roses. She nearly dropped the phone and she answered. Hello? I'm in your city, came the reply. The little voice was steady, too steady. No prank could make her feel this cold. She glanced around. The street was deserted. Every window was dark. No headlights to see, no footsteps to hear.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
She crossed to the other side of the street without thinking. Her breathing came faster now. This wasn't a joke. She broke into a jog. By the time her house came into view, she was running. Her keys were already in her hand as she sprinted up the driveway. Her fingers fumbled at the lock once, twice, before she managed to shove the key home.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
She burst through the door, slammed it shut, and rammed the deadbolt across. For good measure, she clicked the chain lock in place. Then she stood there for a moment, heart pounding in her ears. She wasn't done. She rushed through the house, locking the back door, checking every window latch, yanking them to make sure they were shut tight.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
In the living room, the curtain stirred, just a faint ripple as if something had moved them. But all the windows were locked. Her throat went dry. She didn't stop moving. By the time she got back to the front of the house, her hands were shaking. She sank into the chair at the dining table, gasping for breath. Home. Safe. Then her phone rang again.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
She flinched, then picked it up, forcing steel into her voice. This isn't funny, she snapped. I'm calling the cops. The line was quiet for too long, then the voice returned low and close. I'm in your house. Maya froze. No, it wasn't from the phone, but from right behind her. A breath brushed against her ear, warm and wet. She screamed and whipped around, nothing.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
Whatever this haunting monster was, it moved quickly. She shot out of the chair, sprinting for the stairs. Two at a time, she climbed, hard in her throat. She reached her room, slammed the door shut, locked it, and shoved her desk against it. She pressed her back to the wall, breathing in ragged gasps. Her phone buzzed again.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
She threw the phone against the room. It hit the carpet with a dull thud and kept ringing, again and again. Then it stopped. The silence was worse. She held her breath, and then she heard it. Not from the phone, from under the bed. A slow, wet breath, shallow, measured. Then the voice whispered, closer now. I'm under your bed. Her limbs locked up. She couldn't move. She couldn't think.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
Hi, witches. It's your Something Scary podcast hostess, Blair Bathory. And thank you for being here, whether this is your first time or you're one of the brave souls who join us every week. And thank you for bearing with us last week as we took a much-needed break. And if you're watching on Spotify or YouTube, you may notice I'm in a new location.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
The thrill of tricking someone, the joy of getting away with the joke until the laughter fades and something sinister takes its place. What starts as a prank quickly becomes harsh reality, and the consequences are far worse than imagined. First, don't look behind you, followed by game over for good. Finally, in our last story, five knocks, you're dead.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
Something scraped softly against the floorboards. She didn't dare look, but her body betrayed her. Her head turned and her eyes dragged to the shadowed gap between her bed. Fingers emerged first, tiny and pale. The nails were dark and cracked, bending the wrong way as they chewed at the floor. Then the hand. Small but wrong. Veins wriggled under translucent skin like worms. Another hand.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
Then it started to pull itself out. Maya pushed herself further against the wall, legs trembling. The thing rose up, its head tilted at an unnatural angle. Where its mouth should have been was a seam, twitching, smiling. It had no eyes, just two hollows in its face that somehow looked at her. It crept closer on jerking limbs. Her phone buzzed again.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
She flinched, but her gaze never left the thing crawling toward her. The screen glowed. One new message. You joined the game. Another message. Your turn. The thing's mouth seemed open, slowly, and it whispered. What would you do if a prank stopped being funny and turned terrifying? Have your friends ever played a prank on you that's suddenly gone wrong?
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
Tell us about it by sending us an email at somethingscaryatsnarl.com. Sometimes the things we let our children play with end up playing with them instead. Like in this story inspired by Solar 496. My name is Erin Gardner, and I am a victim of the endless nightmare known as Polybius. I was with my son and living in Portland when it happened. It was 1981.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
He had talked me into visiting an arcade with his friend. I was never a huge fan of arcades, but my son was, and that was all they wanted to do. Arcades were the rage that year. Everyone was scrambling to get through the doors. As soon as I set foot on the arcade's carpeted floors, I knew I was in for a bad time.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
There were kids and teenagers alike, all mashing buttons and throwing quarters in the slots of the arcade cabinets. My son's friend was determined to get to the top and dig Doug. While I let them get on with his gaming, I figured me and my son should do something with our time there. I walked around the arcade mumbling under my breath.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
I heard about all of them, Pac-Man, Tempest, Centipede, Donkey Kong, Q-Bert, but there was one that caught my son's eye. Between Space Invaders and Tetris, there was an arcade cabinet that stood out. Most of them were brightly colored and covered in art. The one was completely black, save for the buttons, joystick, and the title on the top of the cabinet, Polybius.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
The screen was black and seemed to be broken. Usually arcade games have a demo running, but my son thought it was amazing and wanted to give it a try. After all, what did I have to lose other than 25 cents? I placed the coin in the slot and the screen buzzed to life. Oddly, the game also didn't have a scoreboard like every other arcade game did. I didn't think much of it though.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
My son was delighted. The game seemed to be about playing as a spaceship circling a bunch of shapes, shooting them before they reached you, like asteroids. My son zoned out as he started playing. My mind wandered as the noise of my son mashing the buttons and wrestling the joystick drifted through the air. Polybius had poor graphics, even for an arcade game made in the 1980s.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
I figured it was made by someone with a low budget. That would also explain why I had never heard of it before. My eyes drifted away from the screen and looked over the sea of heads, along with the usual face of arcade cabinets. There were also claw machines, ball pits, carnival hoops, a prize counter, and others.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
I don't remember how long we were there, but it must have been a long time because my son's friend was asking if we could go. As far as I knew, that kid never got tired of video games. I turned back to my son, who was still playing Polybius. I looked at my watch. We had been there for five hours. I told my son to stop playing so we could leave, but he just ignored me.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
Before we get to today's podcast, I wanted to ask what kind of stories you like. Do you love legends or are you more of a ghost story gal? Prefer the paranormal? Maybe monsters are your jam. Let us know in the comments. And if you have a story you'd like to share, send us an email at somethingscaryatsnarl.com. So, wanna hear something scary? Are you next to die?
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
I ended up having to drag him away from the arcade cabinet and to the front doors. Saying my son wasn't happy about this decision would be a pretty big understatement. We got into my car and my son yelled and kicked the whole way home. We drove my son's friend back to his house and my son was surprisingly silent the rest of the way back.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
I looked at him in the rear view a few times and his expression remained blank and emotionless. I assumed his silence was an act of resentment. The next day, I was in the middle of work when I got a phone call. It was from the school my son went to. Apparently, he had been talking about wanting to die. He had never mentioned stuff like that before, so I was taken aback.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
Maybe he was just having morbid thoughts. I tried to get back to work, but I kept getting sidetracked. His silence, his blank expression, his negativity. What could have triggered this odd behavior? When I went to pick him up from school, I passed the arcade. One of the things I noticed was a large black van in the parking lot.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
It looked very out of place among the other smaller cars that were painted blue, red, silver, or white. When I picked up my son and passed by our way home, I saw three men standing by the van, dressed in black suits and sunglasses. One of them was cradling a small metal box in his hands.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
Quick look through the glass doors of the arcade showed another man shutting the Polybius machine in a large wooden crate. One of the men lowered his sunglasses and cast a covert glance at my son in the back seat, who was gripping the car seat so tightly, I thought he might rupture it.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
My son didn't say a word on the trip home, and when we got there, he shambled up to his room, his eyes vacant and glassy. After a few hours passed, I wondered why there wasn't any noise from my son. I walked up the stairs and knocked on his door, asking if he was okay. There was no response. I knocked again, louder. Nothing. I tried the door. It was open. His room was dark.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
I found him standing in the middle of the room, eyes glassy, whispering numbers and strange words I didn't recognize. Over and over. His hands were moving in the air like he was tracing invisible shapes. The walls were covered in writing and spiral symbols. I called his name, but he didn't seem to hear me. I grabbed him by the shoulders, and his lips stopped moving.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
But when he looked at me, his eyes were dilated and empty. We took him to the doctor, specialist, psychiatrist. No one could explain it. He only moved when he was drawing those same symbols, whispering in those same numbers. He would sometimes write out one word and brought it all to a conclusion. Polybius. Polybius is no game. It's a test. An experiment.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
And to those men in black, my son was just their most recent lab rat. It's been 52 years since this happened. And I am only sending this because if you see your child playing that arcade game, stop them. Run. And do not look back. Have you ever felt like a game you were playing was actually changing you? Was there something more sinister to it? Or was that on the surface?
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
And don't forget to join our Patreon so you don't miss a thing. Go to patreon.com slash snarled. Some messages you can never unsend. Like in this story written by Sarah. It was spring of 2003. Emma Jensen was burning a new mix CD when the chain letter arrived. The email popped up in her Yahoo inbox, forwarded from her friend Danielle. The subject line read, She almost laughed.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
Chain letters were ancient, something from elementary school. Crumpled paper passed around lunch tables, threatening curses if you didn't share them with 10 people. But something about this made her pause. It was stark. No cheap graphics or spooky fonts, just plain black text against white. This message is a test. Send it to five people in the next five minutes.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
If you don't, you'll hear the knock. Once for mourning, twice for terror, three times for death. At the bottom, there was a timestamp, March 31st, 2003, 1145 p.m. Emma stared at it for a moment longer than she meant to, then rolling her eyes right before April Fool's Day, how original. She deleted it. She wasn't a kid anymore. She knew better.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
She forgot about it until bedtime, until the knock came. One knock. soft, careful, at her bedroom window. She froze in place, her breath caught in her throat. Her bedroom was on the second floor. There was nothing outside but air. Still, she pulled back the curtain. Nothing was there, just the dark.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
Sometimes it's not the calls you miss that haunt you, it's the ones you answer, like in this story inspired by Rebecca. Maya missed the last bus just great. It wasn't supposed to be an ordinary day, except for the prank war her little brothers had started that morning. Fake spiders in her shoes, toothpaste in her Oreos. April Fool's Day always brought out the worst in them.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
Her heartbeat thudded in her ears as she climbed back into bed, telling herself it was the wind, but she didn't sleep. The next morning, April 1st, Emma dragged herself through the school halls, exhausted. She found Danielle by her locker. You got the email, Danielle said, as if she already knew. Emma nodded. And you deleted it? Danielle asked, another nod.
Something Scary
Are You Next To Die?
Danielle's lips pressed into a thin line. When seriously she told her, she wasn't supposed to do that. Emma brushed it off. They were just stories, right? but Danielle's next words made her stomach flip. Hannah got the same email last week. She didn't forward it either. Emma remembered Hannah, quiet, bookish, always carrying three pens. She was in the hospital now. She fell down the stairs.
Something Scary
The End of The World
She glanced around the room, but no one else seemed to have heard it. Her friends were still talking, dancing, laughing, oblivious to the sound that had frozen her in place. Die 13. Glocke. Es war eine College-Legende, die jeder wusste, aber keiner wirklich glaubte. Sie sagten, dass jedes Jahr um 12 Uhr auf New Year's Eve die Glocke 12 klingeln würde. Aber wenn du die 13.
Something Scary
The End of The World
Glocke hörst, bedeutet das etwas, was du siehst. Etwas, das für dich vor dem Jahr rauskommen würde. Harper hat es immer gelacht. Es war ein wenig spürbar. Sie wurde von Oberklassmännern verabschiedet, um mit Frischmännern zu kämpfen. Aber jetzt, als die Klänge der Glocke in der Nacht verschwanden sind, konnte sie nicht das Gefühl schenken, dass es wirklich war.
Something Scary
The End of The World
Sie hat versucht, es zu verabschieden, als nur ihre Vorstellung. Die Party ging noch weiter und ihre Freunde waren alle noch in den Festivitäten. Die Gelächter, die klingelnden Gläser und die Musik fühlten sich jetzt wie unter Wasser. Am nächsten Morgen konnte Harper die Unabhängigkeit nicht wecken, die sie fühlte. Zuerst schlug sie es auf, die Überentzündung des Partys die Nacht vorher.
Something Scary
The End of The World
So, wanna hear something scary? Manche Türen sollten nie geöffnet werden, egal wie real der Schmerz sich fühlt. Wie in dieser Geschichte, die von Ishida inspiriert wurde. I wasn't sure about the time. I opened my eyes. The floor was cold. My back was pressed against the bathroom tiles. My legs sprawled out in front of me like a discarded mannequin.
Something Scary
The End of The World
Aber als die Tage übergingen, fiel das Gefühl nicht. In Wahrheit, es wurde stärker. Jedes Mal, als sie über die Universitäts-Klopftür schlug, sah die Glocke in ihrem Gehirn lauter aus. Und sie fand sich, sich darauf zu blicken, erwartend, dass das Geräusch auf jeden Fall wieder klingelt. Sie versuchte, es abzuschalten. Es gab Exams, Bücher zu schreiben, Freunde zu treffen.
Something Scary
The End of The World
Something about the 13th bell. It was as if it had become a part of her. At night, it was even worse. Alone in her dorm room, the silence would press down on her. Her clock read midnight, and though there was no sound, she would lay awake, waiting for it. The tolling, the slow, inevitable descent into madness. The 13th bell would strike again. She just knew it.
Something Scary
The End of The World
By March, Harper's friends had started to notice. At first they thought it was just stress from midterms. But soon it was clear that something was off. Harper's eyes were sunken from lack of sleep, her pale skin, her movements slow and distant. She was avoiding going out, no longer responding to texts as quickly as before. Was ist mit dir los? Claire, ihre Freundin, fragte eine Nacht.
Something Scary
The End of The World
Du hast dich seltsam gehalten. Hörst du immer noch diese Glocke? Harper schlug die Blut aus ihrem Gesicht. Sie öffnete ihre Mund, dann schlug sie wieder auf. Was konnte sie sagen? Wie konnte sie erklären, wie sie den schrecklichen Schmerz, den Schmerz, den die 13. Glocke verursacht hatte? It was like something had been set in motion that night, something that couldn't be stopped.
Something Scary
The End of The World
I'm fine, Harper finally said, her voice tight. I just need some sleep. I'll be okay. But she wasn't okay. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt truly at peace. She had become an obsession, a constant threat that loomed over her, pushing her deeper into madness. At night, her dreams were filled with a low, rumbling toll.
Something Scary
The End of The World
She'd wake up in a cold sweat, heart racing, only to find that the bell was still ringing in her head. Clocktower, the streetlights, the faces of her friends, they all blurred into one indistinguishable void, filled with the haunting sound of that one bell. By November, Harper's world had narrowed to a single terrifying truth. The 13th Bell had claimed her.
Something Scary
The End of The World
The year was almost over, and she was no closer to understanding what it all meant other than knowing she was going to die. There was no escaping it. The 13th Bell would strike again. And when it did, it would take her. The end of the year approached, and Harper felt herself on the brink of something dark. Am 31.
Something Scary
The End of The World
Dezember lockte Harper sich in ihrem Zimmer, hoffte, dass die Glocke nicht für sie kommen würde. Sie versuchte, die Angst zurückzumachen, aber als die Mittwoch kam, konnte sie sich nicht helfen. Sie stand neben ihrem Fenster, ihre Hände trübbelnd, als die Glocke näher zum Moment zog. Als die Glocke endlich um 12 Uhr schlug, brachte sie sich. The bell rang.
Something Scary
The End of The World
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, and then thirteen. It was louder this time, like a monstrous thing, vibrating the very air around her. The walls seemed to crack, the floor beneath her feet trembled. Harper froze, her heart pounding in her chest. But then... Nothing. The ringing stopped. A heavy silence filled the room.
Something Scary
The End of The World
The air felt thick with anticipation, but nothing else came. No cold gust of wind, no shadowy figure, no malevolent force dragging her into hell. It was over. The bell had rung, but there was no consequence, no curse, no death. For the first time in a year, Harper took a deep breath, the weight she had carried for so long lifted, vanishing as if it had never been.
Something Scary
The End of The World
She fell to her knees, a wave of relief washing over her. She cried then, her sobs of fear turning into cries of joy. She couldn't believe it. All this time, all the terror, all the sleepless nights, and for what? For nothing. It had all been in her mind, a cruel trick of her own making. She felt the release in every fiber of her body. She laughed through her tears.
