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. 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 in our last story, The walls have eyes Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices
Chapter 1: What eerie experiences are shared in the episode?
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.
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.
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.
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...
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.
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.
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Chapter 2: What happens when curiosity leads to danger?
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.
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.
Chapter 3: How does the protagonist feel about her roommate?
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.
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.
Chapter 4: What dark secrets does Clara hide?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
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Chapter 5: How do the shadows come alive in the story?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
Have you ever got any stories that have happened in your college dorms?
We can do everything that comes. The craft.
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.
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Chapter 6: What terrifying encounter changes everything for Lisa?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 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.
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?
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.
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Chapter 7: Can we escape the things that haunt us?
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.
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.
Chapter 8: What lesson does Lisa learn from her chilling experience?
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.
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.
One night, I woke to a whisper.
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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