💰[$1,000] Tell us your spooky story 📚

[supermode]

Mikey and the Pumpkin Light

On Halloween night, eleven-year-old Mikey dared to visit the old house on Maple Street. Everyone said the “Crow Lady” lived there, but he didn’t believe it.

He knocked. No answer — only the pumpkins around him flickering one by one until only the one on the porch still glowed, pulsing like a heartbeat.

Then the door creaked open. An old woman smiled and handed him a silver pumpkin-shaped amulet.

“You were brave enough to come,” she said. “Keep this — courage shines brighter than fear.”

Every Halloween after that, the pumpkins on Maple Street lit up when Mikey passed by. 🎃

 

ID: supermode

[Rohaze]

“The Costume Mix-Up”

Tom wanted to be a scary vampire. His roommate borrowed his cape for a TikTok and forgot to mention it.

So Tom showed up to the Halloween party wearing a backup outfit — a giant banana suit.

When someone yelled, “Run, it’s Dracula!” he tried to hiss dramatically… but slipped on the tail of his banana costume and took out the snack table.

By midnight, everyone was calling him Count Chiquula.

[pandaboy1989]

100% a true story that happened to me.

👻The Haunted Shack👻

Let me tell you what happened to me and my cousins at my grandfather’s farm in the countryside.
The whole family had gathered; the air was fresh and clean, and laughter echoed all around the fields.
We spent the day playing with the animals, chasing each other, playing hide and seek — wild little kids no adult could stop.

But when night fell… everything changed.
We lit a big fire and sat around it, warming ourselves, telling scary stories.
Then my oldest cousin suddenly said in a daring tone:

 “Who’s brave enough to come with me to the shack... to look for the ghost?”

We froze.
Oh God… the shack?
My grandfather’s old shack — built more than ten years ago, standing alone at the far end of the farm.
No one had entered it for ages. The bricks were crumbling, the roof looked ready to collapse, and doves had made it their home.

The idea was terrifying, but those words — “who’s brave?” — worked like a spell.
If you said no, you’d be called a coward for years.

I was terrified, but I pretended to be excited.

“I’m in! I’m not afraid of anything. If the ghost shows up, I’ll punch it in the face!”

I was talking, but inside I just wanted to run back to my mother and sit quietly beside her like a scared little child.
But no — I had to act like a man. I couldn’t let them see my fear.

Everyone agreed to go, even though I could tell they were just as scared as I was.
We walked down the narrow path lit only by the full moon.
One of my cousins raised his arms and started singing,

 “Hey ghost, hey ghost, we’re coming for you!”

The others joined him, laughing and dancing toward the shack.
I hesitated for a second… then followed.

We were just a few meters away when we saw it 
a dark shadow, tall, featureless, standing at the shack’s window.
It lifted its arms… copying our movements exactly.

We froze.
No one spoke.
Then, all at once, we screamed and ran.

Halfway back, my oldest cousin yelled,

 “Stop! It’s just our shadow, you idiots!”

We stopped, breathing hard 
but then came a scream.
And strangest of all, each of us heard someone calling our name.

That’s when we realized 
shadows don’t fall on empty windows.

We ran faster than ever, straight to the house, not daring to look back.
That night was the scariest of our lives.
And the next morning, the adults told us the shack was haunted — no one ever goes near it.

The lesson?
Never play with the other world…
because it’s real.
 

Stake:codedrew2025

👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻

[BGjack1]

Here's a very spooky story!!!!! 

 

Monthly is canceled 😱

 

 

Username BGjack 

Edited October 27, 2025 by BGjack1

[Monsalud]

One night I went to the bathroom, sat on the toilet, and it was hot. I live alone.

 

Monsalud.

[angelina2022]

🎃 The Lantern in the Fog 👻

Every Halloween night, the fog rolled into Hollow Creek, thick and whispering. Kids said it carried voices soft, calling your name if you listened too long.

Mara never believed it, until last October 31st. She followed the sound through the mist, her pumpkin lantern glowing faint orange. The deeper she went, the quieter everything became, until she saw it another lantern, flickering in the distance.

