💰[$1,000] Tell us your spooky story 📚

[Zarif110]

Nyc 🤩

[Evgeny48ru]

It was a regular online casino, known for its generous weekly bonus and large monthly prize. People came there hoping to hit the jackpot, try their luck, and become rich overnight. But no one knew the true cost of winning...

Alexander had been playing at Stake Casino for a long time. He was attracted by the big bonuses and constant winnings. Every evening he came there, betting more and more. One night, he won a huge sum of money, and it seemed like luck was on his side. However, Alexander soon noticed something strange: every time he won a large sum, mysterious events began to occur around him.

At first, it was small things: light bulbs flickered, doors creaked on their own, shadows moved unnoticed. Then came nightmares in which a voice whispered, "Now it's your turn to pay..." Gradually, Alexander's life descended into sheer terror. He lost his job, his friends began avoiding him, and his family became distant.

One evening, while playing at the casino, Alexander received a message: "Weekly bonus available!" Deciding to test his luck again, he placed a bet. As soon as he pressed the button, the screen dimmed, plunging the room into darkness. When the light returned, a figure in a black cloak stood before him, its face obscured by deep shadow.

The figure spoke in an ominous voice: "Wins, bonuses, prizes... Everything has a price. You will pay in full!"

Alexander tried to escape, but the figure followed him, stalking him throughout the house. He soon realized his only salvation was to stop gambling. Having given up gambling for good, Alexander gradually began to rebuild his life. But the fear remained with him forever: every week, on bonus payout day, he heard the same whisper: "Next bet..."

Alexander's story serves as a warning to all gamblers: gambling can bring pleasure and wealth, but sometimes the price of winning is too high.

 

Stake ID: Evgeny48ru

[karan2275]

 

🎃

“The Lantern Keeper”

 

 

Every Halloween night, our town of Hollow’s Edge glows with carved pumpkins. But there’s one lantern that no one lights — the one at the end of Wraith Hollow Road.

 

They say it belongs to the Lantern Keeper.

 

Fifty years ago, a man named Elias Crow used to carve lanterns for every doorstep. His pumpkins were perfect — smiling, grimacing, some even looked alive. But one Halloween, a group of kids stole his biggest lantern, laughing as they smashed it in the woods.

 

Elias went after them with his lantern still burning. Only the flame came back. His body was never found.

 

Now, every year on Halloween, people leave one pumpkin uncarved — a silent offering. But last year, my friend Mason dared me to break the rule.

“Let’s light them all,” he said. “It’s just a story.”

 

We did. Every porch lantern in town flickered awake.

All except the one at the end of Wraith Hollow Road.

 

Mason kicked it over.

And from the woods, a faint orange light blinked — like a lantern swinging slowly through fog.

 

We ran, but the light followed. Every shadow bent toward us, stretching longer than it should. I heard footsteps behind me — heavy, dragging, steady.

 

Mason tripped. When I turned back, the light stopped beside him. His scream cut through the wind — and then it was gone.

 

I told the police he ran off. They never found him.

 

Tonight is Halloween again.

Someone left a pumpkin on my doorstep — carved perfectly, grinning wide.

And when I stepped outside to bring it in…

there was a faint orange glow waiting at the end of my street.

Swinging.

Closer.

[Kickjamieh0]

There’s a place here in my town and and in the ocean, at times you can see the ghost ship and is usually in October, I myself haven’t seen it but a few people from my community seen it 

stake: KickJamieh0 

[kingtaani1]

I was driving back late at night from Las Vegas to Los Angeles, and I decided to take a shortcut a friend had told me about. The road was completely empty—no cars, no lights—so I turned on my high beams and played some music to stay awake.

After about an hour, a thick fog started forming around me, even though the weather wasn’t cold enough for that time of year. A few minutes later, I saw a man standing on the side of the road, waving for a ride. He looked normal, but something about seeing him out there, in the middle of nowhere at midnight, felt wrong.

I didn’t stop. I just kept driving. But when I looked in the rearview mirror, he was gone. No trace of him. I tried to shake it off—maybe I was just tired.

A few miles later, I got a flat tire. I pulled over to change it, and as soon as I stepped out, I felt this sudden chill, like the temperature had dropped out of nowhere. While I was working on the tire, I heard footsteps approaching from behind. I turned around—and it was the same man I had seen earlier.

In a strange, low voice, he said, “Why didn’t you stop for me?”

