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Culture July 18, 2017
Wait. What was that?!
Photo via Instagram / @monteirorrorThat ominous sound coming from the dark part of your house may just be your refrigerator settling. However, your mind tells you it’s everything from a ghost to the monster that escaped from under your bed. Just to be safe, we’re going to stay under the covers, with both feet safely tucked in.
But… while we’re already scared, we might as well crack open a few scary stories, right?
Seems counterintuitive, but we know some of you readers are all about getting your adrenaline rushing. So, ENTITY’s compiled a list of the 15 scary stories to hit the web. Some are true tales pulled from Reddit, while others are so freaky we hope they are fiction.
He was found hanging in his room, unblinking eyes staring at nothing. A note tucked into his pocket was found only after the police cut him down. They said it was a suicide. But I know better.
I smirk to myself as I pack the excess rope into my bag.
My father tells me this story of my childhood every once in a while:
When I was around six years old, my dad’s best friend committed suicide. We’ll call him “Joe” for the sake of the story. Obviously, it was a very rough and emotional time for my dad. Joe was my dad’s best man at his wedding, the one guy who was always there for him.
After my dad got married, he and my mother left Joe and the town they were in, to start a life outside of the town they grew up in. After years of moving around California, my family eventually moved to Utah, where my father worked for a successful internet business.
Joe stayed behind in Washington. Because my family were so far away from their old life with Joe. There wasn’t a lot of foresight/warning that Joe intended on ending his own life.
Joe’s sister apparently had been blaming Joe’s wife for her brothers suicide. Joe and his wife drank a lot of booze, and probably, as a result, fought a lot. My father always said that they were a passionate couple. Yes, they would fight often, but he hardly knew two other individuals who were so completely in love. For this reason, he didn’t believe it.
A few days after Joe committed suicide, his widow called up my father sobbing about how she thought it was her fault. After about an hour of trying to console her, he told her, “If there was a way for me to talk to Joe now, I guarantee he would tell you he loved you and that it wasn’t your fault that he ended his life.” Crying, she still didn’t believe him, but she thanked him for the kind words and let my father go.
My dad was obviously distraught after that long, hysteric conversation. He had been down in his office for a while, and he decided to come up and check on his kids while making a pot of coffee to take his mind off of things. We were all supposed to be napping, but he thought he’d peek his head into our rooms to make sure we were safe, maybe try to have a little smile or brightness added to his day.
Sure enough, when my dad got to my room, I was fast asleep on my bed. He went to my brother’s room, and he was also sleeping. Finally, he checks on my sister, who is sleeping smugly as an angel. He decides to go back towards my room and into the kitchen to make some coffee.
As he walks by my room, he notices a whimper. He turns around and enters my room, where he finds me weeping. I was five years old, so the way I was crying seemed odd to him. Normally, a five year old would cry drastically over dramatically.
I wasn’t. I was just sitting on the side of my bed, weeping.
My dad enters my room and says, “Matty, whats up? Why are you crying?”
It’s then that I stop crying for a moment, look up at him with teary eyes and say, “Rick, it’s not her fault. I love her. It’s not her fault.”
With that, I stopped crying, rolled over back onto my bed, and fell swiftly back to sleep.
Needless to say, my dad shit his pants.
It was my turn to hide. I was playing hide and seek with my 6-year-old young cousin. I found the perfect place to make it easier for her to find me, the closet. As I slipped into the closet, I giggled to myself predicting her reaction when she found me.
It all came crashing down as a chilling voice made its way through my ears. “Hey kid. Scram. This is my spot.”
When my son was little, maybe three, he used to do this weird crawl where he would slide his forehead along the floor. That was pretty creepy in itself. Then one night he crawled across the hallway into my room like that and stood up a few inches from my face and made a weird meow sound. He got into bed with me and went to sleep.
Another time, he was freaking out about a monster in the basement so we went down and saw nothing, of course. As I turned out the light and headed upstairs, he said, “He’s right behind us now.” I might have peed a little.