It swayed gently, held by someone just out of sight. “Hello?” she called. No answer. Only the soft crunch of footsteps circling her.

When the fog lifted the next morning, they found her lantern on the bridge still warm, still glowing. And if you walk by Hollow Creek today, some say you can see two lights in the mist, dancing side by side.

Stake ID = angelina2022

[refuser321]

Unholy Sacrifice (A Halloween Tale)

y'all last nite was actually wild. went to midnight witch coffee for my psl and the vibe was instantly messed up. srsly.

the barista looked so dead like he needed an exorcism not a shift. i asked for my venti psl w oat milk n extra whip and he just stared. then he was like in this creepy af whisper "we're out of the P S L"

i was spiraling obvi like how? its october. then i looked thru the little service window.

omg.

they werent out of syrup. in the back there was this GIANT pumpkin pulsing like it had a heartbeat. some cloaked figure was DRAININ it into a huge pot. it was like dark orange goo not puree. the other barista was chanting 'basic' but in latin im not even lying.

he looked at me and was like "the essence must be harvested. for the ritual. it must feed."

i just slammed it in reverse and flew out. tires squealing like a dying witch fr.

psl is a curse confirmed. never drinking spiced squash again. lowkey need therapy after this. plz send comforting memes. this is my villain origin story.

 

my Stake. com id: refuser321

[Fabienf]

The Night of the Broken Mirror

The October wind howled through the bare trees, stirring up blood-colored leaves around the old Delmare manor. No one had dared approach it since the family who lived there disappeared one Halloween night, fifty years earlier.

That night, however, three teenagers—Léa, Tom, and Hugo—decided to go inside. "Just to see if there really is a ghost," Hugo said, laughing nervously.

As soon as they crossed the threshold, the cold fell upon them like an icy hand. The candles lit on the mantelpiece didn't seem to have aged a day. On the living room wall hung a huge, cracked mirror, blackened by time.

"It looks like it's moving," Léa murmured. Indeed, behind their reflection, a shadow stood motionless.

Tom approached, his lamp trembling in his hand. The shadow mimicked his gesture. Then, suddenly, his reflection didn't lift the lamp—he let his head fall, slowly, as if it had just detached itself.

A crash. The mirror vibrated. A crack widened, and an icy blast filled the room.

"Get out of there!" Hugo shouted, but Léa remained frozen. Her reflection, however, smiled.

The light went out. All that could be heard was the ticking of an old clock. When it came back on, there was only an intact mirror... reflecting three teenagers standing there, smiling.

In the morning, the manor seemed peaceful. On the wall, the mirror had cracked again. But those who approached it swore they saw, in the tarnished windowpane, three silhouettes knocking, soundless, on the other side of the glass.

And ever since that Halloween night, when the wind blows through the woods, we think we can hear their muffled laughter - as if they were inviting the living to come and play, too, in the mirror. 👻

fabienf 

[mrmoneyjaco]

The fog in Stakeworld never lifted; it only thickened, curling around the iron stakes that jutted from every lawn like rusted teeth. Each stake was a grave marker for a child who had vanished on Halloween night, and every year the town added one more. The newest stood in front of the old mill, driven deep the morning after little Marisol disappeared. No one spoke of the pattern.

They simply hung paper bats from the stakes and called it decoration.Eddie lived beneath the mill’s waterwheel, in a crawlspace that smelled of wet stone and pennies. He had no reflection, no heartbeat, only the memory of a scream that had never quite ended. Once, long ago, he had been a boy who loved candy corn and ghost stories. Now he was the story.On the thirty-first, the children came. They always did, drawn by the dare scrawled on the mill door in charcoal: RING THE BELL AND RUN.

The bell was a rusted cowbell nailed to a beam. When struck, it gave a single, sour note that echoed down the river and back again, as if the water itself were answering.This year the first to arrive was Juno, thirteen and fearless, pockets full of stolen fireworks. She rang the bell three times—once for luck, once for spite, once because her friends were watching. The note hung in the air like a held breath. Then the fog parted and Eddie stepped out.He wore a burlap mask stitched with button eyes, one black, one milky.