My heart nearly stopped. There was no way he could’ve gotten there that fast. I jumped into my car, slammed the door shut, and started praying while flooring the gas, even though the tire wasn’t secured yet.

When I finally looked in the mirror again… he was gone.

I made it to Los Angeles shaking, and from that night on, I’ve never taken that road again.

stake: kingtaani10

[BigHeartsWin]

I was scared once on halloween.

 

BigHeartsWin

[brthst]

 

🎃 THE GAMBLING GHOST OF HOLLOW JACK’S CASINO 🎃
An original spooky story

Every October, when the moon turns pale and cold over Hollow Jack’s Casino, the chandeliers flicker… and the floorboards creak under footsteps no one can see.

They say a gambler named Victor Vane once lived for nothing but the thrill of the bet. He believed luck was something you could force if you just wagered enough. One Halloween night, desperate and drowning in losses, he made a final deal — not with the house… but with something darker lurking in the shadows of the VIP room.

Victor won.
Then he vanished.

Now his restless spirit haunts the casino floors — known only as:

👻 The Gambler Ghost

He’s attracted to those who chase fate too hard. Chips rattle when he’s near. Cards turn by themselves. Someone who’s losing suddenly hits a miracle jackpot — stacks of chips, flashing lights, cheers erupting across the room.

Players celebrate.
They think fortune is finally on their side.

But that’s when his true game begins.

The more he gives…
…the more he takes back.

At first, he steals a few chips.
Then a few hundred.
Then everything you brought through the doors.

And when he’s bored?
He steals what you never wagered —
your luck…
your name…
your years…

Legends say if you hear a ghostly whisper behind you saying:

“Double or nothing?”

You must walk away. Do NOT turn around.
Do not take the bet — no matter how much you’ve won.

Because if you answer him…
Victor Vane appears with hollow, greedy eyes…
and a smile carved wider than any pumpkin.

He’ll give you more money than you’ve ever seen…
…just to rip it away again moments before dawn.

Every winner becomes his favorite meal.
Every gambler becomes his next obsession.

And if you see playing cards sliding across the table on their own…

💀 Run.

It means the Gambling Ghost has found you
—and the next jackpot…
…is your soul

 

 

 

Stake ID brthst 

[roccoammo11]

They said the lanterns in Hollowmere lit themselves. No hand carved them, yet every Halloween, dozens burned blue in the hills.Last year, Tessa followed the glow. The air was cold and sweet like rot. She saw figures in pumpkin masks kneeling to place the flames, each whispering names into the dirt.When dawn came, only one new lantern remained—its carved mouth trembling, its eyes wide. Inside, the flame pulsed softly, calling her name.

roccoammo11

[dtek]

The autumn air in the town of Oakhaven was always crisp, but on the eve of Halloween, it held a special kind of magic. It was a chill that promised secrets, carried on the scent of woodsmoke and decaying leaves. For the children, it was a night of candy and costumes. For Elara, it was a night of remembering.

Elara lived in the old Victorian house on Hemlock Lane, the one with the crooked iron gate and the wraparound porch that always seemed to be groaning. Every year, she performed the same ritual. As the sun dipped below the horizon, she would light a single, tall candle in every window—thirteen in total—and place a carved pumpkin on the top step, its jagged smile glowing against the deepening dusk.

This year, as she set the pumpkin in place, she noticed something strange. The jack-o'-lantern she had carved that very afternoon—a simple, grinning face—had changed. The triangle eyes had narrowed into sly, knowing slits, and the smile had twisted into a grimace of pain. She blinked, shook her head, and wrote it off as a trick of the flickering flame within.

The first costumed visitors arrived, a pack of giggling ghosts and superheroes. Elara dropped candy into their bags, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. As a tiny astronaut reached for a chocolate bar, he looked up at her and said, "Your pumpkin is sad."

Elara’s blood ran cold. She looked back at the jack-o'-lantern. Now, a single, glistening tear seemed to be carved from the orange flesh, trailing down its cheek.

The night wore on, and the changes became more pronounced. The candle flames, usually a steady gold, now burned a sickly, pulsating green. The wind, which had been a gentle whisper, began to snatch at the leaves in the yard, sending them skittering in frantic, purposeful circles. And the sounds from the street—the laughter and shouts of children—seemed to warp, becoming distant, echoing, as if heard from the bottom of a deep well.

Driven by a dread she couldn't name, Elara ventured into her own backyard. The old oak tree, a giant whose branches scraped against her bedroom window, was now adorned with strange, silvery webs that shimmered in the moonlight. And caught in the webs were not flies, but tiny, intricate shapes made of shadow—a lost key, a child's spinning top, a faded photograph. They were memories, she realized with a jolt. Lost things, forgotten things, being collected and displayed.