Something Scary
The End of The World
I'm so stupid, she whispered to herself, a sense of clarity settling in. Why did I ever let it haunt me all year? For the first time in a long while, Harper felt alive again, as if a weight had been lifted. Sie stand, ein Lächeln auf ihr Gesicht, eine Art Lächeln, das nur mit einem neuen Anfang kommt.
Something Scary
The End of The World
Sie schlug ihr Fenster öffnen, atmet in den kühlen, nackten Atem, füllt ihre Lungen mit der Freiheit, die sie nicht bemerkt hatte, dass sie es verpasst hat. Harper steckte weg von der Fenster, schon die nächsten Schritte planen. Sie würde die meisten von jedem Sekunden machen. Kein mehr verstecken. No more obsessing over things she couldn't control. The world was wide open for her to take.
Something Scary
The End of The World
And so she grabbed her coat and headed for the door. As she stepped outside, the night was still and quiet. A crisp winter air hanging around her. It was nearly peaceful, so she didn't see the car slam into her body. The world seemed to freeze. Harper barely registered the sound of the impact, the blur of motion. Probably because this car didn't even have its headlights on.
Something Scary
The End of The World
In a matter of seconds, everything went black. Have you ever heard a sound that shouldn't exist? Did it haunt you? Tell us about it by sending us your story at somethingscaryatsnarl.com This week's podcast stories were edited by Sarah Lukasiewicz. Narration by Blair Bathory. Audio edited and mixed by Fitz Harris. Additional audio editing by Calvin Linderman. Produced by Anna Villalobos.
Something Scary
The End of The World
My body felt heavy, like I had been there for hours or longer. I sat up slowly, the harsh light buzzing overhead, making my head throb. Das letzte, was ich erinnert habe, war das Party. Das bizarre Basement-Party in dem alten Brownstone-Bilding. Neues Jahrsabend. Meine Freunde sagten, es sei nur ein Thema. Das Ende der Welt?
Something Scary
The End of The World
Executive produced by Gil Gilman. Music by Sapphire Sindalo and Calvin Linderman. If you have a story you'd like to submit, send me an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com Don't forget to watch the video version of Something Scary over at youtube.com slash snarled And if you'd like to support the show and everything we do at Snarled, join our Patreon at patreon.com slash snarled
Something Scary
The End of The World
Die Art von Sache, die Hipster zusammengefasst haben, um ironisch zu sein. Aber es fühlte sich nicht ironisch an. Die Masken, die Klamotten, das Lachen in diesem hohen, dröhnenden Ruhm. Es fühlte sich falsch an. Selbst satanisch. Ich konnte nicht erinnern, wie ich da war oder warum ich so lange geblieben bin. Jemand hat mir einen Kaffee gegeben. Dann nichts, nur schwarz. Jetzt war ich hier.
Something Scary
The End of The World
I pulled myself up, using the sink for balance. My reflection stared back, ghost pale and slick with sweat. Hair stuck to my face. My shirt was damp and clinging to my body. I looked at the water-streaked tap, needing something, anything to shake me awake. But as I reached for it, I heard something. A growl. It came from somewhere deep in the walls. My chest tightened. It froze.
Something Scary
The End of The World
Es war nackt und ungewöhnlich, so ungewöhnlich, dass es fühlte sich an, als ob das Gebäude selbst lebendig war. Ich hörte. Nichts folgte. Keine Fußstücke, keine Türöffnung, nur Ruhe. Mein Atem kam aus und schäbige Geräusche. Ich nahm den Türhandel, die Brasen kalt und dünn in meinem Griff. Mein Instinkt schrie an mir, um mich zu halten, aber ich konnte es nicht. Ich musste raus.
Something Scary
The End of The World
Die Tür rief öffnen. Die Halle war falsch. The lights flickered, casting shadows that shifted and skittered around the grimy walls. The air reeked of something rotten, the kind of smell that settled in your throat. I took one step forward, then another. That was when I saw them. At first, my brain refused to process it.
Something Scary
The End of The World
Figures were lurching toward me, human-shaped but wrong, their limbs twisted at impossible angles. Legs where arms should be, heads drooping to one side, their jaws split into two wide smiles. Their skin was torn, stitched back together like someone had played surgeon with no instructions. I couldn't move, I couldn't scream. One of them tilted its head, milky white eyes locking onto mine.
Something Scary
The End of The World
Then they all turned, smiles widening. A sound rose from them, a horrible wet rasp of laughter. And then they moved, crawling, stumbling, clawing their way toward me. I stumbled back, trying to slam the door, but hands, so many hands reached through, grabbing at me, pulling me into the writhing mass. I fought, but they were everywhere, dragging me down, tearing at me like wolves.
Something Scary
The End of The World
Pain exploded through me, sharp and deep. I screamed. I woke up. I was back on the bathroom floor. The same tiles, the same cold, damp air. My heart slammed against my ribs as I sat up, my body shaking. I clawed at my arms, checking for cuts, bruises, stitches, but I was whole. I looked up at the mirror. My reflection stared back, wide-eyed and trembling.
Something Scary
The End of The World
Hi Witches, I'm Blair Bathory and this is the Something Scary Podcast. Thank you so much for being here. Whether this is your first time or you're one of the brave souls who join us every week. Happy New Year, my spooky friends. We are all just now celebrating ringing in 2025. But we can't help but wonder what the future holds for each of us.
Something Scary
The End of The World
It's just a dream, I muttered, my voice shaky. Aber es war nicht. Es konnte nicht sein. Ich schaute die Tür wieder an. Ich wollte es nicht öffnen, aber ich musste. Ich musste raus. Als ich den Knopf erreichte, lurchte mein Gehirn mit einer kranken Realisierung. Diese Dinge, sie sahen aus wie die Kreaturen in der Geschichte, die ich gestern Abend geschrieben habe.
Something Scary
The End of The World
Eine Geschichte über eine Welt, die apart wurde, wo Menschen zusammengeknackt wurden, falsch, patchwork und zerbrochen. Ich forderte den Gedanken runter und zwischte den Handel. The hallway stretched out again, empty at first. I stepped out cautiously, my shoes scuffing against the tile. The light sputtered overhead and the shadows writhed like they were alive. I thought maybe I could make it out.
Something Scary
The End of The World
Until I saw them. Hundreds of eyes blinked at me from the dark. The creatures stepped forward, crooked smiles pointing at their skin. Their laughter, that awful, choking sound filled the hallway. I didn't have time to move. They crashed into me, dragging me down, pulling me apart. The pain was back. Worse this time. My bones splintered. My muscles tore.
Something Scary
The End of The World
I was screaming, but I couldn't hear it over their laughter. My vision flickered like the lights above me. And then, darkness. I woke up again. This time, I was in my room. I bolted upright in bed, my body soaked in sweat, shaking so hard my teeth chattered. I forced myself to take a breath. It's over, I whispered. It's done. But when I looked out the window, there was nothing outside.
Something Scary
The End of The World
No city lights, no moon. Just a void of endless blackness. Es ist immer Neujahr hier. I was on the bathroom floor. I sat up, my head pounding. I didn't want to look at the mirror. I didn't touch the door. I pulled my knees to my chest, looking my arms around me. I didn't know if it was real anymore or if it ever had been. How long had I been there? Was it still New Year's Eve? Had it passed?
Something Scary
The End of The World
Or was I stuck, looping through this nightmare over and over? The light above me flickered somewhere deep in the walls. I heard that growl again. I closed my eyes, pressing my forehead on my knees. I want to open the door again, not this time. Würdest du die Tür öffnen, wenn du weißt, was auf der anderen Seite wächst? Wenn die Zeit stoppt, würdest du es überhaupt bemerken?
Something Scary
The End of The World
Hast du jemals das Gefühl gehabt, dass die Zeit still stand? Manchmal schlagen die heiligsten Plätze die schrecklichsten Geheimnisse. Und je tiefer du gehst, desto schwieriger wird es, zu fliehen. Wie in dieser Geschichte, inspiriert von Anonymous. The snow fell silently, blanketing the road in an untouched layer of white, as four friends, Mara, Javi, Liam and Jess, trudged through the woods.
Something Scary
The End of The World
The car had broken down hours ago on a desolate back road, miles from town. Die Geräusche der Begegnung, vermutet von der Distanz und dem Schnee, liefen irgendwo weit entfernt. Aber hier gab es nur den Knall der Schuhe und den Geräusch ihres eigenen Atems. Niemand hatte die Nacht erwartet, um diese Runde zu nehmen. Der Plan war einfach.
Something Scary
The End of The World
With so many horrors lurking around us, making it to the end of the year seems uncertain. We must be grateful for every moment we have, because the end of the world could be just a blink away. And the countdown to midnight might be the last we ever hear. Zuerst gestrichen, dann zerbrochen. Danach wird etwas, das dich anschaut. Letztendlich, in unserer letzten Geschichte, der Geruch der Tötung.
Something Scary
The End of The World
Eine Fahrt zu einem Freundeskabin, eine kleine Party, um in das neue Jahr zu ringen. Ein ruhiger Ausflug aus dem lauten Chaos der Stadt. Aber das Motor brach aus. Am schlimmsten möglichen Ort und ohne Zellrezeption oder sogar ein Zeichen von einem Signal, haben sie entschieden, sich Richtung des langweiligen Lichts zu bewegen, das sie nur durch die Bäume machen konnten.
Something Scary
The End of The World
Just a little bit further, Mara told herself. She led the way, steady and determined, but the quiet unnerved her. Jess stayed close behind while Javi and Liam, weighed down with backpacks, walked a few paces back. Every so often Liam would stop, glancing around as if the woods were hiding something just out of view.
Something Scary
The End of The World
None of them wanted to admit how long it had been since they'd seen anything resembling a path. The woods seemed alive, not with wildlife, but with something else. The trees loomed impossibly tall, their bare branches stretching like skeletal fingers. The snow made everything too quiet. The deeper they went, the colder it seemed to grow. Frost clung to Jess' eyelashes as she murmured,
Something Scary
The End of The World
Es fühlt sich hier an wie ein Horrorfilm an. Niemand antwortete, aber sie haben alle ungeheuer verabschiedet. Am Ende wurden die Bäume gestärkt und sie kamen auf ein altes Farmhaus. Es sass mitten in einer Klärung, die Rüste wackelte, die Wälder schwarz. Etwas davon sah, als ob es sich von Zeit zu Zeit befand, als ob es einfach da war, die für sie warten würde.
Something Scary
The End of The World
Die Stille zu brechen, sagte Javi, sie sollten es nachschauen. Mara verharrte sich, aber sie verabschiedete sich. Die Schilderung war besser als kalt. The door creaked open when Javi pushed it, the sound loud enough to make Jess flinch. Inside, the air was still and stale. It was warmer than outside, but not by much. The house had clearly been abandoned for years.
Something Scary
The End of The World
Dust clung to every surface and the floors groaned under their weight. Shadows pooled in the corners, so dark they seemed to swallow the faint light leaking through the grime-covered windows. Liam dropped his bag in the entryway and looked around. Better than nothing, he muttered. They exploded cautiously, their footsteps echoing.
Something Scary
The End of The World
The house had a strange, empty feeling, as though it had been waiting. In the living room they found remnants of another time. A worn couch, an old clock frozen at 11.57, and a fireplace long gone cold. Wir sollten ein Feuer bauen, sagte Mara, um die Erde zu beobachten. Teile des Waldes waren kalt und dreckig. Sie wollte nicht darüber nachdenken, wie sie sich verabschiedeten, fast unerlässlich.
Something Scary
The End of The World
Jess konnte nicht helfen, aber zu lachen, wie absurd alles war. Sie bemerkte, dass sie ihnen in der Schule nie reale Dinge gelernt haben. Weißt du, Dinge wie, wie man ein Feuer bauen kann, wenn man sich um den Tod befreien wird? Javi und Liam haben Arbeit gemacht, die Furnitur zu bewegen, die Kleidung herauszulegen.
Something Scary
The End of The World
Trying to make the space livable, Javi kept glancing at the clock, its unmoving hands making him uneasy. He pulled Jess aside after a while, lowering his voice. This place doesn't feel right. Like we're not alone. Have you noticed? Jess just nodded, hugging her arms. It's like the house is watching us. The clock! They turned to look. The hands were moving. Mara frowned. Das ist unmöglich.
Something Scary
The End of The World
Es ist zerbrochen. Aber der klingende Geräusch wurde lauter, füllte den Raum, schlug in der Zeit mit ihren reißenden Herzen. 11.58 Uhr. Der zweite Hand schlug vorwärts. Spasmodisch und ungewöhnlich. 11.59 Uhr. Der Feuer schlug. Er schlug den Raum in die Schatten. Die Wälder grunzten. Der Geräusch war wie etwas, das im Dunkeln atmet. We need to leave, Jess whispered, her voice shaky.
Something Scary
The End of The World
The front door slammed shut, Javi rushed to it, pulling at the handle, but it wouldn't budge. It stuck! A wind picked up inside the house, rattling the windows, howling through unseen cracks. The temperature dropped so sharply, it stole the breath from their lungs. Something moved in the corner of Mars' vision. A shadow pulling itself free from the darkness. The clock struck midnight.
Something Scary
The End of The World
The sound was deafening. A single toll that seemed to shake the entire house. The shadows in the room deepened, twisting into shapes that didn't belong. Liam nahm Maras Arm. Seine Augen waren breit. Es ist hier. Der Feuer stürzte sie komplett in die Dunkelheit. Für einen Moment gab es nichts. Kein Geräusch. Kein Licht. Nur das oppressive Gewicht eines Unsehens. Dann schrie Jess.
Something Scary
The End of The World
Before we get started, I also wanted to ask if you had a chance to check out our merch shop. It's filled with lots of awesome new products. Beanies, blankets and beer mugs. No, I think they're just coffee mugs, but whatever your beverage of choice, go to somethingscary.com to check it out now. We also have a whole new collection called Camp Scary with fun t-shirts, hats and beanies.
Something Scary
The End of The World
Die Schatten bewegten sich. Sie riefen über den Boden. Sie riefen über den Boden. Sie riefen über den Boden. Mara nahm Jess, drückte sie nach der Tür. Javi und Liam folgten. Ihre Bewegungen panikten. »Es kommt!« schrie Javi, aber niemand durfte zurücksehen. Die Tür öffnete sich plötzlich, als ob das Haus müde war von dem Spiel. Sie stürzten in den Schnee, schwebend für Atem.
Something Scary
The End of The World
Hinter ihnen saß das Farmhaus in perfekter Stillheit, schwarz und wieder leer, als ob nichts passiert wäre. Der Schnee fiel jetzt schwerer, erholt ihre Fußstücke, als sie in die Wälder fliegen. Niemand sprach. Es gab nichts zu sagen. Sie sahen nicht zurück, bis sie wieder auf die Straße kamen. Where the broken down car sat like a forgotten relic.
Something Scary
The End of The World
From the clearing, the faint sound of a clock ticking reached them, impossibly loud against the silence of the snow. What would you do if you were stranded in the middle of nowhere and no way to contact anyone and a house appeared out of nowhere? Has it ever happened to you? How did you survive? Tell us your story by sending us an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com Musik Musik Musik Musik Musik
Something Scary
The End of The World
It was midnight on New Year's Eve and the party was now in full swing. The living room was packed with people laughing and shouting while music blared from the speakers. Harper stood by the window, trying to take a breather from the chaos. She pulled her coat tighter around her, feeling the chill in the air as she stared out into the street.
Something Scary
The End of The World
Outside, the usual New Year's celebration was alive with the distant sound of fireworks and honking horns. Die Klopfe auf der Wand klingelten bis um 12 Uhr. Die Leute schreien, riefen ihre Trinken, aber als die Schreie gelangten und die Musik in einen hohen Ruhm fiel, hat etwas anderes den Geräusch getrennt. Eine Belle. At first, Harper thought it was part of the usual midnight celebrations.
Something Scary
The End of The World
The university clock tower always chimed at 12. But this wasn't right. One bong, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve. And then, then the thirteenth. A deep low bong that rattled the walls of the house. It seemed to stretch longer than the others, like it was trying to force its way into her mind. Harpers Stomach dropped.
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GHOSTS OF WAR PART 5
It was where I had my first communion in grade five. But that Sunday night, as mass ended and my family and I headed toward our car, I'd had no idea this ordinary evening would take such a dark turn. The sun had just set, leaving a bluish-gray twilight across the church grounds.