Possibly the creepiest thing he did was one day I scolded him for misbehaving so he hid his head under his blanket. I pretended I couldn’t find him by saying, “Where is my little Carson?” He slowly lowered the blanket and with a dead evil stare said, “Carson is gone, I am Rick.”
I’m certain he’s possessed. We never knew any Ricks, as far I can remember. Still don’t. Never figured out where he picked up the name.
It’s getting late.
(Click click)
That noise has been bothering me all night, but I can’t find what’s making it. I’m going to investigate. Before I can, my door creeks open… mom’s home.
I immediately shut my eyes and pretend to be asleep. I wait patiently for the door to creek shut.
Something’s off.
It’s been longer then usual. My stomach starts to turn. I start to panic. 1-2-3, my breathing turns shallow. 4-5-6, someone’s watching. 7-8-9, it goes silent. 10. I open my eyes. Nothing.
(Click click)
I’m just in my own head. I try to fall asleep, but I can’t shake that feeling of uneasiness.
(Click click click)
The noise draws my attention to my closet. My heart is pounding, but I find the courage to look.
My fear turns to laughter. It’s just a piece of paper lying next to my open backpack. The fan is blowing it all over, causing the noise I’ve been hearing.
I wipe off my sweat covered forehead. Feeling relived, I get up to throw the piece of paper away.
I pick it up to examine it.
It’s just a blank piece of printer paper from my bag, but my eye catches in tiny print the words “knock knock” hiding in the corner. Subconsciously the words “who’s there” slip from my mouth.
My closet door creep open.
(CLICK CLICK)
I freeze. I hear whispers coming from the closet. I try to scream, but nothing gets out.
(CLICK CLICK)
My door creaks shut. I close my eyes. 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9.
My five-year-old son was in the bathtub one evening and we were talking about his birthday, which isn’t for several months. He said to me, “Your birthday is today and tomorrow and the day after… Just kidding. You won’t have another birthday. You’ll never reach 38.”
I turn 38 this year.
My mom tells a story about herself and her friend. Let’s call her friend Lisa.
When my mom and Lisa were teenagers, they were up on the roof of Lisa’s house and they saw a bright light in the sky. Next thing they know, the light was gone. Thing is, they think they’ve been on the roof for like 15 minutes, but something like 3 hours passed.
My mom didn’t remember anything about what happened during that time, and Lisa simply refused to talk about it. She would answer my mom with things like, “I dunno” and “Just drop it.” for a long time.
So a couple months later, my mom moved away and lost contact with Lisa for about 10 years. She finally met up with her again and immediately noticed that something was odd about Lisa.
Lisa appeared very “distant” to her, with a very “dreamy” demeanor, like she was really happy and at peace, for no good reason.
After they talk for a bit, Lisa brings up the incident on the roof. My mom told Lisa she still didn’t really remember anything about it.
But Lisa remembers. She remembers everything.
She said that at first, it was all in bits and pieces and she couldn’t remember any of it clearly. She was confused and scared and wanted to avoid discussing it. Then, as time passed, she began to remember more of it.
She remembers it all clearly, and she remembers the other three times she was abducted after that clearly as well.
At first, they paralyzed her somehow and did all sorts of invasive experiments on her, but by the most recent time, they stopped probing her and began to talk with her.
They didn’t speak English or any other human language, but she could understand everything they said, even though she can’t speak their language herself. Apparently they told her all sorts of things – stuff about space, Earth itself, and most shockingly, predicted years beforehand that she would get pregnant in a specific year and it would also be a stillborn and that she would never be able to have children again.
They also told her it was not their fault, and they even made an attempt to save her from this fate, but they were unsuccessful.
They also told her they had abducted my mother another time, after that first incident.
Mom says she has no recollection of any other potential abductions, but she does have recurring nightmares of being abducted, but she’s “almost sure” that they’re just that – nightmares.
Anyway, Lisa told my mom every time she speaks with them, she comes to understand “the truth” more and more. When mom inquired what “the truth” is, Lisa just said, “You will know eventually.”
Lisa said once she learned of “the truth,” then “everything became wonderful”.