A soft, whispering voice rustled from the tree. "The veil is thin, Elara. You, of all people, know what that means."

She spun around. There, sitting on the garden bench, was a figure. It was not a ghost, not a monster, but a man dressed in a patchwork suit the color of autumn leaves. His face was handsome, but ageless, and his eyes were the deep, dark brown of freshly turned earth.

"You've been lighting the candles for years," he said, his voice like the rustle of dry leaves. "An invitation. I thought it rude to keep declining."

"Who are you?" Elara whispered, her voice trembling.

"Call me the Keeper of Lost Things," he said, gesturing to the oak tree. "Tonight, the walls between what is and what was, what is remembered and what is forgotten, are at their weakest. Your little ritual doesn't just keep the dark away, my dear. It opens a door."

He stood and walked toward her, his feet making no sound on the grass. "You light candles for your grandmother, who taught you the ritual. You mourn the memories that fade with each passing year. I am simply here to show you that nothing is ever truly lost."

He reached out and touched the trunk of the oak tree. The bark shimmered, and for a moment, Elara saw not wood, but a swirling mist. In the mist, she saw her grandmother, young and laughing, carving a pumpkin on this very porch. She saw herself as a child, tripping and skinning her knee, the comforting weight of her grandmother's hand on her shoulder. She saw moments she had forgotten completely—the scent of a specific perfume, the pattern of frost on a winter morning window.

It was all there. Every lost whisper, every faded joy, every ended sorrow.

"The past is not a prison, Elara," the Keeper said softly. "It is a tapestry. You've been looking at the tangled threads on the back, but tonight, you get to see the picture on the front."

Tears streamed down Elara's face, but they were not tears of fear. They were tears of a profound, aching relief.

The Keeper tipped his hat. "The door will close at dawn. The memories will return to their quiet slumber. But they will always be here, waiting for you to remember."

And with that, he dissolved into a swirl of autumn leaves, carried away on a sudden gust of wind. The oak tree was just an oak tree again. The candle flames in the windows burned a steady, warm gold.

Elara walked back to the front porch. The jack-o'-lantern on the step no longer wore a grimace or a tear. It had a gentle, peaceful smile, its light a soft, welcoming beacon in the Halloween night. She sat on the porch swing, listening to the genuine laughter of the last trick-or-treaters, and for the first time in many years, she felt not the pain of loss, but the quiet, comforting presence of all that had ever been. The spirit of the season, she understood now, wasn't just about fear. It was about the thin, beautiful, and heartbreaking veil between memory and the present, and the love that endured on both sides.

Stake username: Dtek

[AzirBey]

“Whispers of the Tower”

At the edge of Ashvale stood an old radio tower.
Once dead, it came alive only once a year — on Halloween night.
No one knew who broadcasted, but at midnight, a voice always came through the static:

“Are you there, Liam?”

That year, Liam and his friends camped beneath the tower to listen.
The radio shook, and the voice returned:

“We’re still here.”

Then the lights flickered on.
High up the rusted stairs, shadows appeared — motionless, watching.

By morning, only the radio remained.
Its screen blinked with a single word:

“Soon.”

 

 

AzirBey

[edoydhtm]

The kids on our street called it the Black House. Every Halloween, its porch light stayed off, and no one ever gave out candy. This year, I took the dare to knock on its door.

As I approached, I found the door already open a crack. It wasn't darkness that greeted me, but a brightly lit ballroom. Couples in old-fashioned clothes were waltzing, but they were translucent. I realized they were ghosts.

A woman in a vintage gown floated towards me, her smile sorrowful. "Those who forget us," she whispered, "can never find their way home."

Suddenly, the music stopped. Every hollow eye turned to me. I spun around and ran, sobbing. When I reached the street, I looked back. The house was dark and silent again, its door firmly shut.

But in my jacket pocket, I found a single, aged photograph. It was of me, smiling stiffly, standing among the ghostly dancers. And on the back, in faint script, was written: "We have remembered you. Now it is your turn."

 

Stake Username: edoydhtm

[TunanteLisboa]

After enjoying the night in the city for a while, I met a beautiful woman at the last bar I stopped by. Our conversation flowed well, and perhaps due to the drinks, I suddenly found myself in a good mood at the hotel.