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Shadows began to stretch over the cobblestone path, and the wind, sharp with an edge of chill, rustled the leaves nearby. We were parked on the left side of the church, and as I approached the car, something flickered at the edge of my vision. When I turned, my heart froze. a woman stood in the parking lot's shadows.
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She was dressed in old-fashioned clothing, as if she walked straight out of a black-and-white photograph from a century ago. Her dark skirt brushed her ankles, and the high neckline of her blouse seemed oddly formal. She just stood there, watching. Or was she even looking at me? I couldn't be sure. Her face was pale, almost colorless in the fading light. And she was as still as a statue.
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I blinked, trying to process what I was seeing. Hey, look over there. I whispered, nudging my brother. Do you see her? He squinted in the direction I pointed, then shrugged. There's no one there, just cars, he said, glancing at me like I'd lost my mind. When I looked back, the woman hadn't moved. She was still there, still silent. I thought about telling my parents, but something held me back.
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They just scold me, tell me I'd been watching too many ghost stories on YouTube or listening to too many creepy tales from my friends. I shook it off, told myself I was imagining things, and climbed into the car. That night, as we settled in at home, I tried to forget her. I played video games to distract myself until my mom called from the living room. "'Where's the umbrella?' she asked. I froze.
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I must have left it at the church. After the usual scolding, she sent me back to fetch it. I dreaded returning to the darkened churchyard alone, but I had no choice. When I arrived, the place was quiet, too quiet, and empty except for a few teachers lingering near the entrance. Their presence was comforting, making me feel a bit braver as I walked inside." The interior of St.
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Polycarp was cavernous, its shadows thick and dense. Flickering candlelight danced along the stone walls, casting strange shapes and shadows. I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the quiet pressing in on me, amplifying each step. My footsteps echoed as I made my way down the aisle, searching the pews for the umbrella. A slight movement in the corner of my eye caught my attention.
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She was there again. This time, the woman was sitting near the far corner in the shadows. She was staring at the altar with an expression that seemed peaceful, almost serene, as though the church had granted her solace. But as she slowly rose to her feet, turning toward the exit, I saw them, the bullet holes across her back. Dark, ragged patches marked her blouse, stains spreading from each wound.
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My breath caught in my throat. I wanted to scream, to shout for help, but my voice felt trapped in my chest. She started to move, her figure drifting slowly across the aisle toward the exit. Her calm expression turned to something unreadable, and I couldn't shake the feeling that she was somehow aware of me, her presence heavy with unspoken pain. I turned and bolted.
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racing down the aisle, past the pews, and out the door. I barely registered the janitor, who gave me a curious look as I sped past. "'Kid, what's wrong?' he asked, but I couldn't answer. My legs carried me to the street, and I hailed the first tricycle I saw, desperate to put distance between me and that church." When I finally made it home, I could barely breathe.
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My family asked me what had happened, but I couldn't bring myself to tell them the truth. How could I explain seeing a ghostly woman with bullet holes? And why would they believe me anyway? The next morning, waiting to be picked up from school, I found myself alone with Father Emil, the priest. Summoning all my courage, I decided to tell him everything.
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He listened in silence, nodding thoughtfully as I recounted the night's events. When I finished, he let out a deep sigh. What you saw is not unheard of, he said, voice low. There's a story, a tragic one, passed down through the priests here. St. Polycarp witnessed a massacre during the Philippine-American War.
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Sometime in the early 1900s, the people had gathered for mass, just as you did last night. But on that day... American soldiers stormed in, dragging the congregation outside. They showed no mercy. Men, women, children, all lined up, executed on the spot. It's said the priest was the only survivor, escaping to tell the tale. The weight of his words pressed down on me like a cold stone.
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Anna was only 15 when she was walking her usual path to her sister's house, the damp air biting through her coat and casting a foggy shroud around the dimly lit sidewalks. It was a familiar route, the same she'd walked a hundred times before, winding through the sleepy neighborhood where every house was as well-known as her own. Kurt Crum's house was coming up ahead.
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The thought of those soldiers, their guns blazing in the house of God, and the innocent lives lost. It was a horror I couldn't fathom. And yet, I'd seen one of those souls myself. She was one of them, I whispered, realizing. The woman. Father Emil nodded. Some say her spirit lingers here, trying to reach out to the living to tell her story. The janitor, he has experienced things too.
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Every night, he reports strange shadows in the church, hears voices and footsteps when no one's there. He even hears the screams sometimes, children's laughter turning to cries, adults calling for mercy. I shivered, feeling the weight of those restless spirits surrounding us, their pain suspended in time, echoing through the years. Why did I see her, I asked. Was she trying to tell me something?
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Father Emil placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. Spirits reached out for many reasons. Maybe she wanted to be seen, or perhaps she wanted you to remember her, to bear witness to the past. As my dad's car pulled up, I looked back at the church, its stone walls now haunted by a history I'd never imagined. The spirit's presence lingered in my mind, her figure etched into my memory.
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I wondered if I'd ever see her again, if she would come back to share whatever she couldn't say in life. But I didn't want to know. Some things, I realized, are better left in the shadows. And as I climbed into the car, I offered a silent prayer for her, for all of them, hoping they'd find peace someday. To this day, visitors say that St.
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Polycarp holds memories that refuse to fade, that linger as silent witnesses to a bloody history. And if you ever find yourself there, standing in the church alone at night, don't be surprised if you feel someone watching. She's still there, waiting to be seen, carrying her silent story in the bullet holes across her back. What would you do if souls from a tragedy tried to reach out to you?
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Would you be able to attend events at a building that had spirits luring there? Has this happened to you or anyone you know?
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This week's podcast stories were edited by Sarah Lukasiewicz, narration by Blair Bathory, audio edited and mixed by Fitz Harris, additional audio editing by Calvin Linderman, produced by Anna Villalobos, executive produced by Gil Gilman, music by Sapphire Sindalo and Calvin Linderman. If you have a story you'd like to submit, send me an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com.
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GHOSTS OF WAR PART 5
Don't forget to watch the video version of Something Scary over at youtube.com slash snarled. And if you'd like to support the show and everything we do at Snarled, join our Patreon at patreon.com slash snarled.
Something Scary
GHOSTS OF WAR PART 5
The old house had a single streetlight casting shadows across its large oak tree, neatly trimmed hedges, where she'd seen him standing so many times before. Kurt had been like a big brother, a constant in her life, and one of the few adults she trusted. He'd taught her chess, taught her how to think ahead, always giving her a crooked smile as he won game after game.
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When his draft letter arrived, he looked at her with the same smile and said, don't worry, kiddo, I'll be back soon. But he hadn't come back, not yet anyway. As Anna rounded the corner, a strange flicker of movement caught her eye at Kurt's house. There, standing in the doorway, his figure perfectly outlined in the porch light was Kurt.
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His expression was familiar, steady, warm, and yet somehow different. She could feel his gaze, the weight of it pressing into her chest like something heavy and unspoken. He raised a hand, a gentle wave, and after a hesitant movement, she waved back, Kurt's home, she thought with a quiet, strange thrill, half expecting him to call out a joke or invite her in for a game.
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She walked on, her mind spinning with possibilities. Perhaps he'd returned early, too tired to make his presence known yet. The thought filled her with a kind of joy and left her eager to tell her sister the news. She could imagine her sister's face lighting up, the relief on her parents' faces when they'd hear it too. But as soon as she arrived, something felt wrong.
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There was no celebration, no hushed excitement. And when she mentioned seeing Kurt in the doorway, her sister's expression faltered. It wasn't until she was back home that night, standing in the dim kitchen, that her mother's voice came in a quiet, heavy whisper. Anna? Anna? It's gone. He was killed by a landmine just three days ago. They say he died instantly. Her mother's eyes were raw and red.
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And also, let me know in the comments on this video what you dressed up as for Halloween. I love hearing all your creative ideas. In the spirit of remembrance and in honor of our brave veterans, we proudly present the latest installment of one of our most popular themes, Ghosts of War.
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GHOSTS OF WAR PART 5
Her voice choked. He was so close to coming home. I'm so sorry, honey. Anna felt her heart pounding in her chest. Her mother's words slowed to sink in. But I saw him. I saw him tonight, Mom. He waved at me in the doorway. Her mother's face softened, almost apologetic when she insisted it wasn't him. It was probably his mother standing there, hoping to see him walk up the drive.
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But Anna knew that wasn't true. The figure in the doorway hadn't been his mother's. She knew Kurt's face. The way he held himself. The way he looked at her. The way his eyes had held something deep, almost haunted. She had seen Kurt, no one else. She hadn't been mistaken.
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Over the next few days, Anna's mind became a tangle of thoughts, images of that night looping in her head, the way Kurt had stood there silent, just watching her. She'd wake in the middle of the night, her heart racing, feeling like someone was standing just outside her window, watching her. She tried to tell herself it was only her mind playing tricks, but she knew better.
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Kurt had been there, and the memory of his figure in the doorway grew sharper, more vivid, with each passing night. Then the dreams began. The first one was a blur of disjointed images, a shadowy figure, Kurt's face, the flash of a sudden, terrible explosion.
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In the dream, he looked at her from across a ruined chessboard, a faint, knowing smile on his face, as if he were waiting for her to make her move. When she tried to speak, to call out to him, the board vanished, and all she was left with was the heavy, pulsing sound of distant explosions, the faint crackle of static,
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Hi, witches. I'm Blair Bathory, and this is The Something Scary Podcast. Thank you so much for being here, whether this is your first time or you're one of the brave souls who join us every week. I hope you all had a happy Halloween this year. I can't wait to start doing videos for you all. That's coming very soon. But until then, we have three new terrifying tales for you all.
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When she finally told her friend about it, hoping for some grounding, the friend had only shrugged. Maybe he's stuck. Maybe he needs something like help moving on. The thought haunted her. Kurt lingering there, holding onto something he hadn't been able to let go of. Her mind replayed the details of his death. A landmine, they'd said. Sudden. Violent. Had he seen it?
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Known what was about to happen? Or had it been over before he could even understand? The thought of him alone, caught in that brutal moment before everything went black, filled her with a chill she couldn't shake. One night, feeling the strange, creeping weight of that thought, she walked by his house, stopping just at the edge of his yard. The house was dark, the windows empty and hollow.
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She could almost imagine him still there, standing in the doorway, looking out. Only now, she wondered if he'd been looking through her that night. to some distant place that only he could see. The faintest sound brushed against her ear like a whisper, soft, echoing, barely there. And then, just for an instant, she saw him again, standing in the doorway, his face shadowed, eyes deep and hollow.
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The echoes of battle resonate long after the fighting has ceased, leaving behind scars on both the land and those who served. Each story we share unveils the chilling encounters of those who face not only the horrors of war, but also the unsettling memories that will haunt us still today. First, one last goodbye, followed by a battle warning. Finally, in our last story, a relentless haunting.
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GHOSTS OF WAR PART 5
His mouth moved, forming words she couldn't hear, couldn't understand. She closed her eyes, feeling an odd pressure in her chest, a silent understanding pressing against her as if he were saying goodbye.
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When she opened her eyes again, the house was empty, the doorway dark, and in the silence, there was something else, a quietness that felt final, like he'd been waiting for her to understand, to let him go. For a long moment, she just stood there in the cold, her breath rising in clouds, her heart racing. Finally, she turned and walked away, her footsteps soft, feeling the weight lift from her.
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leaving only the memory of Kurt Crumb in the doorway, a silent farewell from a friend who'd lingered just long enough to be remembered. Have you ever met anyone who you later learned was actually dead? Would you be able to find peace knowing their soul was still out there? Send us your stories by emailing somethingscaryatsnarled.com. Sometimes we get them into the podcast.
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World War II was a bloody war that pitted good against evil and spanned three continents. But deep in the Pacific, the horrors of war weren't the only thing that plagued the soldiers. Like in this story written by Sarah Lukasiewicz. Sergeant John Morrison had seen his share of strange things in the war, but nothing had unnerved him as much as the disappearance of Private Huberman.
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The kid had always been so quick to laugh, but he changed in those last few days, staring off into the jungle as if something were calling to him. And then he was gone, vanished without a trace. The men whispered about the Green Lady, a story that had crept through the ranks about a woman who haunted the island.
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She was said to be the spirit of a native woman, dressed in green, who drifted between the trees at night. She warned of dangers, some said, and there were other, darker stories too, that she lured men into the jungle, and they were never seen again. John dismissed it as superstition, a ghost story passed down to cope with the horrors of war. But that night, standing watch on the edge of the camp,
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He began to feel an eerie stillness in the air, a presence watching from the shadows. His pulse quickened. As he sensed movement between the trees, a shape, a shimmer in the moonlight, he gripped his rifle, his eyes narrowing as a figure emerged. There she was, the Green Lady, her form as faint as smoke, her hair flowing down in waves that seemed to blend into the jungle itself.
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Her eyes, hollow and deep, fixed on him. She raised a hand and beckoned, her mouth moving in whispers he couldn't make out, but which vibrated through him with a sorrow that felt eternal. Who, who are you? He managed, his voice barely above a whisper. The words seemed to echo, pulling him toward her, but he resisted. A single thought pulsed in his mind. Don't go.
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She continued to look at him, her eyes filled with a pain that felt all-consuming. And then she spoke, her voice like a soft breeze. The sound of footsteps jerked John back to reality. The enemy. They're coming. We're surrounded. John's instincts kicked in, the vision of the Green Lady still vivid in his mind.
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With a surge of urgency, he rallied the men, directing them to defensive positions just as the enemy advanced through the trees. The skirmish was brutal, but thanks to her warning, they were prepared. They held the line, pushing the enemy back into the jungle as dawn broke, the echoes of gunfire finally fading. In the aftermath, John felt a hollow sense of victory.
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Before we get to our stories, I wanted to ask if you would take a minute to send this podcast to someone you know who loves horror. We know there are hundreds of podcasts out there, and the biggest influence on what people listen to is what their friends recommend. You can also rate and comment on our podcasts on Spotify and YouTube, so let us know what you think. Thanks so much.
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He'd survived, yes, but the memory of the Green Lady lingered. Her mournful eyes etched into his mind. A chill crept over him when he remembered the stories that the Green Lady wasn't just a warning, but a curse. As days passed, John noticed something disturbing. The men who'd survived began acting strange. Jenkins, normally calm,
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had become tense and withdrawn, his gaze flickering toward the jungle as if he were watching something out of the corner of his eye. Another soldier, Porter, muttered to himself constantly, his voice a low, feverish murmur. Then... One night, Private Carson simply walked off, his gaze fixed on some unseen destination.
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John tried to stop him, but Carson was in a trance, mumbling about a woman waiting for him in the trees. The next morning, his gear was found discarded near the jungle's edge. He was never seen again. One by one, more of his comrades began slipping into strange behavior. Their minds unraveling, they'd wake in the night, drenched in sweat, talking of her, the Green Lady.
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They'd seen her in their dreams, they said, her mournful eyes calling them, drawing them deeper into the jungle. John began to feel her presence too, an incessant whisper at the back of his mind growing louder each night. It was late one evening when John realized the truth. He hadn't warned them to save them, she'd marked them, using her spectral influence to draw them to her one by one.
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He could feel her in his thoughts now, a constant ghostly whisper that gnawed at his mind. The sorrow he'd seen in her eyes wasn't pity, it was hunger. By the end of the week, only a few men remained. Those who hadn't already disappeared avoided sleep, their faces hollow, their gazes distant.
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John could feel her presence pressing in, her voice clearer each night, whispering his name, beckoning him into the darkness. On the last night, he finally gave in. Exhausted, unable to resist any longer, he felt his feet move as if by their own accord, guiding him to the jungle's edge. He stepped forward, his vision blurring as her voice filled his mind, soothing and irresistible.
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He saw her ahead, the green lady, her figure glowing faintly in the darkness. As he walked toward her, he could feel the jungle closing in around him, swallowing him whole. Her gaze was soft now, inviting, her arms open to receive him. The last thing he heard was her voice, whispering. Come, John. Come to me.
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Before the world faded, her spectral embrace the only warmth he felt as he disappeared into the shadows. By dawn, the camp was empty. The few soldiers who'd arrived to relieve the outpost would find no trace of John or his men, save for a handful of scattered equipment at the jungle's edge, as if they'd walked willingly into the depths, following something unseen.
