💰[$1,000] Tell us your spooky story 📚

[Pranshu Mishra]

On the edge of a forgotten village stood Mirewood Hollow, a place where the wind never stopped whispering — and the pumpkins grew larger than anywhere else. Every Halloween, their carved faces appeared without anyone carving them.

The villagers avoided the hollow, especially after sunset. But one year, a curious boy named Eli decided to uncover the truth. Armed with only a lantern, he ventured into the misty fields. The air was thick with the scent of rotting leaves, and faint murmurs drifted between the vines — soft, rhythmic whispers that almost sounded like words.

As Eli knelt beside the largest pumpkin, his lantern flickered. Its glow revealed a face already etched into the rind, one that looked eerily like his own. The carved mouth moved — and it whispered his name.

“Eli… we’ve been waiting.”

He stumbled back, dropping his lantern, but the light didn’t go out. Instead, every pumpkin in the hollow began to glow, their faces turning toward him one by one. The ground trembled as twisted roots burst free, crawling toward his feet.

He tried to run — but the vines snared his legs. The last thing he saw before the darkness swallowed him was his reflection inside a burning pumpkin — screaming silently as flames danced in his carved eyes.

The next morning, villagers found a new jack-o’-lantern at the edge of Mirewood Hollow. It had fresh, warm flesh and a perfect carving of Eli’s terrified face.

And when the wind blew through the field that night, it whispered —

“We’re still hungry.”
 

id - pranshum90

Edited October 28, 2025 by Pranshu Mishra

[alphbet777]

My name is Alphert, and in 2000, I volunteered to sort our town's old archives. I found a box labeled "The Halloween Incident of 1915." Inside was a journal belonging to old Mr. Walter, the recluse everyone said had lured and killed children. The town executed him after finding "bloody" candy and children's clothes in his cellar.

But his journal told a different story. He was a child psychologist, documenting a local child abduction ring. He suspected the ringleader was someone everyone trusted. The "bloody" candies were his homemade props, filled with red syrup, meant to startle predators and attract help.

The final entry chilled me: he was close to exposing the leader. The official report declaring him guilty was signed by the Sheriff.

I looked out the window. The annual Halloween parade was starting. There, handing out candy to children, was the Sheriff's grandson—our current, beloved Mayor. He sat in the same spot, with the same smile, offering sweets from a large wicker basket. My blood ran cold. The tradition never ended.

 

stake-我要赢燊哥

[akocbayabas]

Im so much happy when mikey pick me in on discord in the end it was just a dream.

Stake: akocbayabas

[rhoylen]

It was past three in the morning when I woke up to three slow knocks on my bedroom door.
Not loud — just soft, deliberate.

I thought it was my mom, but when I checked the time, I realized she’d be asleep downstairs.
“Who’s there?” I whispered.

Silence.

Then another three knocks, closer this time — like the sound was coming from inside the room.

I turned on the light. The door was still closed. No one there.
I checked under the bed, behind the curtains — nothing.

As I was about to lie back down, my phone buzzed.
One new message from Mom:

“Don’t open the door. I just saw something go into your room.”

 

STAKE ID : Rhoylen

 

Edited October 28, 2025 by rhoylen

[sizzlinghotx]

Dice hit 9900 on 100$ bet. And then i woke up. The end.

[bokier27]

I've lost a lot of money. I don't have much hope.

 

 

Stake : BKR27

[acroo]

You wanna hear spooky story? That would be my life

[Topman]

🕯 Halloween Story Entry — “Room 209”

 

The abandoned hotel on the outskirts of town has been sealed for years. Locals whisper that no one should go near it. Not after what happened in Room 209.

 

Two amateur urban explorers broke in one October night to film a spooky challenge for social media. They joked at first, laughing nervously as they climbed to the second floor. The air grew colder with every step, and the hallway lights flickered despite having no electricity connected.

 

Room numbers passed by like countdown timers.

213… 211… 209.

 

The door to 209 stood slightly open, as though waiting.

 

Inside, the room was untouched by time. The bed was perfectly made. A suitcase lay open with clothes neatly folded inside. The bathroom light glowed with a faint, sickly yellow.

 

A hotel phone rang.

 

Both explorers froze. The phone shouldn’t work.

Yet it rang again.

And again.

 

One of them answered with a shaky voice.

 

Breathing.

Slow, ragged, wet breathing filled the line.