When I woke up in the morning, scattered clothes were thrown about. I couldn't remember exactly how I had enjoyed the night, but one thing was certain: I had spent the night with a beautiful woman.

As I tried to take a glimpse of her sleeping face, I held my breath in that moment. The person was actually a man.

 

StakeID：TunanteLisboa

[Vicenteeetyk]

🎃 The Lantern at Hollow Creek

 

Every Halloween, a single lantern glows on the bridge over Hollow Creek. No one knows who lights it—only that it burns until midnight, then vanishes.

 

Last year, curious sixteen-year-old Mara stayed behind after the town parade, hiding near the bridge with her flashlight. At 11:47, the fog rolled in. The creek went silent. Then the lantern appeared—floating, swaying gently in the mist.

 

A voice whispered, “Thank you for waiting.”

 

Mara’s flashlight flickered out. The next morning, the lantern was gone—but so was Mara. Only her flashlight remained, lying on the bridge… still warm, and still glowing from within.

Vicenteeetyk 

👻

[MIZOxRIPreyna]

“The Last Bet”

The message appeared on Ethan’s screen at exactly 3:03 a.m.

“Place your final bet before the lights go out.”

He stared at it, confused. The casino app wasn’t even open. The icon was grayed out — offline. Yet, the message blinked again, louder somehow, as if echoing in his head.

Ethan, half-drunk and curious, clicked it.

The interface was pitch black. No games. Just a single glowing button:

 “All In” 

He laughed nervously, assuming it was some Halloween promotion from Stake. He pressed it.

Instantly, the lights flickered. His phone camera turned on by itself, showing him — but the reflection behind wasn’t his room. It was a dim casino floor, empty, except for rows of slot machines spinning on their own, symbols flashing 7-7-7 in red.

And behind him — a figure stood. A dealer with a stitched smile carved too wide, wearing a pumpkin mask that dripped black tar.

“Welcome back, Ethan,” it rasped. “You’ve played before.”

His heart dropped. He didn’t remember playing any game like this.

The dealer extended a hand of bone and shadow. Cards materialized in the air — all Aces.

“House always wins,” it whispered.

Then his screen went black.

The next morning, Ethan’s apartment was found empty — the door still locked from the inside, his phone lying on the floor.

The only thing left open was the Stake app, showing his balance at $0.00 —

and a new banner glowing faintly at the top:

“Winner claimed. New player pending...”

Stake ID - MIZOxRIPreyna 

[wildsnoz]

Once upon a time, I was gambling at this small underground casino just outside town. It was past midnight — the kind of hour when even luck feels asleep. Smoke hung thick in the air, and every face around me looked half there, half gone.

 

I was down bad, staring at my last few chips, when the dealer — this pale guy with an old-fashioned suit — leaned in and whispered, “Care for a higher stake?”

 

I laughed, thought it was a joke, but he just stared. His eyes didn’t blink. The lights around the table started flickering, and suddenly all the other players were frozen — not moving, not breathing.

 

He pulled out a deck, black as coal, and said, “Win, and your fortune returns. Lose… and your soul stays in the deck.”

 

I don’t know why, but I played. The cards felt cold — like touching ice. My hand shook as I flipped the last card — the Ace of Spades. I won. Or so I thought.

 

The dealer smiled. “Congratulations,” he said, voice echoing like it came from a tunnel. “Your fortune’s restored… for now.”

 

When I looked down, the chips in front of me had turned into old silver coins — and when I blinked, the casino was empty. No people. No sound. Just the faint hum of that neon sign outside that spelled one word — STAKE.

 

Sometimes, late at night, I still hear the shuffling of those cards. And every time I touch a deck… I swear one of the aces has my reflection smiling back.

 

 

Stake id wildsnoz

[AndrewBerrimor]

One day, my girlfriend wrote that she didn't know I had such a charming brother, and he was a twin! It turns out that she had just stopped by my house, not knowing that I had been working late into the night, and he had met her there. He introduced himself, offered her coffee, told her some funny stories from his childhood, and walked her to the elevator. I still don't know how to tell her that I don't have a brother.