His coat was a patchwork of Halloween costumes past: a pirate’s sash, a witch’s velvet, a vampire’s plastic fangs melted into the collar. In his left hand he carried a pillowcase printed with smiling pumpkins. It bulged, but not with candy.“Trick or treat,” he said. His voice was the sound of dry leaves scraped across pavement.Juno’s friends scattered. She stayed, because running felt like losing. Eddie tilted his head. “You rang three times. That means three choices.”He opened the pillowcase. Inside lay three objects: a candy corn kernel the size of a tooth, a plastic jack-o’-lantern ring that glowed faint green, and a single iron nail still wet with river water.“Pick one,” Eddie whispered. “But know what it costs.”Juno hesitated.

The candy corn smelled like her grandmother’s kitchen the night before everything went wrong. The ring pulsed like a second heartbeat. The nail was cold enough to burn.Behind her, the stakes creaked in the wind. One of them—Marisol’s—leaned forward as if listening.Juno reached for the nail.Eddie’s button eyes widened. “Brave,” he said, almost proud. He pressed the nail into her palm. It slid through skin and bone without resistance, pinning her hand to the mill door. Blood dripped onto the threshold, sizzling where it touched the charcoal dare.The fog rushed in, thick as wool. When it cleared, Juno was gone. The newest stake stood in front of the mill, driven deep. A single candy corn kernel lay at its base, already sprouting tiny white roots.

Eddie returned to his crawlspace. He hung the pillowcase on a hook beside the others—dozens of them, each printed with a different year’s mascot. He sat in the dark and waited for next Halloween, when the bell would ring again.In Stakeworld, the treats were memories.

The tricks were stakes. And Eddie, patient as rust, collected both.

 

Stake ID: Mrmoneyjaco

 

 

 

 

 

[mykola123]

stake - mykola123

[DahyunGachuuu]

When I was just a little kid I think 7-8 years old, I was playing at my room at the morning that time was 12nn, my mother was doing household chores laundry to be exact at the back of our house. Mind you my room was too far and I heard my mom screamed my name called me to come, as a kid I rushed towards her to ask what about it but then she said to me that she didn't called my name. It was clear to me clear as the sky that 12nn in the morning I heard my name and that's her voice. Ever since that day happened until today it's still a mystery in my mind, who's voice I heard that day when I was just a little kid.

 

Stake: DahyunGachuuu

[Crkipas]

 

The Candy That Talked

Lila’s trick-or-treat bag felt light when she reached Mrs. Hale’s porch—everyone said the old lady only gave raisins. But the door creaked open, and Mrs. Hale pressed a shiny red candy into her palm. “Only eat this when the moon’s full,” she whispered.

Later, Lila sat on her windowsill, the moon glowing like a pumpkin. She unwrapped the candy. It hummed. “The black cat by the park needs a warm spot,” it said.

Lila grabbed her mom’s old scarf and ran. The cat—skinny, eyes like amber—huddled by a bush. She wrapped it up, and when she looked back, the candy was gone. But the cat purred, and from Mrs. Hale’s porch, a faint light winked.

That night, Lila found a tiny pumpkin on her pillow. Inside? A note: “Good keepers get second treats.”

 

Stake ID: Crkipas

[Bilqis27]

Bilqis27

When I was on my way home, the air was a little tense, unlike usual. I looked around from inside the car, it was starting to rain. My heart felt uneasy, as if someone was following me. During the trip, I saw a woman in the rearview mirror looking at me with an innocent smile even though I was alone in the car. I was shocked. I got out of the car and I didn't dare go back to the car until noon.

[MarikIshtar]

“The Last Candle”

On the outskirts of town stood an old farmhouse that no one had entered for years.
Every Halloween night, a single candle would burn in the window — and go out just before dawn.
No one knew who lit it.