 

Then a whisper crawled through the receiver:

“Check out.”

 

The bathroom door slammed shut. The mirror inside shattered, though no one touched it. Blood-red footprints appeared across the carpet, leading directly toward them.

 

The explorers ran, but the hallway stretched endlessly. Doors multiplied. Numbers repeated. Walls pulsed like lungs. Something crawled behind them, scraping the floor with nails too long to be human.

 

Security cameras later recorded only one of them escaping.

Silent. Pale. Mind broken.

 

The other remains inside.

The hotel refuses to release its guests… once they answer the call.

 

Tonight, Room 209’s door stands open again.

Waiting for someone new to check in.

 

Stake ID: violettasever 🖤

[poor1337]

On Halloween night, Ravi and I dared each other to walk through the old cemetery on the hill. The fog was thick, the graves half-swallowed by roots, and the air heavy with decay. I stopped when I saw a name scratched off a tombstone and freshly carved beneath it were the words “I followed them home.” I turned to call Ravi, but his flashlight had gone out. When I found him, something pale and wrong was standing behind him, its hand buried in his shoulder. I ran until I reached the road, gasping, heart pounding. But when I got home and locked the door, I heard slow, wet footsteps in the hall and a whisper from the dark, “I told you not to look back.”

 

Stake id: poor1337

Edited October 28, 2025 by poor1337

[Hrd20]

Halloween decorations that are too good 🎃

 A woman-shaped decoration hanging from a fence has left passersby in awe because of its stunning detail, which closely resembles a real corpse. It turns out the decoration is actually the real corpse of a woman named Rebecca Cade (31)! ☠️☠️

[VOTEKICK]

The Ghost of the House Edge

On Halloween night my apartment was lit only by a teal glow—the laptop on my desk and a pumpkin I’d carved with a loopy “Stake” grin. Outside: wind, leaves, the polite howling of distant werewolves. Inside: me, hot chocolate, and the “Spooky Mode” banner across Stake.com.

Chat was already dancing with bats and dice emojis when a new username slid in: HouseEdge.
“Good evening,” it typed. “Mind if I haunt a few rolls?”

I clicked into Dice. The board flickered. Every time I hovered the bet button, the cursor dragged a faint shadow, as if someone else’s hand was on mine.

“Classic Halloween prank,” I said—to my pumpkin, mostly.

The first roll skimmed under my target by a whisper. The second over-shot by the same. The third landed perfectly… on 13. Someone in chat said, “nice spooky hit,” and HouseEdge replied: “I nibble only a fraction. You won’t notice. That’s how I like it.”

“Cute,” I typed back. “We do ‘provably fair’ here.”

“Prove it,” came the reply. The shadow thickened.

I opened the little gear icon: Provably Fair. New client seed. Server seed hash sitting there like a locked diary. I typed pumpk1nSpice (don’t judge me), hit Save & New Seed, and tried again.

The shadow twitched.

Another roll—clean. Another—clean. A third. The cursor’s phantom loosened like fog in sunlight.

“Transparency hurts your ectoplasm?” I asked.

“Ghasts hate sunlight,” someone in chat answered. “And hashes.”

HouseEdge hissed with typing dots. “Riddles, then. Solve mine and I’ll rain treats:
What am I, if seen I fade; if checked I weaken; if ignored I grow?”

“Variance on a bad night?” I offered.

“Close.”

“The kind of luck you only notice when you don’t track it,” someone else wrote.

I said, “A superstition.”

The dots froze. Then the chat window shivered—a tiny animation of confetti and a blue-green drizzle across the room list. Rain! Names lit up. Even my pumpkin glowed brighter, steam curling from the stem like a victory cigar.

“You win,” said HouseEdge. “I’m not a villain. I’m a story you tell yourself when you forget the math.”

“Stick around,” I typed. “We tell good stories here. And we check the seeds.”

The ghost thinned to a courteous outline, more mascot than menace. We played a Halloween set of small bets: ghost rolls, vampire coin flips, a round of Limbo that felt like a tightrope over a cauldron. Each time, I toggled the little fairness pane like a lantern, and the shadow never quite re-formed.

Near midnight the wind finally knocked on my window. I closed the laptop, and the pumpkin’s teal grin took over the room. For a second—just one—I heard a whisper from the carved mouth:

“Remember: the scariest games are the ones you can’t verify.”