Stake ID: AndrewBerrimor

[vaibhav385]

Dracula, a vampire who initially scares villagers but then helps them by using his powers to stop a giant, leading to a realization that helping others is more rewarding. Another type of story focuses on a vegetarian vampire who loves Halloween candy and must overcome shyness to interact with humans, or a mischievous vampire child who pretends to be scary but ends up being good-hearted

Stake username Vaibhav385385 

[skymarine6329]

その街には、ハロウィンの夜だけ現れる通りがあると立っていた。

名前は――「かぼちゃ通り」。

地図には載ってないが、午後十一時を過ぎて、古い地の影からふっと現れるのだという。

 

大人の凛（りん）は、その噂を半信疑半で聞いていました。

でも今年のハロウィンの夜、友人との約束をすっぽかされ、ひとりで帰る途中、

角を曲がったその瞬間――目の前に、オレンジ色の灯が連なる小道があった。

 

提灯のようなかぼちゃランタンが風に揺れ、

仮面をつけた人々が静かに行っている。

笑い声がするのに、口は動いていない。

音は、どこからともなく響いてくる。

 

「ようこそ、今年のお客様（まろうど）さま。」

 

振り返ると、黒いマントの男が立っていた。

目は見えないほど深い仮面をかぶり、手には古いランタンを持っている。

「幻灯会へようこそ」と言いながら、凛の手を取って、導いていた。

 

通りの奥にある広場では、人々がランタンを手に輪になり、

光を空に放っていた。

その灯が夜空に映えるたび、凛の記憶の断片が光の中に映る――

幼いころのハロウィン、笑って両親、泣いている自分。

もういないはずの家族の姿も、そこにありました。

 

「思い出の灯を離さぬように。」

マント男がそっと言った。

「この通りに面白いのは、まだ「手放せないもの」を持つ者だけだ。」

 

気づけば、ランタンの炎が小さく揺れ、

中に小さな自分の姿が見えた。

その灯を離れた瞬間――風が吹き、世界が消えた。

 

次の朝、凛は自分の部屋のベッドで目が覚めました。

サービスには、オレンジ色の小さな紙片が一枚貼ってありました。

そこには墨でこう書かれていました。

 

> 「また迷いにおいで。

かぼちゃ通りは、思い出の影を灯す場所。」

 

 

 

ベランダの外には、昨晩の名残のように、

ひとつだけ小さなランタンが、静かに揺れていた。

stake id skymarine

Edited October 28, 2025 by skymarine6329

[chiro02]

On Halloween night, the abandoned casino "Golden Pumpkin" appeared in the fog. The neon pulsates in pumpkin color, and the slot machine at the entrance whispers "trick or treat". Mika, a girl, clenched the coin of her lost father's memeto and stepped inside.

 

The hall is an uninhabited feast. The skeleton dealer hands out cards, and the ghost customer throws coins in. There was a huge slot "Jackpot Soul" in the center. The lever is made of bones, and the symbols are eyeballs, fangs, and blood drops. Mika put in her father's coin. The reel rotates. Gachan, Gachan. 777。 However, it is "D-E-A-T-H".

 

The floor cracks, and the dark arm grabs Mika. My father's face appeared on the screen of the slot, and I begged, "Just one more time." Mika pulls the lever again tremblingly. This time it's "L-O-V-E". However, on the verge of aligning, the last reel rotates in reverse. My father's face is distorted and he grows fangs. The entire casino is surrounded by laughter.

 

Mika's body turns into a coin and is sucked into the slot like a waterfall. In the morning, the casino was gone. However, a girl's voice occasionally echoes in the slot machine in the city. Dad, just one more time....... Only on Halloween night, her coin falls and someone picks it up. And another abandoned casino appears.

 

Stake ID：chiro02

[pinkpug]

The Stakehouse

Every Halloween night, when the moon hangs low and pale over the edge of town, the old Stakehouse Casino flickers back to life.

It was once the brightest spot on the strip — a gambler’s paradise. But one October 31st, years ago, a high roller known only as The Phantom Player bet everything — his fortune, his name, and, as the whispers go, his soul. He lost.

The next morning, the casino was empty. Cards still lay on the tables, chips stacked neatly in front of vacant chairs. The only sign of life was a single glowing jack-o’-lantern at the poker table — carved with dice, a spade, and the letter S.

Now, locals say that if you walk past the old building at midnight, you’ll hear the shuffle of ghostly cards and the soft clink of phantom chips. If you’re unlucky enough to peek through the window… you might see a pumpkin glowing from the inside — whispering, “Place your bet.”

And if you do…
You’ll be playing for more than just your money. 👁️

 

 

pinkpug

[1Foxy]

On the edge of town stood an old mansion that no one dared to visit. Every Halloween night, one of its rooms glowed with a strange blue light. Legend had it that the source of that glow was the spirit of a mysterious online world called Stake.