This year, three friends — Eda, Serkan, and Bora — decided to test the legend for themselves.
They brought only a flashlight and their phones. When they reached the house, the door creaked open on its own. The air inside reeked of damp wood and decay.

On the table sat a candle and a rusty lighter.
Serkan laughed. “Guess we’ll be the ones to light it this year.”
The moment he lit the candle, footsteps echoed throughout the house.

The flashlight flickered. Bora whispered,
— “Did you hear that...?”

Suddenly, something moved in the dusty old mirror on the wall.
The candle flame stretched higher, twisting — and a face appeared within it.
Its eyes glowed. Its mouth opened — not to scream, but to blow the candle out.

Darkness swallowed everything.

The next morning, townsfolk checked the house.
They found only one thing:
A new candle on the table…
And three names carved beneath it:
Eda, Serkan, Bora.  

 

stake name : MarikIshtar

[sylomex]

It was Halloween night, and I decided to take a shortcut through the old cemetery on my way home from a party. The fog clung to the tombstones like ghostly fingers, and the distant laughter of trick-or-treaters faded into an unnatural silence. I felt a chill, not from the wind, but from the sensation of eyes watching me from the shadows.

As I hurried past a weathered grave, I heard it—a soft whisper, like dry leaves rustling my name: "Come closer." I froze, heart pounding, telling myself it was just the wind. But then, from the corner of my eye, I saw her: a figure in a tattered white dress, her face pale as bone, drifting toward me with hollow eyes that locked onto mine.

I ran, branches whipping my face, but the whispers multiplied, echoing from every grave: "Stay with us." Tripping over a root, I fell hard, and when I looked up, she was there—kneeling inches away, her cold hand brushing my cheek. Her breath smelled of earth and decay as she murmured, "You've been missed."

I scrambled away, bursting onto the street, but as I glanced back, the cemetery gate swung shut on its own. That night, I bolted every lock, but in the mirror, I swear I saw her reflection smiling behind mine. And sometimes, when the fog rolls in, I still hear her calling me home.

[NikhilFlash]

“The Last Bet”

 

NikhilFlash was deep into online gambling mostly Stake, where nights bled into mornings and “one last spin” always meant ten more.

One night, he got a pop-up he’d never seen before:

“You’ve unlocked the High Roller’s Table. Bet your soul,  win eternal luck.”

He chuckled. “Nice marketing,” he muttered, clicking Accept.

The screen went black. No noise. Then the faint whispers started soft, rhythmic, almost a chant. A chat box materialized.

Dealer: "Confirm your stake."

NikhilFlash: "All in."

The response came immediately.

Dealer: "Accepted."

The monitor flashed white, and then displayed his reflection but not exactly his.

Same face, same place, but the reflection smiled before he did. Its lips moved soundlessly, shaping the words:

"You already bet it."

A chill crawled up his spine. He slammed the laptop shut and yanked the plug.

When he opened it again the next morning, his account showed him still online, placing bets non-stop thousands of them all winning.

But every time he tried to log out, the message popped up again:

 “You can’t leave the table once you’ve gone   all in.”

He hasn’ttouched his laptop in weeks.

But his friends continue receiving referral invites — from his own account.

 

 

Stake id- NikhilFlash 

[Heresy]

🐉 THE NIGHT OF THE ASHEN WINGS 👻
 

Halloween was not a festival known in Westeros — but once every hundred years, on the final night of the tenth moon, a darkness spread across the sky that even the bravest knights refused to face.

They called it:

The Night of the Ashen Wings.

Legend said the veil between the living and the dead thinned…
and ancient dragons long turned to dust rose again — fueled by fire and vengeance.

Deep within the ruins of Harrenhal, a lone dragon egg had begun to glow.
Not with warmth…
but with freezing, ghostly light.

Princess Aerela Targaryen, fierce rider of the ruby-scaled dragon Pyraxis, felt the tug in her blood — the ancient dragon call. The air tasted like smoke and secrets.

When midnight struck, the ground split open.
The ruined castle trembled.