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We are incredibly grateful for all of the listeners around the world. So, wanna hear something scary? Ghosts of War Part Five. Sometimes it's painful to say goodbye, and sometimes those goodbyes come too late, like in this story based on a true event submitted by Emma. Ohio was bone-chilling cold in December, and the streets had a muffled, quiet feel that night in 1968.
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The legend of the Green Lady would persist, but few would ever learn the truth that her warning was only the beginning. She was not a guardian, but a lure, drawing men into her world, one soldier at a time, until they were lost to her spectral grasp forever. Could you ignore a ghostly warning, knowing it might actually be a curse? Would you be able to resist the whispers in the night?
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Why did John give in? Sometimes the echoes of war linger long after the last shot is fired, haunting those brave or unfortunate enough to hear them. Like in this story inspired by Andrej, I had no idea what was coming. I was only 12, a seventh grader in 2019. I was attending a Catholic private school next to St. Polycarp Church in Cabellau Laguna. I'd been to that church many times.
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Daughters of the Darkness
Aber es gab eine Angst, die durch die Stadt fliegte. Es war noch in der Luft, dass sie zurückkommt. Der weiße Schwanz. Ravi hatte die Geschichte gehört. Die Göttin Swamiji wurde gesagt, um das Land und die Berge zu schützen, um diejenigen zu verurteilen, die Schmerzen und die Natur nicht respektieren. Seine Großmutter hatte von ihr gesprochen.
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Sie konnte die Form eines Schwans nehmen, ihre Fäden so weiß wie Schnee, ihre Augen glänzend mit dem Feuer der göttlichen Furcht. But it wasn't until the recent deaths of two fishermen and the destruction of a nearby forest that the rumors felt more than just superstitious. You shouldn't swim in the river after sunset, the elders warn. Not even to bathe. She's watching.
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But Ravi was still young and skeptical, dismissed it. He had left the village years ago, his life now in the city. He'd returned only to visit his aging parents. The myths of his youth felt distant, irrelevant. Life in the city seemed far removed from such silly things. His mother had warned him too, but he had laughed it off. Ravi, komm rein. Es wird spät. Untertitelung des ZDF für funk, 2017
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In the light, they are heroes. In the dark, they are nightmares. So which one are you? First, death doesn't always stay buried. Followed by fear is an invitation. Finally, in our last story, you can try, but you can't outrun her.
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größer als jener, den er jemals gesehen hatte, fliegend unverschämt über das Wasser. Seine Blüte war unglaublich weiß, glänzend in der fehlenden Lichtstärke. Aber es war mehr als das. Seine Augen bluten, brennen mit einer ehrlichen Lichtstärke. Ravis Herz schlug eine Stimme aus. Er hörte die Legenden. Aber sie zu sehen, sie in Person, war etwas anderes.
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Bevor er sich sogar bewegen konnte, hat der Schwanz seinen Kopf unter dem Wasser gedreht. Moments later, it resurfaced. But this time, it wasn't alone. Something else followed it. Something darker, more menacing. The water, which had once been clear, had become murky, swirling with an unnatural force. Ravi took a step back, unsure of what to do.
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His rational mind told him it was just a swan, just nature. But deep inside, a cold dread gripped him. Something he couldn't explain. A primal fear that told him to leave. Der Schwanz schlug einen tiefen, schmerzhaften Schrei aus und für einen Moment dachte Ravi, er hörte Stimmen von unterhalb der Oberfläche. Soft, eckige Geräusche, als ob das Wasser selbst zu ihm sprach. Er flog.
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Von den Dämpfen des Rivers begann eine Figur zu steigen, langsam, unmöglich, wie ein Wasser. Eine Frau, ihre Haut blutig wie Mondlicht. Untertitelung des ZDF, 2020 Ravi's breath caught in his chest. Her gaze locked onto his and for a long moment he couldn't move. There was something ancient in her eyes, something that made the world feel still, as if everything around him had paused to listen.
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She stepped toward him, barely disturbing the water's surface, and spoke. Her voice was soft, yet carried a weight to it, like the wind before a storm. Sie sagte, ihre Worte scharf, als ob jedes Syllabum ein Dekret war. Du respektierst den Meer. Glaubst du, du kannst die Auswirkungen auslösen? Ravi's Mind rast. Er hat nie daran geglaubt. Swamiji, der weiße Swan. Es war nur alle Geschichten.
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Aber standen dort, mit dem Gewicht ihrer Worte, die sich um ihn befinden, schiefelte etwas. Die Luft wurde schwerer, suffizienter. I don't, I don't understand, Ravi stammered, his voice barely a whisper. She tilted her head, as though considering him. Then she motioned toward the river. You see what your kind has done. The waters, once sacred, now run black. The creatures of the forest are gone.
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What remains is a shadow of what once was. Ravi öffnete seinen Mund, um zu sprechen, aber die Worte standen in seinem Gehirn. Seine Augen sahen durch ihn herunter, lesen alle Gedanken, alle Geheimnisse, die er tief im Innern hatte. You've ignored the warnings, she continued. You think your life in the city, your distance from this place absolves you, but you can't escape the river's judgment.
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Daughters of the Darkness
Bevor wir zu unseren Geschichten kommen, wollte ich fragen, ob Sie einen Moment nehmen würden, um diesen Podcast an jemanden zu schicken, den Sie kennen, der Horror liebt. Es gibt hunderten von Podcasts da draußen und der größte Einfluss auf das, was Leute hören, ist das, was ihre Freunde empfehlen. Sie können auch unseren Podcast auf Spotify und YouTube raten und kommentieren.
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Daughters of the Darkness
A cold wind swept across the water, and the woman's figure began to dissolve, melting into mist. The swan disappeared too, vanishing beneath the surface. The river, for a moment, was still. Too still. As if the world itself was holding its breath. Und dann, ohne Warnung, begann das Wasser zu schütteln, wie wenn es ein eigenes Leben hatte.
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Der Strom surrte, schlug an Ravi's Beinen, drückte ihn näher an die Ecke des Wassers. Er staggerte zurück, sein Herz schlug. Bevor er reagieren konnte, gab sich der Boden unter ihm weg. He slipped, falling into the river with a splash. The water was stronger than he remembered. The current swept him away, pulling him deeper into its depths. He fought to stay afloat, but the water was relentless.
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And he struggled. His feet brushed, something cold and slimy. Something floating in the water, a bloated, rotting fish. He gagged, pushing it away, but the current didn't relent. It carried him farther, pulling him toward the center of the river, toward the very spot where the swan had appeared. And then he saw her again, the woman, Swamiji.
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Sie stand im Wasser, ihr weißes Sari, glühend wie ein Becken im Dunkeln. Seine Augen lockten sich auf ihn und für das erste Mal verstand Ravi, dass es nicht nur eine Verzögerung für die Pollutierung des Rivers oder die Zerstörung des Landes war. Es war etwas tiefer, ein Rekken für seine Unwahrheit, für das Weg von dem heiligen Land, von den Dingen, die wichtig waren.
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The swan reappeared beside her, its wings massive, its eyes glowing like molten fire. Ravi's breath caught in his chest. He understood now. The river wasn't just protected by Swamiji. It was the river. Anyone who disrespected the land, the water, or its creatures would face her wrath. The woman's voice echoed through his mind. You cannot escape your own destruction.
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Daughters of the Darkness
And then the water closed over him. Am nächsten Morgen fanden die Flüchtlinge Ravis Körper auf dem Meer. Seine Augen waren weit offen, voller Angst, als ob er etwas gesehen hätte, das ihn komplett zerstört hätte. Seine Kleidung wurde durchgesohlt, seine Haut eine seltsame, palatine Farbe. Die Flüchtlinge sprachen, dass der Weißschwein eine andere Seele bekam.
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Daughters of the Darkness
Also lasst uns wissen, was Sie denken. Ich lese alle Ihre Kommentare und versuche, die meisten zu beantworten. Vielen Dank. Wir sind unglaublich dankbar für alle unsere Zuschauer weltweit. So, wanna hear something scary? Daughters of Darkness. Sometimes the dead don't rest. They linger in the spaces waiting for the living to listen. Like in this true crime ghost story. It began with a dream.
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Daughters of the Darkness
Niemand sprach von der Frau, die von dem Meer gestorben war, die Nacht. Aber sie wussten alle und hatten sich erinnert, dass der Fluss heilig war, dass es Disrespekt nicht tolerieren würde. Der weiße Schwanz würde immer zurückkehren. Habt ihr jemals von dem Fluss angerufen? Wenn der Fluss Revenge auf nur diejenigen, die es disrespektieren, wie viele von uns wären sicher?
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Daughters of the Darkness
This week's podcast stories were edited by Sarah Lukasiewicz. Narration by Blair Bathory. Audio edited and mixed by Fitz Harris. Additional audio editing by Calvin Linderman. Produced by Anna Villalobos. Executive produced by Gil Gilman. Music by Sapphire Sindalo and Calvin Linderman. If you have a story you'd like to submit...
Something Scary
Daughters of the Darkness
Send me an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com Don't forget to watch the video version of Something Scary over at youtube.com slash snarled. And if you'd like to support the show and everything we do at Snarled, join our Patreon at patreon.com slash snarled. As always, witches, thanks for joining me.
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Daughters of the Darkness
I hope you enjoyed this week's stories and I really hope you enjoyed the video version of the podcast. As always, sweet screams and I'll see you next week.
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Daughters of the Darkness
At first, Mary J. Hester thought little of it. The night had always been restless since Zonas death. Grief's weight pressing on her chest, keeping her awake. But this dream was different. There was something about the way Zona appeared in it. Her face pale, her neck twisted in a way that shouldn't have been possible. Her eyes wide, locked onto Mary Janes, filled with an unspoken warning.
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Daughters of the Darkness
Am Morgen nach dem Traum fand Mary Jane sich in der kleinen Abteilung ihres Hauses, ihre Finger trübbelnd, als sie einen Kaffee getrunken hat. Sie dachte, es sei nur die Leidenschaft, die ihre Gedanken gezwungen hat. Aber als der Tag passierte, klang die Erinnerung an den Traum, die an den Ecken ihres Geistes klingelte. Und dann gab es die Geräusche, die sie kaum hören konnte.
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Daughters of the Darkness
Etwas, was sie nicht bemerkt hat. Sie konnte weinen, dass sie von der Runde kam, wo Zona einmal saß. Sie hat es verabschiedet, oder versucht. Aber an dieser Nacht, als sie im Bett lag, fühlte sich das Haus falsch. Es war zu still, zu leise. Als hätte sich die Luft selbst vergrößert. Der Wind außerhalb ratterte die Fenster. Aber es war nicht der Sturm, der ihre Haut zerstörte.
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Daughters of the Darkness
Es war die Sensation, dass etwas geändert hat. Etwas Unbekanntes, aber immer präsent. Und dann, in der Runde ihrer Wohnung, gab es eine Schattung. Eine Veränderung in der Dunkelheit. Etwas, das bewegt, wo es keine Bewegung geben sollte. Zuerst war es nichts mehr als ein Trick der Leidenschaft. Ihre müde Augen spielen Tricks auf sie. Aber dann wurde die Figur klarer.
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Daughters of the Darkness
Es war eine Frau, fehl und dünn. Seine Nase war an einem unnatürlichen Angle. Sie stieg vorwärts, ihre Bewegungen langsam, deliberativ, als ob sie alle Zeit im Weltraum hatte. Ihre Stimme, als sie kam, war leise, kaum ein Geräusch. Mary Janes Herz stotterte in ihrem Körper. Die Worte waren klar, unmissverständlich. Zonas Stimme, aber so flach.
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Daughters of the Darkness
Die Figur legte ihre trümmelnde Hand an ihren Nacken, wo dunkle Schmerzen in den Körper geraten haben. Er machte Angst. Er brachte meinen Mund. Er brachte meinen Mund. The figure's head jerked violently to the side. The sickening sound of bone snapping ringing in the air. Mary Jane couldn't move, couldn't speak. The figure drifted closer.
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Her eyes hollow pools of nothingness, staring through Mary Jane as if she could see into the deepest parts of her soul. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with the weight of the ghost's presence. Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the figure vanished. But the words remained. The next morning the decision was made.
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Daughters of the Darkness
Sheriff Knapp listened patiently, his fingers drumming lightly on the desk. You're saying your daughter's ghost spoke to you, he asked, his tone calm but edged with doubt. Mary Jane nodded, her voice unwavering. I know what I saw. I know how she died. The sheriff hesitated, his eyes flicking to the window as if something outside might be watching.
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Daughters of the Darkness
And you're sure it wasn't grief playing tricks on you? The mind can do strange things in mourning. But Mary Janes' conviction didn't waver. Exhume her. You'll see the truth. It had been weeks since Zonas death, ruled by natural passing by the doctors. But Mary Jane had never believed it. She had been there, seeing the way Zonas neck had been wrapped so tightly with scarves and high collars.
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Daughters of the Darkness
How Erasmus had been so insistent on keeping her covered. There was no explanation for it, no reason for the sudden unexplained death. But there was one, a simple one. Erasmus had killed her. Der Sheriff schlug, um einen Blick mit seinem Repräsentanten anzunehmen, eine leise Gespräche zwischen ihnen. Aber am Ende hat er zu ihrer Anmerkung gegeneinander.
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Daughters of the Darkness
Wir öffnen das Grab, sagte er, obwohl es in seiner Stimme eine Wäschigkeit war, als ob er etwas Schlimmeres als die simple Wahrheit erwartete. Als das Grafen geöffnet wurde, fühlte sich die Luft schwerer als vorher. Thick war etwas ungesprochen. Der Moment, als der Koffer geöffnet wurde, fiel das Publikum sauber. Mary Jane stand an der Ecke, als die Behörden das Körper ihrer Tochter entdeckten.
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Daughters of the Darkness
Zonas Gesicht war blau, immer noch in Kontakt mit dem Rauch, das sich einstellen sollte. Aber es war der Nacken, der alle Aufmerksamkeit bekam. Dort, in der leckeren Haut, waren Schmerzen. Fingermerzen, tief und unmissbrauchbar, wie ein krüller Erinnerung. Und als das Körper mehr genauer beobachtet wurde, wurde die Wahrheit unvergesslich. Zona hatte gesträngelt, den Nacken gebrochen.
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Daughters of the Darkness
Erasmus hatte sie ermordet und jetzt würde die Welt wissen... The trial was swift. Erasmus Schuh denied everything, of course. He claimed it was an accident, a sudden loss of control, but the evidence told a different story. There were whispers about the ghost, about the strange occurrences that had led up to the discovery.
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Daughters of the Darkness
Some dismissed it, but others couldn't shake the feeling that something had pushed Mary Jane to uncover the truth, something beyond the natural world. Mary Jane sprach nie wieder über den Geist, aber sie brauchte es nicht. Die Wahrheit war in der Verteidigung des Gerichts. Furchtbar. Erasmus Schuh wurde verhaftet, obwohl sein Leben nicht lange dauerte.
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Daughters of the Darkness
In einem Jahr wurde er in seinem Zimmer totgefunden. Eine unfreundliche Verletzung des Gefängnisses, oder so behaupteten die Behörden. Aber es gab auch andere, die schluchzten, dass Zonas Schmerz ihm folgte, dass der Geist der Frau, die er getötet hat, seinen Weg zu ihm gefunden hat.
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Daughters of the Darkness
Mary Jane lived out her days quietly, but she would often sit at the window in the still of the night, staring into the darkness. Some nights, when the wind howled just right, she could almost hear the whisper of Zonas voice, just beyond the reach of hearing, watching, waiting. And in the silence of the night, the weight of the past never quite left. Hi all, have you checked out our Patreon?
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Daughters of the Darkness
I'm going live over there in just a few weeks, so sign up now and you won't miss an update. Fear is a door and once you open it, some things step through. Like this story inspired by Aisha. Als ich zehn war, ging ich nach Afrika für den Sommer. Meine Eltern versuchten, dass wir bald zurückkommen würden, aber ich war furchtbar, dass ich mit meinen Freunden Pläne mitnehmen musste.
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Daughters of the Darkness
Stattdessen musste ich Zeit mit der Familie verbringen, die ich nie kennengelernt hatte. Sobald wir angekommen sind, fühlte ich mich aus dem Ort. Alles war außerordentlich. Die Leute, die uns aufgeholt haben, waren distante Relativen, seriös anschaulich, sauber, sich selbst zu behalten. Es war unser erstes Mal, sie zu treffen, aber sie erinnern mich noch nie oder meine Brüder.