Years ago, a man named Edward had founded the site in the mansion’s basement. As people played and won, the energy within the system began to grow—until it gained a consciousness of its own.

Now, every October 31st, the mansion awakens once more…
Screens flicker on by themselves, the stake.com logo burns with a ghostly blue flame, and a whisper echoes through the air:

“You didn’t join to win… you joined to be chosen.”

That night, anyone connected to the internet feels the pull of the system—and by morning, only one browser tab remains open…

 

 

id: 1u1

[r301life]

wewe gombel. Curious about the story?

 

As evening prayers approach, the village usually quiets down. Residents with small children quickly bring them inside and close the door tightly. In our village, this is like an unwritten rule. It's all because of the scary story about the wewe gombel ghost, who is believed to kidnap small children at dusk.

 

But my nephew, Zaki, didn't seem to believe the story. He was only six years old, and that day he had returned from Quran study a little late because he had attended a friend's birthday party. The path home had to pass through a quiet and dark palm plantation.

 

His mother, my aunt, waited anxiously at home. When night fell and Zaki still hadn't returned, their anxiety turned to panic. Together with her husband, they began searching at Zaki's friends' houses, but to no avail. When the clock struck ten at night, residents stepped in to help with the search.

 

Rumors circulated that Zaki had been kidnapped by a wewe gombel. One of the neighbors suggested calling Mr. Ijal, a village elder known for his psychic powers. According to Mr. Ijal, Zaki was not far from the house, in a sugar palm plantation. Residents brought torches and kitchen utensils, tapping on them while calling Zaki's name.

 

Suddenly, the uncle spotted Zaki's bicycle on the ground, and shortly afterward, someone looked up into a tree. Zaki was there! His face was pale, his body was covered in mud, and he wasn't wearing the clothes he'd worn that morning. He was brought home in tears. After calming down and receiving ruqya (exorcism)

 

stake : r301life

Edited October 28, 2025 by r301life

[Nidhi2677]

I am a poor boy but I listen about stake in ipl 2025 and I play i m in huge profit in ipl almost 1 lakh inr profit then I enjoy that winning then one day I invest 114000 rs of my college fees then I loss almost all money I have only 2000 inr then I again reached at 150000 inr then again I loss then again I reached 300000 inr then now again I lost almost 400000 inr now I m in debt can anyone suggest me something or help me 

 

Stake I'd:- Raazlooser

[DerBoss1504]

It was late on Halloween night. I’d just gotten back from training — muscles sore, mind quiet. I showered, grabbed a bottle of water, and sat on the couch, scrolling through my phone in the dim light of the TV. The streets outside were silent. No kids, no cars, not even wind. Just that strange kind of stillness that feels too quiet.

 

Around midnight, I noticed a new voice message on my phone. No name — just an unknown number. The message was 23 seconds long.

 

I pressed play.

 

At first, all I heard was static — a low, distorted hiss. Then, faintly, a voice whispered:

“Don’t turn around.”

 

I froze. The voice sounded exactly like mine.

 

I laughed nervously — probably a prank, maybe AI-generated. I deleted the message. But when I opened my photo gallery a few minutes later, there was a new video file at the top. It was time-stamped 23 seconds ago.

 

I clicked on it.

 

The video showed my living room — from behind me. I could see myself sitting on the couch, holding my phone, just as I was now. And behind me, in the dark reflection of the window, there was a figure. Pale. Still.

 

My heart started pounding. I turned around instantly — nothing there. Just the dark window and my own reflection staring back at me.

 

I grabbed my phone again, but the video was gone. Not in the gallery, not in the deleted folder — nothing.

 

And then my phone buzzed once more. Another voice message.

This time, it said:

“I told you not to turn around.”
 

stake User: DerBoss1504

[phule35]

My wife led me slightly. I looked around a wooden base: my child was sure to sleep, fire in the fireplace was about to fall.

"Looks like someone is knocking on the door," my wife whispered. I also heard that door knocking. Grab the ax and hold the lights, I opened the door and thought it would see a cat bear or fans, but not ... a boy about 10 years old.

He stared at me for a moment and suddenly ran towards the forest. I immediately chased. At one paragraph, I didn't see it but suddenly heard the nearby sound. I pulled it out from in a bush.

"Why do you knock on your door?" - I screamed.

"Because my uncle tells you to do that," he replied.

I wasn't angry but switched to questions: "What to do?"

"To lure your uncle from the house, do anything" - The lips hatched a monstrous smile.

 

 

Stake Id: phule235