And from the earth crawled a creature of legend:

A dragon with bones like black iron and a heart filled with cold fire —
Vyrak the Deathwing, the king of the forgotten dead.

His roar shattered the moonlit silence.
Candles across the land blew out at once.
A cold wind swept through villages, stealing the warmth from every hearth.

His wings unfurled — massive, ragged, dripping shadow like ink.
Each beat turned pumpkins to ash and cider to ice.

Vyrak hissed:

> “A new age begins.
Dragons of the living shall burn… and join my army.”

Aerela mounted Pyraxis and took to the sky.

Fire met frost as their flames clashed — one burning bright ruby red, the other a ghastly ghost-blue that devoured everything it touched. Sparks rained like falling stars.

Villagers watched from afar, trembling in fear and awe.

Locked in the night sky, the two dragons spiraled toward the shattered moonlight. Their roars echoed like thunderclaps. Pyraxis bit down on Vyrak’s skeletal neck — but the dead do not bleed.

The ghost dragon’s tail struck Pyraxis hard — sending them crashing atop the castle.

Aerela, bruised yet unbroken, stood before the enormous skull face of Vyrak.

She spoke not as a warrior…
but as a Targaryen — a daughter of dragons.

“We honor the past,” she said, “but we do not belong to it.”

Her voice was ancient fire itself.

She plunged her sword — forged in dragonflame — into the cursed egg that fueled Vyrak’s power. A scream like a thousand thunderstorms erupted.

Vyrak froze.
Cracked.
Shattered into ashen dust that blew into the night, lost forever.

Pyraxis rose, wounded yet victorious, flames glimmering like stars across his scales.

The villagers cheered.

But Aerela stared at the ashes drifting away…

Because in those ashes…
she heard a whisper:

> “The dead do not sleep.
They wait.”

And far beyond sight — in the shadowy corners of Valyria’s ruins —
multiple eggs began to glow with that same ghostly light.

This Night of the Ashen Wings was only the beginning…

 

Written by  Heresy 
 

[pratikjain12]

 

Every Halloween, the wind in Willow Creek carried whispers from the cornfields. Most said it was just the wind, but Mira knew better.  

Her brother Evan had vanished there last year. All they’d found was his flashlight, still glowing.  

This Halloween, Mira went back with a lantern. The field was silent until a faint voice said, “Too late.”  

Her lantern flickered, and Evan stood there—pale, hollow-eyed, holding his old light. “The field keeps who enters after midnight,” he warned.  

At sunrise, the townsfolk found two lanterns glowing at the edge of the burned fie

Stake I'd - NotLikeYou01 

 

[jameslarziz]

 

 

The Ghost in the Blockchain 👻

Stake id : Jameslarziz 

Every Halloween, Stake’s servers flicker at midnight just for a second. Most call it a glitch. But old-school players whisper about a user who never logged out.

 

His name was 0xPhantom, a high-roller who went all-in on a full moon. The bet: a single spin worth everything in his wallet. The prize: “eternal luck.” The outcome? Unknown.

 

Since then, strange things happen. A random spin hitting 9999x odds, a jackpot appearing on an empty username, or a whisper in the live chat:

 

“Double or nothing?”

 

Some say if you win big on Halloween night, he’s the one spinning for you taking a little piece of your luck in return.

 

So when the reels start glowing at 00:00 UTC tonight…

Ask yourself:

Is it just RNG, or is 0xPhantom still playing through you? 💀

 

Happy Halloween, Stake fam.

Good luck you might need it. 🕯️

 

Edited October 27, 2025 by jameslarziz
Had changed one word

[Klausi1968]

The Last Bet

It was a night like any other on stake.com. The virtual tables buzzed with activity, but one user, known only as "ShadowPlayer," had been unusually quiet. Rumors swirled about a mysterious account that appeared only at midnight, making impossible wins and then vanishing without a trace.