I blew out the candle, and the grin became smoke.

On the keyboard, a single chip sat where there hadn’t been one before. It read RTP on one side. I flipped it. Return To Pumpkin. I laughed in the dark.

“See you next Halloween,” I said—to the chip, the pumpkin, and the ghost of the House Edge that learned to be part of the party.


VOTEKICK

[Zato]

Stake id - Anar2024

I will never forget that terrifying night! The story from 20 years ago...

It was the middle of the night when the phone rang! My father got up and answered it. He listened, and I could hear a woman's heartbreaking, broken sobbing. My father listened in silence for about five minutes, hung up the phone, and then sat quietly, smoking a cigarette. My brother and I couldn't bring ourselves to ask what had happened. We just watched our father in silence until he suddenly burst into tears. He told us that our uncle had passed away; he had rolled over his car. Hearing this, my brother and I couldn't believe that our most beloved uncle had died in a car accident. Many days passed. With the funeral and everyone being emotionally distraught, no one wanted to talk about the exact events, so we never found out the details.

Exactly one year later, my father finally opened up about the incident for the first time while the three of us (my father, my brother, and I) were on a hunting trip.

What happened?

Four months before my uncle's death, a large group—including my father's friends, my uncle's friends, and my brother and I—went hunting, game hunting, and fishing. We were playing and fishing on the bank of a river beneath a majestic mountain. Just a few minutes before sunset, my uncle caught a very big fish. He struggled for about 30 minutes trying to reel it in, but couldn't. His line snapped, and the fish got away. Early the next morning, we returned to the same spot. He caught another very big fish, and what was close to the bank? A very large fish with eyes just like a human's! We were many people, so I am certain we all saw the exact same thing. A fish with human eyes, my God! Seeing this, my uncle immediately threw his fishing rod away, and we quickly gathered everything and left.

My father is a very spiritual man who believes deeply in the faith/religion, so he went to a knowledgeable lama/shaman and asked about the events. He was told: Everything has an owner! The mountain, the water, the land, the trees—everything has an owner. Therefore, you must not catch, study, release, or kill something that belongs to the great nature. That is very bad, so never do such a thing again, he warned.

The day before the accident, my uncle had called and begged my father to go hunting and fishing, but my father told him he was too busy with work and couldn't make it.

All the people who were together when the strange fish was caught passed away one by one for various reasons within a year's time. My father was a religious man, so he went to that place, asked for forgiveness, and performed a ritual. I believe that is why he is still alive and well today

[primelover]

I saw remyfifi once.  Scared the shit out of me

 

 

Primelewis.  😘

[DisguisedQ]

It was Halloween night, and Sarah had just returned from a party. The wind howled outside, and carved pumpkins flickered on every doorstep. Her dog, Milo, always slept beneath her bed, so she smiled when she felt a wet lick on her hand as she climbed under the covers.

Outside, she could still hear kids laughing faintly, their voices fading with the wind. Somewhere in the distance, a door creaked.

Then — drip… drip… drip.

The sound came from her bathroom. She sighed, thinking Milo had knocked over his water bowl. Reaching down again, she felt another lick — warm and sticky this time. “Good boy,” she whispered, dozing off.

When she finally got up to check, lightning flashed through the window — revealing Milo hanging from the shower rod, his body swaying. The sink was red.

And written across the fogged mirror, in jagged letters:

“Trick or treat.”

 

DisguisedQ

[Ficky22]

The old house on Blackwood Lane was notorious. Locals whispered of the previous occupant, a reclusive clockmaker named Mr. Silas, who had vanished decades ago, leaving behind a place frozen in time and a chilling silence.

Tonight, rain hammered the cracked windowpanes as I, foolishly, sought shelter inside. The front door groaned open like a reluctant grave. Dust motes danced in the lone beam of my flashlight. The air was thick and cold, smelling of aged wood and something vaguely metallic.

I found myself in a parlor dominated by a grandfather clock. It stood nearly ten feet tall, its dark wood intricately carved with unsettling faces. Strangest of all, the pendulum was still. No ticking sound. No movement.

I ran a gloved hand over the cold wood. As I did, a sound broke the silence. A faint, dry click.

I froze. My light beam swept the room. Nothing.

Then, the clock's face glowed—a sickly, pale green light emanating from behind the brass numbers. The hands, which had been at a perpetual 3:15, began to move. Not with a smooth sweep, but with violent, jerky clunks.