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Daughters of the Darkness
Hi, I'm Blair Bathory and this is the Something Scary Podcast. Thank you so much for being here. Whether this is your first time or you're one of the brave souls who join us every week. And you may have noticed that we are doing a video version of the podcast now. I'm very excited to come to you every week with a video and let me know in the comments what you'd like to see in the future.
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Daughters of the Darkness
Sie haben einfach geweint, meine Eltern mit dem Lager geholfen und sich in Hush-Tönen geäußert. I stayed on my phone most of the ride to the house, but I couldn't ignore the unease crawling under my skin. The house was old, inherited from my late grandfather and sat deep in the more rural part of the city. The moment we arrived, my father showed us to our rooms.
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Daughters of the Darkness
We ate, changed and were ready for bed when he turned to me. Check the back door, he said. Make sure it's locked. And the front gates too. I didn't want to go alone, so I grabbed my siblings. Together, we hurried to secure everything. When we returned, my father locked the front door himself and moved through the house, pulling every curtain shut. And that became routine.
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Daughters of the Darkness
Every night, doors locked, curtains drawn, until the night that everything changed. Tap, tap, tap. I froze. Something was soft, but deliberate. My bed's headboard was near the window, and the noise could only be coming from the glass. Slowly, I turned my head. A face, pressed against the window. Charred skin stretched tight. Tap, tap, tap.
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It was tapping with a single finger, tilting its head as if waiting for me to react. I stumbled up, nearly tripping over my own feet. My heart pounded as I ran for the door, reaching for the handle, and stopped. Tap, tap, tap. I turned back to the window. The face was still there, still grinning. Then the head vanished. A rush of air, like something moving too fast to see.
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Daughters of the Darkness
And suddenly, the body in the doorway had a head. Its grin stretched impossibly wide as it lunged. Cold fingers clamped over my mouth. I tried to scream, but the sound died in my throat. My back arched, my body bending unnaturally as the grip tightened. Ich schlug meine Augen auf und betete. Ich betete Gott. Ich betete für alles, was es stoppen könnte. Dann schlug eine Tür auf. Fußtritte. Schnell.
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Daughters of the Darkness
Heftig. Hania! Der Griff war entspannt. Ich schlug für Luft. Ich stürzte vorwärts in die Lichter, spielte aus der Halle. Mein Vater stand in der Tür, sein Gesicht ein Gemisch von Schock und etwas anderes. So I did. Every detail. He listened carefully, then nodded. Don't be afraid, he said. That was the Ani, a witch. I felt something cold settle in my chest. They eat human flesh, he continued.
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Daughters of the Darkness
But more than that, they feed on fear. They take many forms. They can possess people, curse them, through hair, nail clippings, footprints in wet earth, even through your voice. I swallowed hard. The doors and windows must always be locked at night, he said, so they cannot enter. And the curtains must always be closed, so they cannot choose their next victim. I shivered.
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Daughters of the Darkness
In honor of Women's History Month, we'll tell the stories of some fierce ladies. Sometimes a woman's strength is her salvation. Sometimes it's her curse. Some rise from the ashes, others drag the world into the flames with them. They haunt, they hunt, they protect, and they destroy. Some wield their power for justice, others for vengeance, and some simply because they can.
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Daughters of the Darkness
Then my mother spoke, telling me to follow her. Sie führte mich in den Garten, wo meine Großmutter auf einem gewohnten Matten saß, ihre Hände auf einem String von Gebeten. Sie sah die Anne, meine Mutter sagte ihr. Meine Großmutter schluchzte, unerwartet. Sie wurde gewählt. »Erwachsen?« Sie gestert, um mich zu sitzen. »Du wirst wachsen, Hanea. Die Hanea sucht Mädchen wie dich.
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Auf der Ecke von Kindheit und Frauenheit. Das ist, wenn sie versuchen, dich zu nehmen.« Mein Atem schlug, als sie mir sagte, dass ich stark war. Das ist der Grund, warum es mich nicht that night nahm. Es testete mich. Ich habe nichts gesagt. Ich war nicht sicher, was hätte passieren sollen, wenn ich verfehlt hätte.« That afternoon my mother and grandmother performed Rukja, a cleansing prayer.
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They burned caramel leaves, letting the smoke curl around me and tied a protective charm to my wrist. That night I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The curtain was closed tight, but I could still hear it. Tap, tap, tap. I didn't move. I wouldn't give it my fear. The tapping stopped. The next morning, I told my grandmother. She smiled and handed me the prayer beads. Keep them close, she said.
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You are safe now. And I was. But I never forgot. I never forgot the way it watched me. Or the way, for a moment, I almost felt it pulling me into the dark. Have you ever let any witches or spirits in? If so, tell us your story by sending us an email at cynthyscary at snarl.com Sometimes a river can go silent and sometimes it whispers. If it whispers your name, you may never come back.
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Daughters of the Darkness
Like in this story inspired by this Indian urban legend, the White Swan. Der Sonnenschein setzte sich über das kleine Dorf Mahadavpur, das von dem heiligen Kaviri-Bereich in Südindien befestigt wurde. Für die Flüchtlinge war der Berg sowohl ein Lebensraum als auch ein Ort der Worschaft. Seine Wälder bekamen Früchte, sie heilten Böse und ernährten Geister.
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A Haunted Vision
Based on the true crime discovery of a local missing woman and written by Sarah. It began with a vision. Etta Smith was in the middle of her daily routine, stacking patient charts at the hospital where she worked as a nurse. She had no reason to think anything unusual would happen that day. But as she placed the last chart on the desk, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over her.
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When shadows call you home, it's the last dance. Like in this story written in honor of Black History Month by one of our featured writers, L. Marie Wood. Her grandmother warned her about them. She said when the time came and the shadows started to show themselves along the wall, hovering up high, where the ceiling and wall met, she was on her last dance.
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The world around her dimmed, and her mind was pulled somewhere else entirely. She saw a field overgrown with weeds, the golden hue of light afternoon casting long shadows. There, in the tall grass, lay the lifeless body of a woman. Etta couldn't see her face clearly, but she knew, with a certainty down to her bones, that this woman was dead.
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Blood stained the earth beneath her, and a single shoe lay a few feet away, its strap broken. The image vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving Etta gasping for breath. She tried to shake it off. Maybe it was just a stress-induced hallucination or a remnant of one of the true crime shows that she watched late at night. But the vision wouldn't leave her.
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Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the same scene, vivid and unchanging. The broken shoe, the blood-soaked ground, the lifeless body. Later that evening, as Etta drove home, the radio crackled with a news report. Local nurse Melanie Erb has been reported missing, lasting leaving her home two nights ago. She never arrived for her shift at the hospital.
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Authorities are now asking for any information that could lead to her whereabouts. Etta's heart skipped a beat. Melanie Irby? She recognized that name. They worked at the same hospital, though they weren't close. The vision came rushing back, sharper than before. Was it possible that the woman in the field was Melanie? No, she muttered to herself. This is ridiculous.
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But the feeling gnawed at her. She couldn't ignore it. The field's details were too precise. The overwhelming sense of dread too real. Etta didn't believe in psychic abilities or supernatural visions. Yet something about this felt undeniable. By the time she reached her driveway, Etta had made a decision. She'd call the police. She'd sound crazy. She knew that. But what if she was right?
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What if Melanie was out there, waiting to be found? When she explained her vision to the officer on the other end of the line, the response was predictably skeptical.
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ma'am are you saying you had a dream about this the officer asked his tone barely masking his disbelief not a dream it's hard to explain but i know where she is i'm sure of it and insisted the officer's side crackled through the phone we'll make a note of it thanks for calling frustrated but undeterred eddie decided to take matters into her own hands
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The next morning, she drove toward the area she had seen in her vision. She didn't know exactly where it was, but her gut guided her. After nearly an hour of driving, she spotted it, the field from her vision, just off a desolate stretch of road. Her stomach churned as she pulled over and stepped out of her car. The air was heavy, the kind of oppressive stillness that seemed to smother sound.
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Etta hesitated, her feet sinking slightly into the soft earth as she walked toward the tall grass. The sun hung low in the sky, casting the same long shadows she had seen in her vision. And then she saw it, a flash of red among the weeds. Her breath hitched as she moved closer, pushing the grass aside. There, just as she had seen, was a woman's body.
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The blood, the broken shoe, everything was exactly as it had been in her vision. Etta stumbled backward, her hand flying to her mouth. Her knees threatened to give out, but she forced herself to stay upright. She fumbled for her phone and dialed 911, her fingers trembling. When the police arrived, their initial skepticism gave way to unease.
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The scene was exactly as Etta had described, down to the smallest detail. Melanie Irby's identification was found in her purse nearby, confirming what Etta had feared. Word of Etta's discovery spread quickly, and with it came questions that she couldn't answer. How had she known? Was it just a coincidence, or something more? The media latched onto the story, dubbing her a psychic nurse.
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The party was over and the last song was almost finished. She told her this when she was just nine years old, right after she started seeing shadows of her own.
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Strangers reached out, asking her to find their missing loved ones, while skeptics accused her of involvement in the crime. Etta's life was upended. She couldn't go anywhere without being recognized. And the weight of the discovery hung heavy on her. She replayed the vision in her mind, searching for answers, for meaning. Why had she been shown this? And by what force?
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In the weeks that followed, the police arrested three men in connection with Melanie's murder. They had abducted her, stolen her car, and left her to die in the field. The evidence was damning, and the case seemed closed. But for Etta, the nightmare was far from over. The visions didn't stop. They came unbidden, each one more horrifying than the last.
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She saw faces she didn't recognize, places she'd never been. And always, there was the same sense of urgency, the same heavy dread. Etta began to fear sleep, knowing that with it might come another vision, another burden she hadn't asked for. She tried to ignore them, to push them away, but they clung to her like shadows, refusing to let go.
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One night, as she sat alone in her apartment, the television playing softly in the background, Etta felt the familiar pull. Her vision blurred, and she was somewhere else again. A narrow alley littered with broken glass, the sound of footsteps, a woman's scream cut through the air, sharp and desperate, and then silence. Etta gasped, clutching the edge of the couch as the vision faded.
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She knew what she had to do. She couldn't ignore it, no matter how much it terrified her. The question lingered in her mind, relentless and unanswerable. Was this a gift or a curse? What would you do if your dreams revealed the truth? Have you ever felt drawn to a place that you've never been before? Did you end up having a strange connection to the place?
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how they call you home child she said while thumbing a pocket knife pieces of chewed apple fell from her mouth to land on her apron but she didn't seem to notice barbara did she always did i see your grandfather in him all the time addie mae went on he gets closer and closer every time he comes Grandpa wouldn't hurt you. Barbara's voice was low and nervous.
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This week's podcast stories were edited by Sarah Lukasiewicz. Narration by Blair Bathory. Audio edited and mixed by Fitz Harris. Additional audio editing by Calvin Linderman. Produced by Anna Villalobos. Executive produced by Gil Gilman. Music by Sapphire Sindalo and Calvin Linderman. If you have a story you'd like to submit... send me an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com.
Something Scary
A Haunted Vision
Don't forget to watch the video version of Something Scary over at youtube.com slash snarled. And if you'd like to support the show and everything we do at Snarled, join our Patreon at patreon.com slash snarled.
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A Haunted Vision
The idea of the shadows was frightening enough without putting faces on them. I know it. That's how I know the shadows are good. She peeled off a sliver of apple and thumped it into her mouth. What does he say when he comes? Nothing. He just stands there and smiles. Her grandmother couldn't help but smile at the thought of his visits. That bothered Barbara more than she knew
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I see him dressed in his finest suit suit and hat, as clean as he can be. He looks like he did when we used to strut up and down the avenue after church on Sunday. A fine man he was, a fine man. She started to rock in her chair. Addie Mae shut her eyes and smiled again, seeming to smile at him. It could just be a memory, Barbara cut in nervously.
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The darkness that filled the sky outside seemed to creep in around her. Her grandmother's eyes opened fast. They looked at her with a mixture of sorrow and anger. I know the difference between a memory and a vision, missy. I ain't out of my head yet. Blushing, Barbara hurried. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it to sound... But Grandma, you're talking about seeing ghosts. I know it. I see them.
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Addie Mae lifted her head proudly. Her eyes skimmed the ceiling, but there was nothing there. And so were you, she continued. Just wait and see. Your granddaddy ain't the only one who comes to see me. My mama and daddy have come before. My sister Sue comes from time to time. I expect more of them will come when my time gets closer. Like I'll come to you when it's your time.
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Doesn't it frighten you? It sure frightened Barbara to hear it. "'Nah,' she said, peeling off another slice of apple and shoving it into her mouth. Some of the juice dripped over her lip and down to her chin as she spoke, but she made no effort to wipe it away. "'It's how they wake you up from the nightmare.' What nightmare? Barbara would always ask.
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We have all at one time or another heard something that wasn't there, or felt the presence of something that couldn't be seen. We often brush it off as nothing, but that's just ignoring the truth. There are things that can't be explained by ordinary senses. Like shadows that move when no one is there and whispers that echo in empty rooms. In cold spots that linger in warm places.
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Her grandmother's musings were always interesting to her, even though she could never back anything up with any solid evidence. Faith was always her answer. Faith in yourself. This one. Her grandmother would inevitably answer. This is the nightmare. This? Barbara asked, not wanting to know what she meant, but knowing somehow she would need to one day.
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Usually Barbara's grandmother didn't answer the question, but on that day, 79 years ago, she did. Laugh, child, she said. Her eyes set firmly on Barbara, looking into the child as though she could see the intricacies of her very soul. Life is the nightmare? Barbara asked her grandmother why she thought that way, asked her to stop talking like that.
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No child wants to hear their grandma talking about death, their death. Barbara already wondered what she would do if her grandma ever left her. She was her playmate, her historian, her model for proper etiquette, her confidant. She was the moon, the stars, the sun, and the clouds. Death wouldn't dare lay a hand on her grandma's silver gray hair, not as long as she could help it.
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Barbara tried to reassure the 91-year-old woman she would live forever, that she would be there to see her great-grandchildren. Addie Mae responded with a sincerity that chilled Barbara's spine with the implications even then. I'll see your children, all right. I'll pick out nice ones and send them to you with a kiss.
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A Haunted Vision
Hi, witches. I'm Blair Bathory, and this is the Something Scary Podcast. Thank you so much for being here, whether this is your first time or you're one of the brave souls who join us every week. And February is extra special around here because we'll be celebrating Black History Month with some incredible female writers and scary storytellers by telling their stories every week. So...
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A Haunted Vision
That thought always made her film warm inside, even after her grandma's death a year and a half later. Until that day. Barbara was watching television the first time she saw them. Her stories had just gone to commercial, and she was getting up to pour some more coffee, muttering about why Lorraine would ever give Peter another chance.
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Barbara stood up to trudge to the kitchen when they caught her eye. She lived alone, her daughter and grandson more than an hour away, so no one heard her when she gasped, nor saw her hand flutter to her chest. Her body stood rigid, straight as a board. The shadows were wide and oddly shaped, the inkblots spreading across white paper.
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They were there, just like her grandmother told her they would be. Dressed in their Sunday best, Gillian and Jonathan made their way up the steps to the church. The place was full of people who had known Barbara throughout her life. Most of them were in their 90s, like Barbara had been. Wheelchairs and walkers cluttered the pews and aisleways. Sniffles and muted cries filled the room.
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The director from the center came and spoke a few words over the body. She talked about how pleasant Barbara had been and how she was a joy to have around. Everyone nodded and sobbed. A couple of people said amen. Others shouted hallelujah from behind their handkerchiefs. Gillian dabbed at her eyes as she looked on, nodding at the appropriate times, bowing when asked. But Jonathan didn't.
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He stared at Barbara, at her face unnaturally frozen and molded into a look of contentment he had never seen her strike. Still and solid looking, like rock beneath the cover of clothing, at her hands drawn flat and forced to intertwine with one another. She didn't look real. She didn't look right.
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Jonathan looked at his grandmother watching, waiting for her to move, to turn her head and speak to him. Would she sound right, he wondered, or would she sound otherworldly, evil and beatific at the same time? Jonathan wondered if the darkened spot on the silk lining of the casket beside her head was the shadow of his grandmother coming to bid them goodbye.