One evening, ShadowPlayer logged in again, but this time, something felt different. As the clock struck twelve, a new game appeared—a roulette wheel flickering with ghostly light. Intrigued, ShadowPlayer spun the wheel. The ball landed on a number—their lucky number. But as they celebrated, the screen flickered, and an eerie whisper echoed in their headphones: "Your time is up."

Suddenly, the chat window popped open with a message from an unknown user: "You shouldn’t have played that last bet." Shadows seemed to stretch across their room, and the air grew icy cold. The screen went dark, then flashed back on—revealing an empty, black void.

From that day on, ShadowPlayer’s account was never active again. But sometimes, late at night, players swear they see a shadowy figure lurking in the corner of their screens, waiting for the next victim to spin the cursed wheel.

Beware, stake community—some bets aren’t just games.

Stake: Klaui1968

[Pkisherebaby19]

The House of Borrowed Light

The streetlights had that cold, tired quality they only get after nine o’clock on Halloween. Eleven-year-old Leo and his little sister, Lily, were determined to get one last house before going home. Their final stop was 404 Willow Lane, a pale grey house that was perfectly neat and seemed to absorb all sound.

Lily hesitated on the porch. A strange, swirling light, like a thousand candles burning underwater, flickered from the front window. When she rang the bell, it gave a soft, ominous chime.

The door opened to a man so old he looked like carved wood. His wide eyes held the same watery light. He didn’t offer candy, only a question.

“I collect something far more valuable than chocolate,” he rasped, looking at Lily’s overstuffed pumpkin. “The leftover light—the last, frantic shimmer of the night’s excitement that clings to your bucket. I will trade you a sweet you will never forget for that glimmer of joy.”

Leo felt immediate dread. “We’re good, thanks,” he muttered, trying to pull Lily away, but the man was faster.

He passed his hand, palm down, an inch above the rim of the pumpkin. Lily gasped. Her vibrant, joyful orange bucket instantly turned dull. The plastic seemed to droop, and the happy energy that made the candy rattle went silent.

The man’s eyes flickered, becoming momentarily brighter. He reached into his pocket and placed a small, heavy piece of grey stone into Lily’s palm. It was carved faintly into the shape of a candy corn and was profoundly cold.

“Until next year,” the man murmured, and the door clicked shut.

Lily dropped the stone. “I just… feel tired.”

As they hurried away, Leo looked back. The window light at 404 Willow Lane was now a blinding, impossibly vivid white, radiating a stolen joy. Leo picked up the cold, silent stone, a heavy piece of solidified night, and tucked it into his pocket, waiting for the next October 31st.

 

Less goo

username - Pkisherebaby19 

[jackrick99]

🎃 “Jackrick99 – The Ghost of Stake” 👻

It was Halloween night. Stake.com was alive with players chasing jackpots, their screens glowing through the darkness. But among them was one name that made even the servers tremble — jackrick99.

No one knew who he was.
A new account, created just hours before midnight — no avatar, no verification — only a single red-glowing dice emoji 🎲 as his mark.

From the moment he logged in, strange things began to happen.
Roulette wheels spun endlessly, Blackjack dealt nothing but Aces, and every slot machine he touched erupted in jackpots — over and over again.

His balance kept growing:
$10 → $10,000 → $1,000,000 → then… $1,000,000,000.

Engineers at Stake panicked. They tried to shut him down — but his account couldn’t be locked.
The harder they tried, the darker the system became, as if someone — or something — was controlling it from beyond.

And then… the impossible happened.
Stake’s total balance dropped to $0.00.
Every light in the headquarters went out.

On a single glowing monitor, one message appeared in blood-red text:

“I’m only taking back what Stake owed me… from another life.” — jackrick99

Moments later, the system rebooted.
His account was gone. Every trace erased.

But since that night, each Halloween at midnight…
a nameless player logs in, spins once — and Stake lags for exactly 13 seconds.

No one knows if it’s just a glitch…
or if Jackrick99 has returned. 💀

 

id:jackrick99

[Fuhrman]

The Ashmore Whispers

The last time anyone saw Thomas, he was hiking alone in the dense woods behind the old Ashmore estate. Everyone said the place was cursed, that the forest swallowed people whole—but Thomas didn’t believe in stories.