Clunk... Clunk... Clunk...

The hands sped around the dial, faster and faster, blurring into a spinning vortex. The ticking started then, deafening, frantic, echoing the frantic thumping in my own chest.

I tried to back away, but my feet felt rooted to the floor. The metallic smell intensified, now undeniably the scent of old blood.

The spinning hands abruptly stopped at 12:00.

Silence. A heavier, denser silence than before.

Then, the carved faces on the clock began to twist. Their wooden lips parted into silent, terrible grins. From the dark space behind the dial, a low, rasping whisper filled the room.

"You're just in time."

A shadow detached itself from the clock's base. Tall, gaunt, its outline warped and unnatural. It wasn't Mr. Silas. It was what had used him.

I didn't wait to see more. I lunged for the door, the whisper chasing me, the last thing I heard as I stumbled out into the torrential rain and the safety of the night being the slow, deliberate TICK-TOCK of the grandfather clock starting its murderous new cycle

Stakeuser - Fda22

[crazyightmeow]

“The Jackpot”

The gas station was the only thing open for miles.
Buzzing lights. Empty aisles. A flickering vending machine humming like a dying insect.

Mark had been driving for hours — running from a life that had already fallen apart — when he saw it.
A slot machine.
Right there in the corner of the station, next to the soda fridge. Dusty, unplugged, yet the screen glowed faintly.

JACKPOT PARADISE, it read.

He laughed. “Sure. Why not?”
He pulled a coin from his pocket — the last one he had — and slid it in.

The reels spun.
And for a moment, he felt it — that rush, that pulse, that hope.

Three symbols stopped.
SKULL. SKULL. SMILE.

A jolt ran through him. The machine chimed — a warped, metallic sound that almost sounded like breathing. The air smelled like burnt sugar and rot.

He stepped back, but the machine spoke.
A whisper — soft, familiar.
“Another round, Mark. You can win it all back.”

He froze. It was her voice.
His wife’s.
The one he’d left two states behind.

He stared at the machine’s reflection in the glass door.
There was someone standing behind him — or something. A shape made of static, flickering in rhythm with the lights.

He turned — nothing there.
The machine dinged again.
SKULL. SMILE. HEART.

And now, he could see faces in the glass.
All the people he’d lost. All the chances he’d thrown away.
Each spin, they came closer, clearer — until the screen itself was filled with them, watching, grinning, waiting.

The machine whispered one last time.
“All in?”

Mark nodded. His hands trembled as he fed it everything — coins, wallet, car keys, his wedding ring.

The reels spun.
And when they stopped —
BLANK. BLANK. BLANK.

The lights went out.
When the gas station attendant opened the next morning, the slot machine was gone.
But on the counter lay a single quarter, still warm, engraved with one word:

PLAY.

stake id: crazyrightmeow

[Mr1Thomas]

StakeID Mr1Thomas

Every Halloween, Stake.com opens a secret table — one not listed on any menu, known only as The Stake of Souls.

 

Jake logged in at midnight, drawn by a pop-up that read:

 

“Double your winnings… or lose what truly matters.”

 

He thought it was just a Halloween promo.

 

The dealer appeared on screen faceless, wearing a mask stitched from playing cards. The chat flooded with skull emojis as Jake bet everything. The screen glitched. His webcam turned on but he hadn’t touched it.

The dealer spoke through his speakers in a low, static voice:

“Congratulations, Jake. You’ve won… yourself.”

Then the stream froze except for Jake’s reflection, still moving.

Smiling.

His account remains online. Always logged in.

Waiting for the next player to click JOIN TABLE. ♠️

[valenti]

In a small town, every year on Halloween night, a grand costume party was held.

One year, a man wearing a pure white mask appeared at the party.

He said nothing, didn’t dance, didn’t laugh—he just walked silently among the guests.

 

Everyone thought it was a clever costume and joked with him,

but he never responded.

 

As the night went on and the party ended,

the host began cleaning up the hall.

That’s when he noticed the “man in the mask” still standing in the corner of the stage,

completely motionless.

 

The host called out to him—no answer.

He got closer and said, “Hey, party’s over.” Still nothing.

Finally, he reached out and pulled off the mask…

 

The face beneath it was cold and pale.

The man had been dead for hours.