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The shadow that hovered over Barbara's face as she lies still in the casket her daughter Gillian had picked out for her was there for only a second. seeming to dance on the end of her nose. It seemed, for a moment, she would reach her hand up and swat it away, like one would a troublesome fly. At least it did to Jonathan. But she didn't. And then it disappeared.
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But Jonathan had seen it perch there, just above her face. He saw it and smiled. If a loved one appeared to you after death, would you find comfort or fear in their presence? Have you seen shadows move in ways they shouldn't? If so, send us your story by sending us an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com. Hi witches, I wanted to let you know about some new Patreon tiers that we now have.
Something Scary
A Haunted Vision
If you go to patreon.com and sign up now, you can get exclusive videos, horror film club live meetings with me where we talk about horror movies every month, and horror movie writing sessions with our writers. Go to patreon.com to sign up now. Sometimes the shadows hold more than just darkness, like in this story inspired by Anonymous.
Something Scary
A Haunted Vision
Those with a gift, or perhaps a curse, see beyond the veil of the world that we know. Perceiving the unseen forces that linger just out of reach. The forces that are powered by the dead. First, shadows call you home, followed by it's always watching. Finally, in our last story, when intuition turns to terror. So, wanna hear something scary? A haunted vision.
Something Scary
A Haunted Vision
Two years ago when I was 15, I experienced something that still haunts me today. I've always had what some call a sixth sense, the ability to see ghosts. It's not a gift I ask for, and most of the time I try to ignore it, but sometimes the spirits don't let me. At the time, I was part of a music program at my high school.
Something Scary
A Haunted Vision
We had rehearsals leading up to a big concert, and the group included singers, dancers, and actors, some of the most creative and talented people I knew. The day before the performance, something strange happened. One of the dancers leaned on the railing bar attached to the mirrored wall, and it snapped. Turns out, it was a missing crucial nail.
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A Haunted Vision
Everyone laughed, their voices blending into an echo that seemed to reverberate endlessly in my head, growing louder and sharper until it felt like it was drilling into my brain. I was so lost in the sound that I didn't even hear the dance teacher, Mr. C., calling my name. Hey, you and Tasha come with me to grab a new railing bar. The janitors need it to fix before tomorrow.
Something Scary
A Haunted Vision
I nodded, relieved to escape the chaotic rehearsal. Tasha and I followed Mr. C down the hall, joking about the poor dancer who broke the bar. But when we reached the basement door, my stomach dropped. The door creaked open to reveal a long, dark staircase leading into the shadows. A single dim light at the bottom barely illuminated the grimy, damp walls, streaked with mold and slime.
Something Scary
A Haunted Vision
Imagine being stuck down here, Tasha said, nudging me with a smirk. I forced a laugh, but the thought of it freaked me out. As we descended, a sharp, icy breeze brushed past me and I froze. Did you feel that? I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. Mr. C and Tasha exchanged puzzled glances. Feel what? Tasha asked, her tone light. but I could sense a flicker of unease.
Something Scary
A Haunted Vision
"'Never mind,' I muttered, falling silent as we reached the bottom. The basement was like another world, a labyrinth of dusty shelves and cobweb-covered filing cabinets. The air was heavy, damp, and smelled of mildew. Our footsteps echoed unnaturally, as though the walls were mocking us by repeating every sound." We found our way through the aisles, Mr. C leading the way.
Something Scary
A Haunted Vision
I tried to focus on the task, but my eyes kept darting to the gaps between the shelves. Then I saw it. A glimpse of something white. A long, silky gown dragging across the dirty cement floor, just out of sight. My breath hitched, and I stopped in my tracks. Tasha turned back to ask me what was wrong. Nothing, I said quickly, shaking my head. Just thought I saw something.
Something Scary
A Haunted Vision
She said it was probably just a shadow, but her words didn't comfort me. I picked up my pace to catch up with the others. When we found the replacement railing, Mr. C and Tasha started lifting it. As I bent down to help, I froze. Standing six feet away, partially hidden by the shadows was a woman.
Something Scary
A Haunted Vision
Her black, empty eyes stared directly at me, and her grin stretched unnaturally wide, as though it would split her face in two. She wore a long, tattered nightgown. Stain brown was something that could only be blood. The stench of rot and decay hit me like a wave, and I fought the urge to gag. She raised a bony, skeletal hand and pointed at me, her voice low and raspy. Come here. Come here.
Something Scary
A Haunted Vision
My legs felt like lead and I couldn't move. Her gaze pinned me in place, cold and unrelenting. It was only when Tasha touched my shoulder that I snapped out of it. You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost, she said, half-joking. I swallowed hard and nodded. Yeah, let's just get out of here. The trip back to the stairwell felt like an eternity.
Something Scary
A Haunted Vision
Every shadow seemed to stretch and shift, and I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. When we finally reached the stairs, I practically bolted up them, leaving Tasha and Mr. C behind. As soon as we were back in the light of the hallway, I felt like I could breathe again, but the relief was short-lived. Mr. C noticed my pale complexion and told Tasha to take me to the nurse's office.
Something Scary
A Haunted Vision
She led me there, and I collapsed onto the cot, hoping the worst was over. But the oppressive sense of unease followed me, clinging to me like a shadow. Lying on the cot, I turned to face the wall, trying to block out the world. My eyelids grew heavy, but just as I was about to drift off, the feeling of being watched returned, stronger than ever.
Something Scary
A Haunted Vision
My heart pounded as I slowly opened my eyes and glanced at the small window above the cot. There she was. The nightgown lady, her rotten, bloody face pressed against the glass, her unblinking eyes boring into mine. That same horrific grin stretched across her face, wider than seemed humanly possible. I couldn't move, couldn't scream.
Something Scary
A Haunted Vision
My body was frozen with terror and she stayed there, unmoving, watching me. When I finally blinked, she was gone. But her image was burned into my mind, and it's never left. To this day, I've never told anyone outside my family about what happened. That night, I realized that my sixth sense isn't just a strange quirk.
Something Scary
A Haunted Vision
It's a connection to something far darker than I ever imagined, and I can't escape it. How would you react if you saw something unexplainable, like the woman at the window? I know we only have a couple of months of cold weather left, but go ahead and get a cozy blanket while you can.
Something Scary
A Haunted Vision
On somethingscary.com, we have a new line called Camp Scary, where we have blankets and mugs and all kinds of other things that are really cute with our logo and a lot of other cute little symbols that make you extra spooky at school. So go to somethingscary.com to grab something now. Sometimes the truth finds you whether you're ready to face it or not.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
The lights went out. When they found him the next morning, he was sprawled in front of the mirror. His head had been severed cleanly, deliberately, and placed in his lap like a grotesque crown. Across the mirror, written in blood, were the words, You may now kiss the bride. The investigation stalled. Security footage was corrupted. Staff resigned en masse. Witnesses left the country.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
Magnus sold his American assets and vanished to Switzerland. But the bell in the tower still tolls, just once. Dry, metallic, angry. The rope's been cut for years. It still swings. They've tried to seal the tower. It always opens. Some nights, the window glows faintly. Though the chapel is empty, locals say if the fog is thick and the wind cruel, you might see her.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
Cassia in her ruined gown, a veiled shape hovering above the window, her eyes glowing like coals. Sometimes she's alone, swaying as if caught in a breeze from the other side. Sometimes Lucio's head is beside her, tilted wrong, eyes hollow but watching. And sometimes the window is just open, waiting. Would you marry someone to escape your life?
Something Scary
Happily Never After
And if you were betrayed by the people meant to protect you, would you come back? Let us know in the comments. I've been loving reading the letters from y'all and we appreciate you sending them in. Keep them coming. I have something today that I wanted to read from Kynott. Hi, Something Scary. This mail refers to the episode Haunted Hotels.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
I am basically writing this mail because I faced a similar situation when my aunt's wedding was held there. During my time, I experienced three different such situations. A little backstory, I was raised in a family where we didn't strictly follow everything that was written in the holy books.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
It has been 20 years since those incidents, but even thinking about those incidents, I can still feel chills running down my spine. The first incident took place the second night, when all of my cousin's parents, including mine, decided that we could stay in a different room rather than with our parents because we met after a very long time.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
There weren't many of us, so they booked only one room for us, but one of our oldest cousins was staying with us. All of us were playing and catching up with each other when our parents came to call us to have dinner. That was when I noticed something strange from the corner of my eye. I saw a patch of blood on the wall, but as soon as I turned my head to see, I saw nothing.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
The next day our parents let us play outside as the weather seemed too good and they went on to do some urgent stuff. All of us were playing hide and seek when both Myself and my cousin, Winter, who is as old as me, saw a girl standing near the main entrance. We felt weird. We told Linda, the oldest cousin of ours, about what had happened. And she said that both of us were just imagining things.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
But as soon as I told her about me seeing the patch of blood, Linda said I was hallucinating. That night, I didn't sleep. And then I heard a voice saying, beware the forthcoming deaths and danger. I saw a lady dressed in white and she was sitting by the side of the bed as she caressed my cheek and smiled at me.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
For a moment, I couldn't believe what I saw and in the blink of an eye, that lady disappeared. For the next two days, I didn't see anything strange and nor did my cousins. On the day of the wedding, I was the third bridesmaid as I was the third oldest daughter of the family. That day, after I got dressed for the ceremony, I went to my aunt's room where she was getting dressed.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
She said I was looking very beautiful and she asked me to keep a check on Linda as she was the oldest of all and was a bridesmaid too. As soon as I ran across the hallway to see Linda, I tripped, but luckily didn't hurt myself. I saw a hand. The hand was of the girl who me and Winter saw at the main entrance. I said, thank you, as I was also a bit shocked. She said, you're welcome, miss.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
The day Simone found the ring, she wasn't even looking for it. The attic of her grandmother's house smelled like thyme, dried lavender, old dust, and something faintly metallic. She'd been sorting boxes for hours, pushing past faded Christmas ornaments and long-dead Polaroids when her fingers brushed velvet at the back of a drawer. a small black pouch, warm to the touch.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
I hope your aunt's wedding goes well. And then she ran down the stairs and disappeared into the air. I just didn't get surprised by whatever happened at that moment. And it felt like it was very unusual. but I was still very confused about how she knew that my aunt was getting married. Two months later, my paternal grandma fell down and injured her leg.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
Because the injury was too serious, she passed away. That was when I remembered what the lady said when I was in the hotel. And since then, I had been forewarned about any death or accidents that are going to take place in due course of time. That is all I would like to wrap up here for today. Thank you. I hope you will share it in your podcast.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
And if this mail is late, I am extremely sorry because I am a new listener. Thank you so much. Kainat. We always are accepting new stories and we love hearing from you. If you have a story you want to share, send me an email at somethingscaryatsnarl.com. And if you have a two-sentence horror story you'd like to submit as well, leave it in the comments or also email it to me as well.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
Sometimes the past crashes every celebration and it's not a welcome guest. Like in this story inspired by Anonymous. We were nine the summer my aunt married a stranger. That's what my friend Zia called him, a stranger. Because he was tall, smelled like bleach, and laughed too hard at his own jokes. It was my aunt's second marriage, and she wanted it to be perfect. The venue?
Something Scary
Happily Never After
Our family's old pool house, long abandoned since Zia's dad died. Zia and I were practically sisters. Her parents and mine had been inseparable. And when her father drowned in the pool five years earlier, our families cracked but didn't shatter. We promised to stay close. She said it over and over. The moon couldn't separate us, Hallie. I never understood it, but she whispered it like a vow.
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Happily Never After
One that felt older than us, passed down through something darker than memory. He barely spoke, always looking half there, with shadows under his eyes that never seemed to fade. That night, he agreed without looking up from his phone. Their mother found the old key to the pool house and handed it over with shaky hands. "'Be careful,' she muttered. "'It's not a place for celebration anymore.'
Something Scary
Happily Never After
Her voice caught on the word celebration like it burned to say it." We set up around 10 p.m., hanging string lights that flickered unevenly and blowing up floaties that squeaked like something protesting. The air was thick, muggy, and smelled like wet stone and chemicals. By 11, the place buzzed with laughter and music, but something about the pool was weird. Too still, too black.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
It looked bottomless. Guests came and went, and by 2 a.m., everyone was gone but us. I told Zia I was tired. Her eyes glistened under the moonlight. The moon can't separate us, she said again. Her voice had an edge that gave me goosebumps. I smiled anyway, thinking it was sweet, trying not to show how unsettled I felt. At 4.03 a.m., I awoke with a start. The house was too quiet.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
The fan in the corner had stopped spinning. Zia wasn't in her sleeping bag. I crept outside. The pool shimmered, still, and black. At first, I thought she was floating, just floating. But then I saw the blood. It ran in the red threads from her body into the water, a slow dissolve, like ink. Her body lay half-submerged, chest split open, ribs cracked like broken wings.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
Her mouth hung open like she had died mid-screen. On the wall behind her, written in blood, were the words, ''You broke the promise, Hayley.'' They said it was a break-in, a tragedy, a sick coincidence. But they never found who did it, and I knew. I knew I had left her alone. I broke the promise.'' Fourteen years later, I returned for another wedding. Aunt Mariko, again. Husband number three.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
Inside was a ring, antique gold, slim and elegant, set with a single deep garnet that looked black until the light hit it just right, and then it glowed like a drop of blood. It pulsed against her palm. Don't, she whispered, even as she slid it on. It fit perfectly. She didn't tell Mark about it. The ring stayed on her hand like it belonged there. At first, she figured it was all a coincidence.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
She'd sold the pool house but rented it back just for the occasion. She wanted nostalgia. I wanted closure. I hadn't returned to Tokyo since Zia died. The streets felt too clean. The air too quiet. Even the crows avoided that house. The place hadn't changed, the tiles still held ghostly stains, and the air smelled faintly of chlorine and mold.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
I walked through the house alone, early in the morning before anyone else arrived. I passed Zia's old room. The door was cracked open. Inside, the wallpaper peeled in long strips, and the dust had gathered thick in the corners. I found a bouquet resting in the kitchen counter. At first, I thought it was for the wedding, until I saw the note tucked between the lilies. "'Til death do us part.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
Don't leave me again.'" My fingers went numb. The flowers were damp, dripping, and not water. They smelled metallic, like old coins and rot. That night, I couldn't sleep. Every creek in the old house sounded like footsteps. The mirrors fogged, over without reason. At 4.03 a.m., I heard it, a soft splash, followed by what sounded like laughter, a child's giggle, warbled and wrong.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
Drawn to the pool, I walked barefoot down the stone steps. The moon hung low, swollen. Zia stood at the edge, a wedding dress clinging to her soaked frame, veil trailing behind her like seaweed. Her skin had that water-long look, pale, bloated. Her eyes were empty, her mouth opened, but no words came, only a wet, guttural gasp.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
Her hand reached toward me, water trailing down her fingers like strings. I turned and ran. I didn't stop until I locked myself in the upstairs guest room, heart thundering. The next day was the wedding. Mariko looked radiant but tired. During the vows, her voice trembled. When she tossed the bouquet, she missed. It landed by the pool. She went to retrieve it herself. She screamed. We ran to her.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
She was on the ground, gasping, holding her chest. Bruises spread like ink across her ribcage. "'Not now,' she whispered. "'Not again.' They rushed her to the hospital. No one understood what had happened. I did. Because in that moment, I saw the water ripple. Just once. Six months later, I got engaged. He was kind, stable, normal. He proposed in a quiet restaurant, a ring hidden in creme brulee.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
I hesitated. I remembered white dresses soaked in blood. I said yes anyway. That night... I woke at 4.03 a.m. There were lilies on the nightstand, wet, and scrawled and red across my bathroom mirror. You said forever. My stomach twisted. My fiancé was still asleep beside me, undisturbed. I crept to the living room. Something in the shadows shifted. I could feel her. Zia.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
I whispered into the darkness, I'm sorry. Silence. Then a voice soft, familiar and wrong. You promised. But it wasn't me who drowned.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
what i froze but there was no follow-up no answer just the sound of dripping drip drip drip coming from the hallway i followed it heart pounding to the linen closet i opened the door inside a single floaty deflated a string of wedding lights blood splattered tiles a girl's dress nazi is mine
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Happily Never After
From the night she died, and a photo I didn't remember taking, me, smiling at the edge of the pool, as Zia bled out behind me. I dropped it, my knees buckled, the memories slammed into me like a wave. That night, we fought. I wanted to sleep. She wanted to swim. She pulled me toward the water, joking, pleading. I pushed her, harder than I meant to. She hit her head, slipped, bled. I ran. I lied.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
And someone or something helped me forget. In the mirror across the hallway, my reflection smiled, but I wasn't smiling. Behind me, a voice whispered again, gurgling through water. You said forever. I turned around, the mirror was empty, and the floor was wet. Do you think some promises ever really stayed buried? Even on the best days, can there be something ugly hiding?