 

Night fell faster than he expected, and the path vanished under a thick, choking fog. That’s when he heard it: faint scratching, like fingernails dragging across tree bark. He turned—but saw nothing.

 

He ran. Every step echoed unnaturally, as if the forest itself was following him. Then he felt it: a cold, wet hand brush against his shoulder. He spun—but again, no one was there.

 

By dawn, the search party found his backpack near the old well, but Thomas was gone. The strange part? Deep in the fog, someone—or something—had carved words into the tree beside the well:

 

"You can’t leave what’s already inside you."

 

No footprints led to the well, and no one ever saw Thomas again. But hikers now swear that if you wander too far into the Ashmore woods, you’ll hear scratching behind you… and whispers calling your name.

Stake: Fuhrman

[roldenro]

So this happened with one of my uncles, who shared this story with us and threw us into intense fear. Back in the '90s, he went out of town for a business meeting, needing to spend four nights at a certain town motel provided by his company. He described the motel as being located in a hilly and tranquil place, with no sounds of birds or any other animals. It was a disturbingly quiet place, where he could only see a few motel workers.

When he got into his room, one of the workers told him that all electricity would go off after 10:00 PM, so all services would stop, and nobody was allowed to leave their room after that time. This struck my uncle as odd because he traveled a lot for business but had never encountered such a rule. He shook off the thought, wanting to just spend his four nights there.

After finishing his work, a cab drove him back to the motel. Throughout that drive, my uncle decided to ask the cab driver about the motel, but the driver said it wasn't a season when people usually came to that place. That answer didn’t satisfy my uncle, but he thanked the cab driver went inside the motel, had dinner, and went to bed around 9:15 or 9:20 PM. The place was quite cool, and eventually, he fell asleep.

After 30 or 45 minutes, the electricity went off. He woke up and checked the time on his phone: it was 10:00 PM. He rolled over in bed and stared at the ceiling. Realizing that the building was quite old and dusky, another thing caught his attention: FOOTSTEPS! He sensed someone walking in the corridor.

He decided to check, but then he remembered that the workers were also not allowed to go out after 10:00 PM. Confused and frightened, he decided to peek through the door’s peephole. At first, he saw nothing, but after some time in the dim moonlight, he saw a LITTLE GIRL. She was wearing a white frock, her hair covering her face, so he couldn’t see her features. Terrified, he went back to bed, wrapped himself in a blanket, and started praying. Eventually, he fell asleep and woke up the next morning.

Once he felt fresh enough, he went to the lobby for breakfast. While eating, he decided to share his experience with one of the workers. He called out to one of them and narrated everything that had happened the previous night. The worker looked at him and said, “We all know this is not new to us. Just don't interrupt her; this place belongs to her.” That worker left him with many questions.

Then the cab beeped, disturbing his thoughts. He finished his breakfast and rushed toward the cab. While working, he couldn't stop thinking about that little girl: “What exactly happened to her? How did she end up here? How does she belong to this place?”

After finishing his work, the cab dropped him off at the motel. He had dinner, then went to his room, casually lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling. Again, PUFFFFFF… the electricity went off. He eagerly waited for the sound of footsteps and, after some moments, heard them. He rushed to the door and peeked through the peephole. Once more, he saw the same little girl walking in the corridor, but this time he was not scared; he was curious about her.

The next day, he was waiting to see the girl again. After coming back to the motel, he had dinner and went to bed, waiting for 10:00 PM. As soon as the electricity went off, he ran to the door and started peeking through the peephole. He saw nothing! As he continued looking, he heard a knock on the ceiling. He looked up at the ceiling, and suddenly he heard a running sound in the corridor. He rushed to the door and, to his amazement, saw a dark red patch—nothing else. Confused, he looked again, and it was still the same bloody red patch.