 

Level 2 verified ✅

Stake: valenti8

[Misan Wagle]

Username: misanwagle

In the middle of the night around 3am. Your eyes and brain wakes up. But your body is not able to move. Scary creature walks around you and you can see it moving and you can feel it. You try to scream very loudly but no voice is spoken. You cannot use your mouth just brain and eyes are working. Now that creature is slowly coming towards you. You still want to scream very loudly to call for help but you are helpless. Now the dark creature press your neck. You can feel the heaviness and trying to do your best to beat with your hand and legs but you are just trying its not moving at all. 

[vulehoang1408]

On Halloween night, the small town of Maple was shrouded in thick fog. Children dressed as witches, vampires, and zombies ran door to door laughing and shouting, their candy bags swinging by their sides.

Amid the noise, Linh, a 17-year-old girl, stopped in front of an old antique shop at the end of the street — one she had never seen open before.

In the dusty display case sat a white mask, cracked slightly along the cheek. A sign beneath it read:

“Only $1 — Tonight Only.”

Linh smiled, thinking it would be the perfect prop for the costume party. She stepped inside. The air smelled of mildew; the only sound was the tick-tock of a clock somewhere in the back. There was no shopkeeper. She left a dollar on the counter, picked up the mask, and left.

As soon as she put the mask on, a cold chill ran through her skin — then a whisper brushed her ear:

“Thank you… for giving me a new face.”

Startled, Linh looked around. No one was there, only swirling mist. She told herself it was her imagination — until she caught her reflection in a window.
The eyes behind the mask were no longer hers.
They were hollow, black, and blinking slowly… even though she wasn’t blinking.

Later that night, when her friends called her to ask why she hadn’t shown up to the party, someone else answered the phone.
A girl wearing Linh’s clothes.
Her voice was soft and strange:

“Don’t worry… Linh isn’t going anywhere.”

The next morning, the antique shop had disappeared.
Only a wooden sign swung gently in the wind, smeared with faded red letters:

“See you next Halloween.”

 

i hope my turn 

Stake username : vulehoang1408

 

 

Edited October 28, 2025 by vulehoang1408

[AnoopJoy]

Stake- Anojoy

 

“The Dealer Who Never Blinked”

 

The Bellmare Casino was famous for its high-stakes poker room—and the dealer named Vince, who never blinked.

He was polite, precise, and eerily calm, no matter how wild the night got. Players joked that he had ice in his veins.

 

One night, a drunk newcomer sat down and sneered,

“Why the hell don’t you ever blink, Vince?”

 

The regulars went quiet.

Someone muttered, “Don’t ask him that.”

 

But the drunk pushed.

“Come on, man—what’s your secret?”

 

Vince smiled thinly.

“I traded my sleep for luck,” he said. “It worked out… mostly.”

 

The man laughed and kept playing. He kept winning, hand after hand.

By 3 AM, he was up a small fortune.

Then he noticed something strange—his reflection in the dealer’s mirrored sunglasses was gone.

 

Vince leaned closer and whispered,

“Looks like the luck’s yours now.”

 

The man blinked—just once—and Vince was gone.

The table was empty, the chips cold to the touch.

 

Security footage later showed no dealer at that table all night.

Just the man…

dealing cards to himself,

and smiling like someone who hadn’t blinked in hours.

[csaba1997]

It was Halloween night, and Eddie sat alone in his dimly lit apartment, surrounded by empty candy wrappers and glowing jack-o’-lanterns. He wasn’t going out — no, Eddie had bigger plans.

 

He was going to win big… on Stake.com. 💻

 

“Tonight’s the night,” he whispered dramatically, wearing a plastic vampire cape for luck. “I can feel it in my bones — and possibly in my wallet.”

 

Eddie logged in, chose his favorite slot game, “Haunted Reels”, and hit spin. The reels turned, ghosts flew by, and creepy music echoed from his speakers.

 

Suddenly, his lights flickered. ⚡

The pumpkin on his desk grinned wider.

And his computer whispered, “Double or nothing, Eddie…”

 

Eddie froze. “Uh… Stake.com doesn’t usually talk to me,” he muttered.

 

But before he could react, the reels landed on three glowing skulls. 💀💀💀

 

“JACKPOT!” screamed the screen.

“JACKPOT!” screamed Eddie.

“JACKPOT!” screamed the pumpkin — wait, what?!