Mom has seen her a few more times over the years (we still live in a different state than her), and she apparently has a pretty normal life. She doesn’t like, obsess over alien stuff (like some supposed alien abductees do), she only ever brings it up in passing, not like it’s a central part of her daily life.
This is a very simple story, and it is a very short story, but, it is a very true story.
One evening in the fall about six years ago, my mother, sister and I were stopping and checking my mailbox as we did every night before heading inside. We pulled back around and started to head into my garage on the right side, that’s where my mom parked her car.
All was normal until my sister, who was riding in the back seat on the passenger side, calmly said, “Mom, who’s that boy in the corner.” There, standing in the corner of the garage, mostly covered by shadows except for the faint red glow of our tail light illuminating his face, stood a boy.
He was a complete stranger and was staring wide eyed and blank faced at us.
I’ll never forget the look on his face – it was bone chilling.
As we opened the car doors he took off, sprinting into the night. We had never seen him in our neighborhood before, and to this day, we have never seen him again.
They were the talk of the town.
No one knew where they came from, but no one thought them to be ominous. After all, the stuffed dolls that mysteriously appeared one morning were kind of adorable and served as a good decoration for the otherwise barren play area outside of the city school.
The only concern from the parents was that they would be ruined next time it rained.
The dolls were tied to the fence around what used to be a basketball court. Their smiling faces were a welcome sight for the children who were quickly growing bored with running around on cracked concrete with faded paint.
There wasn’t much to do in the play area before, what, with the lack of playground equipment and rules against games that required a ball. Some kids will play tag every minute of every day. The ones who got bored with it could now direct their attention to the dolls.
Little girls reached through the chain links and ran their fingers through yarn-hair, or played house with their friends and pretended a doll was the baby.
Little boys sat in circles and made up stories about where the dolls came from or picked up small rocks and tried to hit the dolls through the fence from various distances.
Everyone seemed happy with the addition, despite no one knowing how or why it came about.
A week later, the dolls were in the spotlight once more. Where they had been fastened to the outside of the fence before, they were now situated inside the play area.
Parents assumed the school made the change for the fascinated children, the children were just happy that they no longer had to squeeze their hands through tiny holes to play with the dolls.
As time went on, the dolls became dirty and worn. Most children lost interest in them, opting to return to their games of tag. No longer the center of attention, the dolls began to change.
Cloth skin became like leather, button eyes fell off and were replaced by shining black orbs, sewn-on smiles ripped open to reveal needle-like teeth, and yarn hair came to life and writhed about.
When the dolls left their spots along the chain-link fence, they were the talk of the town once more.
This actually happened to me a few years back at the University of the Arts in Philadelphia.
My sophomore year, I roomed with a girl named Kara. She was a jazz vocalist, but her main interest was opera. We had a small room on the sixth floor of a dormitory called Juniper Hall. The walls were thin, and her late night singing and voice practices would keep me up late.
After a month or so of lost sleep, I convinced her to move her late night practices to the music studios in the Merriam theater building a block away.
Around eight o’clock one evening, Kara announced that she would be practicing late for an upcoming recital and probably wouldn’t be home until around midnight. Great, I thought, that means I can go to bed early (I was beat… I had a horrible day in acting studio, and was ready to pass out as soon as I had dinner).
She said goodnight and left, coffee and sheet music in hand.
I made some grilled cheese and soup, gobbled it down, and immediately began to prepare for bed. By the time I got out of the shower, my eyelids were so heavy I could hardly brush my teeth. I pulled on my PJ’s and crawled into the top bunk of our bunk bed. I was out as soon as my head hit the pillow.
I should take a second to describe the layout of our apartment. When entering the apartment, the bedroom was through a door immediately to the left. Our bathroom was inside the bedroom, just past the bunk beds (UArts is nice in the sense that you don’t have to share bathrooms).
Anyway, I woke up to the sound of the apartment door closing. I opened my eyes, and groggily checked my phone: midnight on the dot. I rolled back over and closed my eyes. I heard Kara enter the room and stop in front of the bunk bed. Checking to see if I’m actually asleep, I thought.
She flopped down on the bed below me, which was strange, as she was a stickler for brushing her teeth and washing up before bed. Then again, exams were just around the corner, and we were all exhausted.