He thought it might be a bug or something stuck to the peephole from outside, and feeling disappointed, he went to sleep. The next day, he decided to tell the workers to clean the door before going to work. After coming back to the motel, he first checked with that worker to see if he had cleaned the door and thanked him. When the electricity went off, he waited for the footsteps and, as soon as he heard them again, he saw that same dark bloody red patch! Confused and irritated, he went back to bed, annoyed that it was his last night at that creepy motel and he hadn’t been able to see the girl again.

The next day, he woke up, packed his stuff, and went for breakfast. While having breakfast, he called over one of the workers, tipped him a good amount of money, and asked about the little girl. The worker initially looked furious, but as he began to speak, the atmosphere grew tense and horrifically intense for my uncle. He stared at the worker, who also looked a little afraid. Hearing the cab honk, he rushed toward it, settling into the cab. As he left, he finally looked back at the motel and apologized.

The worker told him that a family had lived there for several years as workers too, and they had a little girl named Judy. She helped her parents in their work and was a kind person who never complained. Everyone loved being around Judy. One day, while playing in the kitchen, her mom was cooking pasta. She put the water to boil and went outside to do some other work. While sweeping the floor, she heard Judy scream from the kitchen. Rushing toward the kitchen, she found Judy lying on the floor, unconscious.

Her face was burned, and her eyes were bleeding. She had accidentally dropped boiling water and some utensils on her face, causing severe injuries. Tragically, she passed away that day but never left that place, calling the motel her home. Since then, every night after 10:00 PM, she visited the motel and didn’t like it if someone interrupted her.

As the worker finished the backstory of that girl, my uncle realized why he had seen a bloody dark red patch those two nights… He understood that by watching her without her permission, she was watching him without his permission.

STAKE : roldenro

[Ravi4909]

Son don't want to stay with mother???

 

 

When Mia returned to her late mother’s house, the air felt wrong. The place smelled of mildew and memories, a heavy mixture that made her ten-year-old son Daniel cling closer. With her mother gone for two months, the will required Mia to stay one night in the house before selling it. Easy, she thought—until night fell.The old grandfather clock struck nine, and Daniel asked about the whispers. Mia froze. The house was silent except for the wind scraping the windows. She brushed it off as his imagination, but the boy’s wide eyes said otherwise.As Mia tucked him into the faded bed that once was hers, she saw the closet door, slightly ajar. She shut it, but when she turned back, Daniel was sitting upright. He whispered, “Grandma says you shouldn’t close it.”Mia’s breath caught. “Daniel,” she said carefully, “Grandma’s gone.”He shook his head. “She said she never left.”An icy draft slithered from the closet, bringing with it the faint aroma of lilies—the same flowers from her mother’s funeral. Mia tried to rationalize it until she heard a soft humming, a lullaby she hadn’t heard since childhood. She turned, but Daniel wasn’t humming. He was staring at the door.The lullaby grew louder, warped, a twisted echo from behind the wood. With trembling hands, Mia opened the closet. Inside was nothing but darkness. Then, from within, a frail, translucent hand reached out.Mia stumbled backward, pulling Daniel into her arms. The shape that emerged wasn’t a ghostly stranger—it was her mother, or what was left of her. Her eyes were hollow, her mouth bent in a wide, broken smile.“You left me here,” the apparition hissed. “You let them bury me cold.”Mia sobbed, “I didn’t know, I couldn’t—”Her mother’s figure twitched closer, the sound of cracking bones echoing in the confined room. Daniel clung to her, whispering, “She wants you to stay, Mommy.”The lights flickered out. The room fell into absolute dark. And then, the singing came again, but this time it was Daniel who hummed it, perfectly in tune.When morning came, the realtor found the house empty. Two cups of tea sat on the table, steam curling faintly from one. Mia’s car was still in the driveway, but inside the house, only a child’s laughter echoed from somewhere deep within the walls.They never found them, though neighbors still swear they see shadows moving behind the upstairs window—one tall, one small—sometimes whispering, sometimes watching. And when the wind is just right, a woman’s lullaby floats down Black Hollow Road, carrying the words of a mother who never learned to let go.