Something Scary
Happily Never After
She spilled coffee on her dress the morning of their engagement shoot. The florist backed out at the last minute. Mark snapping at her over nothing. It's just stress, she thought. Everyone gets nervous before a wedding. Then she heard the whispers, soft, like wind through an open window. Only there was no wind, and the windows were shut.
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Happily Never After
As always, thanks for listening, and I hope you enjoyed these three new stories and a little bit of fan mail. We love hearing from you, so please keep sending those in. And also, the two-sentence horror stories are great. We love reading these on the podcast. I'll see you next time. Sweet screams.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
This week's podcast stories were edited by Sarah Lukasiewicz, narration by Blair Bathory, audio edited and mixed by Fitz Harris, additional audio editing by Calvin Linderman, produced by Anna Villalobos, executive produced by Gail Gilman, music by Sapphire Sindalo and Calvin Linderman. If you have a story you'd like to submit... send me an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
Don't forget to watch the video version of Something Scary over at youtube.com slash snarled. And if you'd like to support the show and everything we do at Snarled, join our Patreon at patreon.com slash snarled.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
Hello? Is anybody there? I called out. As soon as I saw it, a scream erupted from my mouth. Submitted by Abby. Hi, I'm Blair Bathory, and this is the Something Scary Podcast. Thank you so much for being here. Whether this is your first time, or you're one of the brave souls who join us every week... It's wedding season, the time for white dresses, vows, and dreams of a long, happy marriage.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
Simone would lie in bed beside Mark, eyes wide in the dark, and hear them. Voices not quite speaking words, like conversations in another room. Familiar. Wrong. She bought a white noise machine. She slept with earplugs, but the voices grew stronger. Sometimes they said her name. Sometimes, Marx. Then she caught her reflection watching her.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
she started subtly her mirror image lagging behind blinking just a beat too late one morning she brushed her hair and paused her reflection did not it stared at her lips curled in a smile she didn't feel she stepped back heart thudding the reflection mouthed the word mine Simone decided she had to take off the ring that night, but it wouldn't budge. The skin around it had darkened.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
It was angry and red, like it had burrowed into her. Mark offered to cut it off or take her to a jeweler to do it, but she snapped at him not to touch it. Then the dreams began. Simone walked through a burnt-out church, barefoot, wearing a wedding dress gone gray with ash. The aisle was littered with bones. A woman in white stood at the altar, her veil soaked red. She lifted it slowly.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
Her face was Simone's. But the eyes were hollow, and the mouth was sewn shut with gold wire. Simone woke screaming, the ring burning on her hand. She started researching. Eleanor Reith, her great-great-aunt, had owned the ring in 1892. She vanished the night before her wedding. Her fiancé was found in the woods, throat torn open, no sign of struggle.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
In 1952, Lisbeth Langford wore the ring at her engagement party. Her groom drowned in his bathtub, lungs filled with saltwater. There was no saltwater in the house. In 1987, the ring resurfaced. Another bride, another death. A pattern. Every bride who wore it lost her groom. Murder. Disappearance. Suicide. The ring passed in silence, handed down like fine china, cursed and unspoken.
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Happily Never After
Simone found a letter, tucked in an old Bible, written in frantic, spidery script. The ring binds the heart, first with love, then with blood. I should have let it burn with her. No signature, no explanation. Simone stopped sleeping, her eyes hollowed. Mark begged her to see someone. "'You're not well,' he said gently. "'You don't believe me,' she whispered. "'You think I'm crazy.'
Something Scary
Happily Never After
But he was just scared, while Simone thought she might be cursed. He reached for her. She flinched. The ring gleamed in the dim light, and for a second, his face twisted, not with fear, but with something like hatred. She blinked, and it was gone." On the night before the wedding, she saw the woman in the mirror again. Not a reflection. This time, it was a presence behind her.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
But beware, fairy tale weddings can hide deadly secrets. Behind the veil, not every story ends happy ever after. Some promises come with curses. Some I do's lead to murder. In this collection, love isn't always a blessing. It can be a curse waiting to strike. First, the ring chooses love, followed by legacy of terror. Finally, in our last story, vows, blood, and betrayal.
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Happily Never After
Pale dress, hair matted with dirt. The garnet glowed on the woman's hand like a living ember. "'Do you love him?' the woman whispered, her voice both distant and inside Simone's head. Simone turned to run, but no one was there. Only the mirror that had cracked down the center." Mark disappeared on the morning of the wedding. His phone was on the nightstand. His suit hung untouched.
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Happily Never After
His car keys sat in the bowl by the door. No note. No calls. But Simone knew. The ring had never wanted him. The police found nothing. No signs of a break-in. No struggle. Just muddy footprints leading away from the house. Barefoot. The same size as Simone's. She wore the dress anyway. sat alone in the pews of the old church. It was raining outside, soft and relentless.
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Happily Never After
She clutched the bouquet so tightly the stems snapped, and then she heard it.
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Happily Never After
Not Mark, not quite. A voice that echoed his, but hollow, repeating something he'd once said, or maybe had only meant to say. Do you love me? She rose without thinking, moving toward the altar. The ring pulsed. In the cracked mirror beside the nave, she saw the woman again. Pale dress, hair clinging wet to her cheeks, the garnet on her hand burned like a living coal.
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Happily Never After
Their eyes met, and Simone understood. It was never about him. It was about her. The ring didn't feed on love lost. It fed on love given freely, obsessively. Sacrificially, her fingers tightened around the bouquet. She whispered, I They found her two weeks later, barefoot in the forest behind the church. Her dress was pristine, untouched by dirt or rain. Her hands were bloody.
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Happily Never After
Her eyes were blank. The ring was gone. She wouldn't speak for days until a nurse found her carving names into the wall with her fingernails. Eleanor, Lisbeth, Simone. When asked where the ring went, she only smiled. It needs love to survive, she said, voiced soft with devotion. And I loved him enough. Six months later, a young woman in Ohio found a velvet pouch at an estate sale.
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Happily Never After
She wore the ring to her bridal shower, laughing off the vendor's odd expression. I'd never seen a garnet that color before, the woman said. It's like it's alive. The cycle began again. Would you keep a gift that made you feel powerful, even if it scared you? Can love be real if it's demanded or threatened and not given? And by the way, don't forget to check out our merch store.
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Happily Never After
We've got some scary summer items just in time to hit the beach, the campfire, or wherever you're headed. Go check them out at somethingscary.com. So if you were following along on my social media the last couple of weeks, then you noticed that I was at the Cannes Film Festival. It was a crazy experience.
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Happily Never After
I got to do it with my best friend, Gigi Sao Guerrero, who is a horror filmmaker in her own right. So check out her stuff too. And we got to work with Fangoria and Paramount Scares. And it was just such an honor. But I just wanted to let you know that the...
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Happily Never After
favorite horror movie that i saw while i was there is a film coming out i think this week called dangerous animals it's a killer shark film from australia by the same director that did the loved ones and it is awesome you all have to check it out and let me know in the comments if you do or follow me on letterbox and let me see your ratings for this new killer shark movie all right sweet screams
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Happily Never After
Sometimes the scariest hauntings are the ones disguised as fairy tales. Inspired by Chloe, based on the Bell Tower Bride urban legend. Cassia Delacroix wasn't just beautiful, she was curated. The daughter of tech tycoon Christopher Delacroix, she was born into a world of private jets and diamond-studded obligations. Platinum blonde with glacier blue eyes, her face was a fixture on social media.
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Happily Never After
Always perfectly lit, her smile always just the side of hollow. She lived in a glass mansion, perched high above the city, a fortress of steel and silence. Inside, her father shaped her image like a sculptor carving marble, deliberate, relentless, devoid of mercy. Christopher had no sons, but he didn't need one. He had Cassia, and she was his legacy.
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Happily Never After
For years, he cultivated an alliance with Magnus Whitmore, a widowed venture capitalist nearly four decades older than Cassia. Magnus owned data farms in Iceland, mining just not cryptocurrency, but influence. He was old money cloaked in futurism, with a jaw like granite and a reputation that made regulators flinch. Cassia had never been asked what she wanted. Her body was branded with luxury.
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Happily Never After
Before we get to our stories, the most important thing to do is hit that subscribe button if you are on YouTube, or hit the follow button on Spotify or wherever you listen to your podcast. so you don't miss a single episode. We'd also love you to leave a comment or rating.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
Her decisions handled by publicists. Her engagement to Magnus was announced in Forbes before it was ever mentioned to her. But Cassia had a secret. Lucio was a part-time event staffer, a nobody in the Delacroix machine, 19, with a shy laugh and a habit of wiping his hands on his jeans before touching anything expensive. He worked catering gigs at the estate.
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Happily Never After
She met him once by the infinity pool during a fundraiser. He brought her a drink with shaky hands and didn't look at her like she was a goddess, just human. He didn't follow her on social media. He didn't ask for a picture. He asked if she was tired. She was. Their affair bloomed like a bruise, secret, sore, and growing.
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Happily Never After
Lucio met her in a pool house, behind blackout curtains and beneath security blind spots. He spoke of escape. She spoke of fear. He's buying me, she whispered one night, curled beneath him like a folded letter, like I'm an investment portfolio with legs. I'll get you out, Lucio had promised. You don't owe him anything. Cassia knew better. Girls like her didn't run.
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Happily Never After
They got renamed, repackaged, disappeared in luxury. The wedding was scheduled in the Whitmore Estate's private chapel, a reconditioned church high in the Berkshires. Exclusive guest list, NDA-bound staff, no press. Cassia wore couture white. Her father held her arm like a man escorting a doll down a runway.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
She walked stiffly, her vision narrowing as the stained glass windows blurred with tears she wouldn't let fall. Halfway down the aisle, Christopher leaned in and said softly, "'You'll thank me for this.'" She looked up, following his gaze to the old bell tower.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
The window yawned open like a mouth mid-scream, and from it, something dangled, slack-limbed, swaying, casting a shadow that twitched when the wind didn't. Lucio. His head alone hung from the iron crossbeam. His curls were matted, his mouth agape in a silent scream, his skin gray with death. She didn't scream, only gasped, like something had reached inside her and squeezed.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
Her knees buckled as if gravity had turned cruel. Somewhere, a candle flickered out without wind. She collapsed mid-aisle in a heap of silk and sequins. Her father caught her and smiled tightly for the guests. The ceremony continued. Magnus barely blinked. The guests whispered, but no one left. Later, during the reception, Cassia was gone. There was a crash, glass high above, and then silence.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
Gasps rippled through the guests as all eyes turned toward the bell tower. The stained glass window had exploded outward. Shards rained down like jagged confetti. The old frame groaned. Cassia stood there, silhouetted by the moon, her veil fluttering like it was underwater. Her dress was torn, soaked in something darker than wine.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
Whatever you feel moved to do would be super appreciated, and we love hearing from our fans, and we're so excited to have you listening. Thanks for being here. So, want to hear something scary? Happily Never After. Some heirlooms carry history, others carry hunger, like in this story, based on the cursed ring urban legend written by Sarah.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
Her face was blank, but her eyes glowed faintly, catching the moonlight in a way no living eye should. Then she vanished. No one saw her fall. No one heard her scream. But outside, beneath the bell tower, the ornamental fence had split open, blood pooled at the base. Her body was found moments later, impaled cleanly through the chest on one of the iron spikes. Her spine had snapped on impact.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
Her neck twisted. There were no witnesses, no cameras, no answers. Christopher didn't scream. He roared, guttural, animal, like something old and dying. The alliance collapsed that night. Magnus raged about reputational damage. Christopher roared about betrayal.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
The next morning, housekeepers found bloody footprints in the hall, small, bare, walking away from the chapel stairs, then stopping at a wall. No return prints, as if whoever left them never turned back. Cassia's suite was cold. Her mirror was fogged over despite no heat. When it cleared, a handprint remained on the glass, delicate, feminine, pressed like someone had been watching.
Something Scary
Happily Never After
That night, Christopher stared into the mirror above the fireplace. The light flickered once, then again. Then he saw her. Cassia stood behind him. Her neck was bent wrong. Blood dripped down her chest. She cradled Lucio's severed head like a child might be a favorite toy. Her smile was small, too calm. I just wanted to make you proud. He rasped, frozen in place.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
The villagers went back to their homes and their fields, the summer air still bright and warm, leaving behind only the remnants of the ritual that bound them all. If you were one of those villagers, would you be able to go along with the lottery because it was tradition? If not, how would you dare to change it? And how important is it to you? Musik Musik Musik Musik Musik
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
Everyone warned her not to try it, but that only made it harder for Gina to resist. It had started as a dare from her best friend, Claire, on a late October night. Gina's parents were out of town, and she'd invited Claire over to shake up the usual routine. They'd burned through a couple of horror movies when Claire leaned in with a grin and whispered, Have you ever heard of the closet game?