The mattress below me creaked, and then was silent. I couldn’t even hear her breathing.
I started to drift off again. I was just on the edge of deep sleep when I was startled awake again by a noise.
A key in the lock. The door opening.
And Kara entering our apartment, humming an opera tune.
The mattress below me creaked.
Ramone is thrilled tonight.
He’s driving to an extraordinary date, to see an amazing girl. Her name is Liane, and she’s a beautiful and well-fit secretary for a mean boss.
Every time he gets yelled at by the bitter old man with a mustache, Ramone just pays his attention to her, sitting at her desk holding a pen to her ruby red lips. Her hair glowed just like gold and her angel-like skin was free from imperfections.
Ramone is a lucky guy, going out with someone as flawless as Liane. But it’s happened. Now he’s driving Liane to a place where he took the other seven women out to date.
Ramone gets out of his car and walks to the trunk, which he opens with his car keys. He pulls open the door, and there is Liane, tied up and unconscious thanks to a drug he slipped in her drink earlier.
Ramone smiles as he looks down at Liane in her beauty.
“Welp, we are here my lovely lady,” Ramone says in a sickening tone, like every other psychopath the world hardened. “Here. Let me take you out.”
Ramone picks up Liane and carries her to the abandoned psychiatric hospital where the other seven women stay.
The perfect place for a perfect date. A perfect place where no one gets to leave. Ever.
“So, Chris, how’s the family doing?” Uncle Carl asked blandly, over the low buzz of the electric toothbrush.
“Ood,” I mumbled back.
“That’s good, but hold still, please,” he said, tilting his head to the left. “Been up to the cabin lately?”
I close my eyes as he cleans my teeth, hoping it will mask my annoyance. We’ve gone to Uncle Carl for dental care my whole life because he’s family. Blah, blah, blah. Never mind that he should have retired twenty years ago, he insists on holding one-sided conversations during cleanings and then tells you to be still whenever you try to answer him.
“Uhh uhh,” I say.
“That’s too bad,” he responds. “I remember your mom and I having the best times up there as kids….”
“Mmmm,” I said, in the short break I had to swallow.
“…the lake was never too crowded, the neighbors were far enough away that we had a lot of privacy, we even had a tire swing. You’d have loved it, Chris. There was even a good little grove on the property, and it was so peaceful and quiet. I loved going there. I would read books under the trees or have picnics, and it was a great place to bury all the bodies…”
I choke on the toothpaste and saliva trickling around the inside of my mouth. Coughing, I automatically went to cover my mouth and sit up. Uncle Carl patiently waited until I was done spitting into the little sink near my right shoulder, his stream of thought uninterrupted.
“…there were just so many animals to pick from. I shot so many birds with my BB gun. Hummingbirds were my favorite because they’re so damn fast.”
Uncle Carl picked up the toothbrush. The whirring sound seemed so much more sinister now.
“And then once I was old enough, your grandfather taught me how to hunt and use a gun and a crossbow, of course. That really changed everything for me, it was like a whole new world. I could kill deer, bobcat, foxes, neighbors, anything I wanted. And there was space in the grove for all of them.”
Shocked into stillness, I stare in horror at my uncle.
“Sure, the Dombrowskis never really got over Jennifer disappearing, but they eventually moved and took their whiny bullshit with them.”
Uncle Carl sets the toothbrush down and smiles at me, his ancient face disappearing into a thousand wrinkles.
“You’re good to go, Chris! Teeth are in good shape. Say hi to your mom for me.”
It wasn’t my idea to play with the Ouija board. In fact, I tried to stop them by hiding it under the bed. Imagine my surprise, when they opened the closet and it came shooting out, as if it had life to it and wanted to be found. What was I to say then? They were already amped up to play by that point.
Kayla started with a simple question. “Is there anybody there?”
The pointed quickly moved to the “yes”.
They both giggled – not me though, my face was as hard and rough as weathered stone – and then Jamal asked it, “What’s your name?”
The pointer spelled out “Maggie.”