 

The pumpkin exploded in confetti and ghostly laughter filled the room. Eddie blinked… and when the smoke cleared, his account balance showed $666,666.

 

He stared, jaw dropped. “Guess the spirits really do like Stake.com,” he said, grinning.

 

Then a ghostly voice whispered behind him,

“Don’t forget to tip your dealer…” 👻

 

Eddie turned around — and saw his reflection in the monitor wearing a vampire cape and sunglasses.

 

“Nice,” he said. “Even my ghost is stylish.” 😎

 

And that’s how Eddie became the only man to win a Halloween jackpot and get haunted by his own luck.
 

 

stake.com csaba1997

[shayshemer]

They started it as a private Halloween stream:  friends betting, laughing, and trading late at night.
Then one of them noticed a new live table: "STAKE ROOM 666 HIGH RISK ONLY."
Curiosity won out. They sat in. The dealer wore a cracked porcelain mask. The cards flipped themselves over.

"Bet your balance… (or your life)," the dealer whispered.

At first, it was thrilling... chips piled high, hearts racing. But with each "loss" came a sound:  a heartbeat ceasing somewhere in the distance.
One of the players vanished in mid-spin, his chair still rotating... and another's picture started going out of phase.
The last player grinned uncomfortably and stated,
"Fine. All in."
The dealer grinned. "Brave. Or stupid. Same prize."
He drew the final card ... Ace or Souls??
The lights went out.
Morning after, the stream repeated itself on Stake.. but players were not online.
Some say the room opens once a year anyway. If you spot it… don't click.

RomaAs

[Bekureno]

Pumpkin Head

Nanny once told me, “you are what you eat”,
So mummy’s an olive, and daddy’s some meat,
My brother eats everything, he may be a cake,
An apple, macaroni, an ice cream with flake.

He once ate a pumpkin, ’twas just a small bite,
What happened soon after, did give us a fright,
The very next morning I went to his bed,
I couldn’t believe it, he had a pumpkin head!

Now, my brother is funny, he’s sporty and cool,
But how can a pumpkin go into school?
Will anyone believe me, what should I say,
“This is my brother, he’s a pumpkin today”.

I call out for mummy, I call out to dad,
“Come look quickly, his heads really bad!”,
I think we can fix him, I grinned and I said,
“Let’s carve out eyes and a mouth on his head”.

“Don’t be silly!” says daddy, “Quiet!” says mum,
“Your head is a pumpkin, what have you done!”,
My brother sits up, and he jumps out of bed,
Placing a hat on his big orange head.

A hop and a dance, a wiggle and a kick,
A magic spell, with a walking stick!
He waves it and moves, sways side to side,
And this is the magic spell that he cried;

“Pumpkin head, pumpkin head, look at me!
I’ve seeds for a brain, do you want to see?
Today is the best day that’s ever been!
Today is my day, it is Halloweeeeen!”

This was quite scary, where is my brother?
I turned and looked, where was my mother?
Dad’s disappeared too, where had he gone?
A voice downstairs “Breakfast won’t be long!”

I walk slowly down, and what do I see,
Three pumpkin heads, drinking tea!
I glance at the mirror, and to my surprise ,
A pumpkin head with carved out eyes…

 

Stake : Bekureno

Edited October 28, 2025 by Bekureno

[Michele Stalk]

I never really believed in ghosts. Not until that night, the night it happened in my own room. It was around 3:11 a.m. when I woke up to this soft scratching sound coming from my window. At first, I thought it was a cat or maybe a branch brushing the glass.
But the sound got slower, longer,like someone was dragging their nails across it. I sat up, half-asleep, staring at the curtains and I swear, I saw a shadow of a hand behind them. Long, bony fingers, barely human. I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

Then the curtain shifted a little, just enough for me to see through the gap and there it was. An eye. Staring right back at me. My whole body froze. And then my phone, which was on the table, suddenly lit up by itself. Front camera opened. The screen showed me sitting on the bed and something standing right behind me.

I turned around instantly nothing. But the smell, that metallic, bloody smell, it stayed. Ever since that night, I can’t sleep peacefully anymore. Every time the clock hits 3:11, I swear I still hear that sound soft, slow, scratching the glass.

And sometimes, just before it stops,I hear a whisper 

Quote

“I’m not gone yet.”

Stake ID - Gibran2019