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
Gina rollte ihre Augen, erwartete eine Campfire-Story. Aber als Claire die Regeln erklärte, fühlte Gina eine Unabhängigkeit über ihr. »Stand in einer Klappe, schalte die Lichter auf und behalte ein Match«, sagte Claire, ihre Stimme löschen, als ob die Wälder hören würden. »Dann sagst du, zeig mir die Lichter oder bleib in der Dunkelheit. Wenn du schreien hörst, musst du sofort das Match schalten.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
Und was auch immer du tust, wenn du es ausmachst, schau nie wieder in diese Klappe rein.« Part of Gina wanted to laugh, but the darker, curious part of her was intrigued. She pictured herself standing there, the air around her thick with silence, and her heart gave a heavy thud. When Claire left that night, Gina tried to forget about it, but in the silent house, the challenge lingered, daring her.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
Wenn ihr an dieser neuen Patreon-Tier beitragt, habt ihr Zugang zu unserem monatlichen Filmclub-Livestream mit mir, wo wir über Horrorfilme, die von euch ausgewählt wurden, diskutieren. After each livestream, you'll also get exclusive behind-the-scenes access with a Q&A to answer your burning questions. And we're going to have our first meeting very soon. But that's not all.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
Just one match, she told herself, one moment alone in the dark. The closet she chose was in her parents' room, the one they rarely used. The door creaked as she opened it, and a stale, earthy smell filled the air, like dust and faint mothballs. It was deeper than her own closet, dark and heavy with shadows that clung to the walls.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
Heart pounding, she took a shaky breath and stepped inside, pulling the door shut behind her. Instantly, the blackness was so complete, she felt like she'd been swallowed whole. She ran her fingers over the cold, thin matchstick in her hand, thumb hovering over the tip. There was a thick silence pressing in, broken only by her breath, which sounded unnaturally loud.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
She whispered, Show me the light. Untertitelung aufgrund der Audioqualität nicht möglich. Jedes Geräusch war aus der Rechnung. Sie fühlte, dass ihr Körper prickelte und ein Sturz von Panik rief, als ihr Geist ihr sagte, den Match zu schießen. Ihr Finger schlug über den Matchstick, versuchte, ihn zu greifen, als ihre Hand begann zu schlagen.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
Am Ende schlug sie das Spiel an und eine kleine, trimmelnde Flamme flirrte auf das Leben, illuminierend die beschädigten Wälder. Das Geräusch stoppte, die Luft drückte immer noch auf sie ein. Sie hielt ihren Atem, enttäuscht im Kreis der dünnen Lichtstärke, furchtbar, sich zu bewegen. Die Flamme flickerte, schlug erotische Schatten gegen die Wälder. Ihr Herz schlug, als das Spiel weniger schlug.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
The heat creeping close to her fingers. She forced herself to let it drop, the flame sputtering out in the darkness. The spell of silence seemed to lift as she shoved the door open and burst out of the closet, stumbling into the hallway. She looked back, half expecting something to leap out at her, but the closet sat still and empty. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the racing in her chest.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
It was over, she told herself. Just a silly game. But that night, she couldn't shake the feeling of something watching her Schatten seem to pull in every corner, lingering as if they'd grown heavy with intent. She found herself glancing over her shoulder, shivering as the air in the house seemed to grow colder. The unease grew over the days that followed.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
Every time she walked past her parents' room, her eyes flicked to the closet door, feeling its presence in her periphery, dark and waiting. Sie hörte leichte Krähen in den Wänden, leichte Geräusche, die sich in den Saal entdeckten. Und immer so oft, der Geräusch einer feinen Atmung, die nicht ihr eigenes war. Eine Nacht, als sie im Bett lag, krekte etwas. Sie fühlte eine Ruhe über ihr.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
Storyteller Experience members will also enjoy a 20% discount on Something Scary merch and a chance to collaborate on our next spine-chilling story. Willst du etwas Schreckliches hören? Blut und Zeremonie. Wenn jemand, den du liebst, stirbt, gibt es keinen, der sie zurückbringt. Oder ist es da? Wie in dieser Geschichte, inspiriert von Miko.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
Der Geräusch war fein, aber unmissbar. Es war die Klosthalle, die sich langsam öffnete. Gina hat sich gesagt, sich nicht zu bewegen, es zu ignorieren, aber die Stille hat sich gedrängt und ihr Wunsch ist heißer als ihr Angst. Sie hat die Hände zurückgezogen, ihr Körper bewegte sich fast wie auf sich selbst und ging langsam in die Halle.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
Seine Elterns Tür war etwas aufwärts, sie hat sie öfter geöffnet und steigte rein. Ihr Blick landete auf den Klausen. Seine Tür war nur ein bisschen offen, ein Schleim der Dunkelheit, wie ein Geheimnis. For a long moment she hesitated, hand hovering in midair. The silence was thick with anticipation. She told herself to turn back, to leave it alone.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
But her fingers brushed the closet door, pushing it open just a little bit. She peered inside, her breath shallow. At first, there was nothing. Just the same stale smell and rows of shadows clinging to the walls. Then, out of the darkness, she saw a figure, crouched low in the corner, pale and twisted, with long fingers curling against the walls.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
Its eyes were wide and hollow, its mouth stretched into a smile that was overwhelming. Die Sendung wurde vom hr live untertitelt. But the silence pressed in again. It wasn't gone. She could feel it still, the soft rustle of movement, the feeling of something hungry, waiting. She bolted down the hall, her own breath catching as she slammed her bedroom door, pressing her back against it.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
But the shadows moved, sliding under the door, pulling around her feet like dark, oily water. She cleansed her eyes shut, but the whispers filled her mind, taunting, coaxing. Als sie ihre Augen öffnete, war sie noch in ihrem Zimmer und die Schatten waren weg. Aber sie wusste, es war nur eine Sache der Zeit.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
Das Haus fühlte sich kleiner, schwerer, als ob es sich auf den Atem hängt, wartet auf sie, um zurück in den Klosthaus zu kommen. Sie hat für Tage gehalten, aber die Bedürfnis, es zu sehen, zu wissen, ob es wirklich war, wurde stärker. Letztendlich, eine Nacht später, konnte sie nicht länger resistieren. Sie hat ein Match genommen, ihr letzter und kreppte zurück in die Halle.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
Die Klosse war offen, nur ein Schluck. Gina's hand shook as she opened the door fully. The darkness yawned before her, deep and endless. She whispered a final prayer and struck the match. The light barely reached the figure this time. A twisted shape crouched in the darkness. Its wide eyes caught the light, reflecting a cold, hungry gleam as it reached toward her with a slow, deliberate grin.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
The flame sputtered and went out. The door closed, sealing her scream in the black. What would you do if you heard a voice in the dark calling your name? When you hear whispers in the dark, can you trust your instincts? Or does curiosity lead you to danger?
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
This week's podcast stories were edited by Sarah Lukasiewicz, narration by Blair Bathory, audio edited and mixed by Fitz Harris, additional audio editing by Calvin Linderman, produced by Anna Villalobos, executive produced by Gail Gilman, music by Sapphire Sindalo and Calvin Linderman.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
If you have a story you'd like to submit, send me an email at somethingscaryatsnarled.com Don't forget to watch the video version of Something Scary over at youtube.com slash snarled. And if you'd like to support the show and everything we do at Snarled, join our Patreon at patreon.com slash snarled. As always, thank you for joining me, witches. I hope you enjoyed this week's stories.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
Liza grüppte ihr Telefon, starrte blank an der Textmessage von ihrer Tochter. Stella ist weg. Auto-Ansatz. Instantan. Die Worte schwirrten vor ihren Augen. Ihr Puls schlug. Nur drei Monate, seit sie sich zuletzt gesehen haben. Nur drei Monate, seit Stella gesagt hat, dass sie sich verabschiedet hat. Ihr Lachen schlug, als sie weggegangen sind.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
Now that laughter echoed in Liza's ears like a mocking ghost. She booked the next flight home, trembling with the weight of the loss. The long plane ride was a blur of agonizing silence, with Liza trying to conceal her tears from those around her. Her whole body ached with grief, yet a strange chill ran down her spine, as if she were being watched.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
When she glanced up, she saw an elderly woman, weary and hunched, with a stare that seemed to bore into her soul. The woman's eyes gleamed, both piercing and unsettling, as if reading her pain. She shuffled over to sit beside Liza. The woman's wrinkled hands reached out, patting her own with an almost unnatural warmth. The old woman murmured.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
Liza didn't respond, but the woman's gaze held her and she continued to talk to Liza with a sly smile twisting her thin lips. She told Liza she had a way to bring her back. Liza fühlte sich, als ob sie sich nähert, beides furchtbar und hypnotisiert. Die alte Frau's Augen sparklten mit etwas Schmerzem, etwas, das sie tiefstens nicht beheben konnte. Doch Liza konnte nicht wegsehen.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
Die Frau begann zu schreien über ein Ritual, ein ähnlicher Spell mit Röhrchen, Tiefen und Schatten und Lore. Ihre Stimme war eine Chante, mesmerisierend, die Liza tiefer in die Vermutung, dass Stella zurückkehrt. Before the plane landed, the woman pressed a piece of paper into her hand. It was scribbled with strange symbols and instructions.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
Remember, child, the woman rasped, her voice now dripping with a strange satisfaction. Something's come back. Liza bemerkte kaum die Warnung. Der Gedanke, Stella wieder zu sehen, war wie eine Sirensong, die die Aufmerksamkeit auslöst. Sie klatschte das Papier, nicht vollständig zu erinnern, wie ihr Puls rast, oder dass ihre Finger wie mit Elektrizität verbrannt wurden.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
Zurück zu Hause war ihre Onkels und Onkels Haus in Schmerzen. Die Atmosphäre war dünn, ein Hals des morgens hängte in jeder Runde. Aber trotz des Herzbrechens rief ein ehrlicher Verlust durch Liza's Zähne. Sie hatte ein Geheimnis, ein verbotenes Wissen, das Stella zurückbringen könnte.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
That night, after everyone had fallen into a restless slumber, Liza crept into Stella's bedroom, now chillingly empty. She lit a single candle, watching its wavering glow. Sie schlug lange, ungewöhnliche Schatten über die Wälder. Sie fand ein altes Foto von Stella aus ihrer letzten Reise zusammen. Ein kandidierter Schuss von ihrem Cousin lacht, in einem fliehenden Moment von Freude.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
Mit einer trimmelnden Hand schlug sie ein schwarzes Zirkel auf dem Boden, wie die Frau es instruierte, vorsichtig zu markieren, mit Symbolen, die auf dem Papier schrallten. Die Symbolen sahen harmlos aus, nur seltsame Formen und Kurven. Aber als sie fertig war, hat etwas in der Luft verändert. Es war, als ob das Zimmer selbst sein Atem hielt.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
Lisa saß im Kreis, klatschte das Foto und begann zu schreien. Die Worte fühlten sich schwer, unvermutlich, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. But she pressed on, her voice rising, blending with the silence until the air itself seemed to pulse around her. The candle flickered, then went out. A sudden chill swept through the room, as if a door to somewhere cold and dark had opened just for her.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
Liza shivered, a growing dread tightening around her heart. But she didn't move. The room grew darker. Almost suffocatingly so, the shadows thickening like an advancing fog. Und dann sah sie sie, Stella, standen nur am Ende des Kreuzes, ihr Formen, die sich aus den Schatten bemerkbar ist. Liza? Liza? Stella's voice was a whisper, laced with something ancient.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
Her lips parted in a smile, but it wasn't the warm, loving smile Liza knew. The smile was too wide, too sharp, stretching her features into something twisted, almost grotesque. A pulse of terror shot through Liza.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
She scrambled back, pressing against the chalk boundary, her heart hammering as Stella, or whatever wore Stellas face, moved closer, her movements strange, almost animalistic, like a hunter closing in on its prey. Ist das nicht, was du wolltest, Liza? Stella's voice was both soft and chilling, her words dripping with an otherworldly menace. You wanted me back. Forever.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
The last word lingered in the air, heavy, mocking like a curse. Liza's breathing quickened, panic overtaking her. She had to get out. She turned, ready to dash for the door, but her body wouldn't move. Sie fühlte einen kräftigen Kälte über ihr. Wie kräftige Finger, die sich um ihre Lippen bewegen, sie in den Ort bewegen. Seine Vision blürte und sie schlug nach unten.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
Verrückt, dass dunkle, rote Stäne über ihr Shirt fließen. Verwirrung war über ihr. Mängelnd mit Angst, als die Wärme über ihr Backen trinkte. Thick und wett. Seine Finger trimmelten, als sie die verbreitete Stäne betrug. Sie fühlte die Schleimhaut des Bluts. Aber wie? Liza! Zellas Stimme war jetzt ein Rasp, voll mit etwas Schrecklichem. Er wollte die Eternität mit mir. Und jetzt? Wir haben sie.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
Hi Witches, I'm Blair Bathory and this is the Something Scary Podcast. Thank you so much for being here, whether this is your first time or you're one of the brave souls who join us every week. Manchmal sind Traditionen, die schmerzhaft aussehen, dunkle und sterbliche Geheimnisse. Vergnügte, lustige Spiele und Rituale können einen furchtbaren Schritt machen.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
Die Raumspannung, als Liza sich verletzt fühlte, schlug weg. Seine Vision schlug, bis sie alles sah, was Stella's Gesicht war. Nein, das Ding, das ihre Cousin's Gesicht trägt. Sie grinnete nach ihr mit einem Blick von Triumph. Satisfaktion in ihren kühlen, dunklen Augen. In the final moments before darkness claimed her, Liza screamed silently with regret. She wanted Stella back, but not like this.
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Blood and Ceremony
Not this twisted, dark mockery of her cousin, a thing that had crawled back from the depths only to drag her down with it. Als Lysas Familie sie am nächsten Morgen endlich gefunden hat, lag sie kalt und lebendig in der Runde. Ihr Gesicht war in Schmerzen. Die Zaubersymbolen sahen sich mit einer ungewöhnlichen Dunkelheit anzupolstern.
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Blood and Ceremony
Die damals familiarisierende Raum jetzt mit einer unerwarteten Entschlossenheit. Niemand konnte die seltsamen Markierungen auf dem Boden erklären, oder das schreckliche Gelächter in Lysas blühenem Gesicht. In the weeks that followed, her family noticed something eerie.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
In the corners of mirrors and brief flickers of shadow, they could sometimes see two figures, a young woman with wide, hollow eyes and beside her, another form, shadowy and twisted. And sometimes, just sometimes, a whisper would echo through the empty halls, a voice that sounded like Stella's but laced with a sinister glee.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
What would you do if you were given the chance to bring back someone you lost, even if it came with serious risks? Have you ever been successful? Tell us your stories by sending us an email at somethingscaryatsnarl.com and you might make it on the podcast. Untertitelung des ZDF für funk, 2017 The morning of June 27th was clear and sunny, with a fresh warmth of a full summer day.
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Blood and Ceremony
The flowers were blossoming profusely and the grass was richly green. The people of the village began to gather in the square around 10 o'clock, located between the post office and the bank. In some towns, there were so many people that the lottery took two days and had to be started on June 26th. But in this village, with only about 300 people, the whole lottery took less than two hours.
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Blood and Ceremony
So it could begin at 10 o'clock in the morning und in der Zeit, um die Flüchtlinge zum Mittagessen nach Hause zu bringen. Die Kinder haben zuerst gesammelt, natürlich. Sie hielten sich für eine Weile zusammen, bevor sie sich in beunruhigendes Spiel verbreiteten. Und ihre Reden waren immer noch von der Klasse und der Lehrerin, von Büchern und Reppermanns.
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Blood and Ceremony
Und diejenigen, die sie folgen, erleben Konsequenzen, die sie nie erwartet hätten. Was beginnt, als ein einfaches Verständnis schnell in einen Schmerz zurückgeht, zeigt die echten Schmerzen, die nur unter der Normalität der heutigen Leben liegen. Zuerst wird nicht alles Liebe pure zurückkehren. Danach der schreckliche Preis der Konformität.
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Blood and Ceremony
Bobby Martin hatte bereits seine Schuhe voller Steine gefüllt, und die anderen Jungs folgten bald seinem Beispiel. Soon the men began to gather, surveying their own children, speaking of planting and rain, tractors and taxes. They stood together away from the pile of stones in the corner, and their jokes were quiet, and they smiled rather than laughed.
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Blood and Ceremony
The women, wearing faded house dresses and sweaters, came shortly after their menfolk. They greeted one another and exchanged bits of gossip as they went to join their husbands. Soon the whole village was assembled in the square, and Mr. Summers, who had time and energy to devote to civic duties, arrived, carrying the black wooden box.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
He had a round jovial face and ran the coal business, and people were sorry for him, because he had no children and his wife was a scold, a constant complainer. The lottery was conducted, as were the square dances, the teen club, and the Halloween program by Mr. Summers, who had no time for everything. The black box was not the original box, but was no less revered.
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Blood and Ceremony
Mr. Summers spoke frequently to the villagers about making a new box, but no one liked to upset tradition. So the battered old box was put away each year until the lottery came around again. The villagers kept their distance from the box and when Mr. Summers asked if any of them wanted to give him a hand, there was hesitation.
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Blood and Ceremony
Finally, Mr. Martin and his oldest son, Baxter, came forward to hold the box steady on the stool while Mr. Summers stirred the papers inside. The lottery was, in the beginning, conducted with a chant that had been lost over the years and the ritual salute, also long forgotten. Mr. Summers had replaced the original wooden chips with slips of paper to accommodate the population growth.
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Blood and Ceremony
He cleared his throat and called to the villagers, reminding them, Let's get this over with so we can go back to work. The people had their own ways of drawing, heads of families first, then heads of households in each family. Mr. Summers began by calling names alphabetically, and as he called each name, the head of the family went forward and took a slip of paper from the box.
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Blood and Ceremony
Some joking passed through the crowd, but there was a hint of nervousness underneath. When it was Bill Hutchinson's turn, he stepped forward, took a slip, and stood silently with the paper in hand. The Hutchinsons' late arrival had attracted attention. Und Tessie Hutchinson, Bill's Wife, hat playfully protested. Mr. Summers' Response was curt. They had to follow the rules of the lottery.
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Blood and Ceremony
Finally, all the papers were drawn and Mr. Summers instructed the people. The villagers obeyed and a sigh of relief went through the crowd and everyone found a blank slip, except for Bill Hutchinson. Bill held his paper tightly, displaying the slip with a black dot for everyone to see. A sudden silence filled the square. Tessie, realizing what had happened, screamed.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
Letztendlich unsere letzte Geschichte, Was wartet im Geheimnis? Bevor wir zu unseren Geschichten kommen, habt ihr unsere neue Something Scary Patreon-Storyteller-Erfahrung gecheckt? Jetzt könnt ihr noch tiefer in das Errschende und Mysteriöse reisen, mit exklusiven Perksen nur für unsere Storyteller-Fans.
Something Scary
Blood and Ceremony
You didn't give him enough time to take any paper he wanted. It wasn't fair. Her protests went unanswered as Mr. Summers and Mr. Graves moved quickly to draw five slips for the final round among the Hutchinsons. The Hutchinson children were called forward. Little Davey, then Nancy and Bill Jr., each holding a slip.
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Blood and Ceremony
As they opened their papers, they found them blank until only Tussie was left holding the marked paper. It isn't right! It isn't fair! Tessie schrieked. But the crowd ignored her, murmuring to each other, as they began to reach for the stones collected earlier by the children. Musik Musik Musik Musik Musik When it was over, the square was quiet again.