I began to sweat, realizing the spirit had to be Margaret Turner. She had gone missing last semester. No one knew exactly what happened to her, though rumors ran like a flooded stream: She had been abducted, murdered, or had ran away. But still, only rumors.
“Maggie?” Kayla asked. Her and Maggie had been closer than sisters. “Maggie, is this really you?”
“Yes.”
Kayla started crying, her hand frantically wiping the tears away. Jamal asked, “What happened to you?”
It spelled, “Murdered.”
“Who m—” he started to say. But before he could finish I had already ripped the board away and folded it back into its box.
“Why’d you do that?!” He asked. Kayla was still crying, not really paying any attention to either of us.
“I-I… I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.” I said. My hands were shaking I was so scared. “Please. No more. Please.”
“But it was Maggie! I could feel it,” he said.
“I know, I could feel it too. Maybe we can do it another day? Tomorrow or something? Just not today…”
Jamal gave a queer look, then helped Kayla to her feet. He mumbled something as he left my room, but I didn’t catch what. I waited, the box tucked to my chest, until I heard the front door close, before I put the board back in the closet.
That thing had been giving me trouble for the last month, making noises while I tried to sleep, popping up in my backpack at school.
I had tried everything: I threw it away, burned it, cut it up, but it always came back, either in my closet, in my bag, or underneath my pillow. And it had finally done what it wanted to do. It had gotten someone’s attention.
And because of that, one of them would tell someone else, and eventually someone will come snooping. They’ll notice the smell in the bathroom. They’ll pull up the floorboards and find it…
Tomorrow they’ll be back to play with the board again.
Tomorrow, she’ll have company. And she’ll never have to be alone again…
My aunt and uncle left me alone with their pet dog Annie, a Westie with white fur, for a few days. Even though she was barely bigger than a paperback novel, she was a proud guard dog, constantly patrolling the house, barking at anything suspicious. I loved her like she was my own, so the house-sitting job seemed like a fun diversion. They departed in a hurry, but left me a reminder on the fridge: “Feed her twice a day.”
Seemed simple enough. I knew her favorite treats and when to fill her bowl. The first day was a breeze: we watched Netflix until dark and turned in early. It felt weird being alone in an old cabin in the isolated mountains of Vermont, but I ignored my uneasiness. I drifted off to sleep.
Then, the howling started.
The sound was bloodcurdling, agonizing, echoing throughout the house. I got out of bed and investigated. After a few minutes, the screeches stopped, and I found Annie sitting alone in the dark kitchen. She was waiting anxiously by her empty bowl. I thought about feeding her again, but I couldn’t ignore my instructions. The howling didn’t stop until sunrise. I didn’t sleep that night.
In the morning, I decided to break the rules. I fed Annie three meals and a pile of Cheerios, then tried relaxing for the rest of the day. I went to bed calmer. I needed to be brave. I was an adult. I could handle this.
Then, the howling started.
I woke up in a panic. I wanted to hide under my covers until the shrieks went away, but I knew I had to find her. The howling stopped when I found Annie scratching at the old trapdoor in the guest room. My aunt and uncle had left it unlocked. Was there food down there?
I lifted the trapdoor. Suddenly, Annie sprang forward, barking violently down the steps until she disappeared. Then, a loud, painful yelp.
My heart was pounding. I descended into the pitch black cellar, with only a small phone light to guide me. I could hear something. Wet, sloppy sounds. The sound of ripping flesh, of crunching bones. When I reached the bottom, I shined the light towards the noises. There, on the floor, was a crimson puddle laced with tufts of white fur. Tears streamed down my face. I felt sick.
The crunching stopped. I aimed the light higher. In the corner, wearing tattered rags, was the bony frame of a small girl, staring right at me. By her feet were broken chains, some rope, and the remnants of countless other meals. She got on all fours and prowled towards me. I froze. I thought about running, screaming, fighting back. But right before the demon child lunged forward, teeth bared, I remembered the note my aunt and uncle left. I needed to be brave.
The girl howled hungrily. I closed my eyes.
“Feed her twice a day,” I whispered.
Yup, we’re definitely not sleeping anymore tonight. Whose idea was it to read scary stories again?
