💰[$1,000] Tell us your spooky story 📚

[Elarii10]

 

El usurero de almas es una entidad nacida de la codicia humana. Su rostro parece tallado en la sombra misma, con cuernos que simbolizan la ambición que corroe y manos huesudas que se alimentan del oro que roba. Cada moneda que toca lleva consigo un alma perdida, una vida consumida por el deseo de poder.

No necesita armas, su poder es la tentación: susurra promesas de riqueza a los que lo miran, y cuando caen en su juego, devora su voluntad, dejándolos vacíos, sin nada... ni siquiera a sí mismos.

💭 Simboliza:
La ambición desmedida, la avaricia y el miedo a perderlo todo. Representa el momento en que el deseo de tener más termina quebrando el alma.

[Burcs]

Down bad, i think nothing can beat that

 

Stake: Burcs

[Richterson]

I Play on stake thats always scary

 

richterson 

[AdamSevani1488]

В маленьком городке на Хеллоуин все дети собирались на праздник. Но в этом году на кладбище начали появляться светящиеся цветы, и старый сторож, дедушка Василий, заподозрил, что это дело рук неупокоенных душ.

Группа смелых подростков решила исследовать кладбище. Они столкнулись с фигурой в белом, которая медленно приближалась. Один из них, Максим, вспомнил, что душу можно успокоить, если найти то, что она потеряла. Он заметил заброшенную куклу у одной из могил и, подняв её, произнес слова утешения.

В этот момент цветы потухли, и душа, обретя покой, исчезла. На следующее утро кладбище снова стало тихим, а дети поняли, что иногда смелость и сострадание могут победить страх. 🎃🎃🎃

Stake: AdamSevani1488

[bigfcas]

Every year on Halloween, the village would fall into an eerie silence. On this night, everyone would don masks and gather in the village square to take part in the terrifying tradition known as 'The Last Night'. No one ever knew what would happen, but there were whispers that someone would always disappear from the square by the end of the night. This year seemed no different: children collected sweets, adults sipped wine, and laughter echoed in the cool air. But at midnight, the old Ferris wheel in the centre of the square began spinning wildly of its own accord. Suddenly, a masked figure appeared in the middle of it, staring into the eyes of everyone present, before disappearing without a trace. Since then, the village has awaited 'The Last Night' every year, but no one has ever found out who will vanish next.

ID: cccakamk

[sylvester2008]

The House on Wraith Lane

Every year, on the week before Halloween, the old house at the end of Wraith Lane came alive. The neighbors said it breathed — windows fogged as though it exhaled, and faint whispers echoed through its rotting halls.

Curiosity got the best of Mara. She’d just moved to town and laughed off the legends. On October 30th, flashlight in hand, she stepped through the crooked doorway. The air inside was thick — heavy with the smell of damp earth and something metallic.

“Hello?” she called. Her voice seemed swallowed by the dark. Then she heard it — a soft humming from upstairs. Each step creaked like the floor was warning her to stop.

At the top, she found a single room with a mirror covered in dust. Beneath the grime, she saw her reflection — except it was smiling. Slowly, impossibly, it lifted a hand and pressed it against the glass. Her real hand trembled at her side.

Then the mirror rippled. The smiling version of her stepped forward — out. The flashlight flickered, then died.

The next morning, the townsfolk noticed lights flickering in the house again. Through the window, they saw a figure staring out — pale, with Mara’s face.

It smiled and waved.

[StakeDeAndy]

“The Forgotten File”

Everyone loses something when they gamble.
Money, time, health...
But in some cases, the house takes something else.

Lina Carrizo worked nights as a digital dealer for Stake. She was never a fan of gambling, but the pay was good and the shifts were long. Her job was to spin the virtual roulette wheel and watch as thousands of people around the world lost control from the comfort of their own homes.

One early morning, while reviewing an old game, she noticed something strange:
A session marked as “closed,” but with no user assigned.

“Session 0000.0.0.”

Curious, she opened the game.
There was no username, just a blank avatar.
The camera focused on a real, old, dusty roulette wheel...
It didn't match any set she knew.

In the background, a distorted voice could be heard:
“One chip, one spin. Bet your most important memory.”

She couldn't help herself. She bet.

Her chip landed on the black number 13.
And she won.

But nothing happened.

She went back to her day. She finished her shift. She went home. She fell asleep.

When she woke up...

she couldn't remember her mother's name.
Or her face.
Or whether she was alive or dead.

The days passed. And with each dream, another memory disappeared.

Her childhood dog.
Her first kiss.
The taste of her grandmother's rice pudding.

Every night she dreamed of the roulette wheel.
The same voice:
“One chip, one spin. Bet your most important memory.”
And she bet. And she won.
And she lost something she didn't know she had lost.

One night, in front of the mirror, she asked herself:
“Who am I?”

And there was no answer.

She logged in for the last time.
There it was:
game 0000.0.0.
No longer as an observer.

This time, the camera showed her.
In front of the roulette wheel.

Faceless.
Nameless.
Just a chip in her hand.

And the voice she already knew by heart:

“One chip, one spin... Welcome to the permanent staff.”

 

User: StakeDeAndy

 

[Galier]

Bajo los árboles, donde se arrastran las sombras,

dos brujas despertaron al bosque.

Su caldero se agitaba con rencor y llamas,

y susurraban en voz baja cada nombre maldito.

 

Se agitaron con veneno, dolor y hueso,

una lengua de ceniza, el gemido de un amante.

El bosque se inclinó, el aire se enrojeció,

mientras la oscuridad coronaba el día.

 

El cielo sangró, las estrellas alzaron el vuelo,

la luna retrocedió ante la luz ardiente.

El pueblo rezó, pero las oraciones fueron escasas,

cuando el amanecer se alzó con un tono carmesí.

 

Dos brujas rieron, su obra había terminado,

los cielos manchados por lo que preparan.

Y aún cada año, cuando la noche se torna roja,

despiertan el cielo y resucitan a los muertos

Id galier

[pkworld2022]

stake name : pkworld2022

eddie fall in love and send a big price to me i send eddie all back and he send me in invite to his stream.

I spent all the money to the players on stake

 

Never win stake price or any thing else please let me in the stream an eddie and me share all the money to the real old palyers frist time on stake .................

[BrazzersActor]

🕯️ “The Pumpkin That Played” 🎃

Every year, the villagers left one pumpkin uncarved on Halloween night. It wasn’t tradition—it was warning.

Long ago, a musician named Elric vanished after playing haunting melodies in the graveyard, his violin echoing through the fog. The next morning, a pumpkin grew where he’d stood, its vines coiled like fingers.

Now, every October 31st, when the clock strikes midnight, the air fills with faint violin notes. If you follow the sound, you’ll find the uncarved pumpkin trembling, its surface rippling like skin.

Some swear they’ve seen a shadow inside—bow in hand, eyes glowing amber—waiting for someone brave (or foolish) enough to finish the song.

And if you listen too long… you might just hear your own heartbeat keeping time.

 

ID: BrazzersAdict

[Aydoox]

The All-Hallows' Eve Stake

The power was out on Halloween night. With only my laptop's battery for light, I found myself on "Fate's Spinner," a stake site with a special $1000 All-Hallows' Eve pool. I needed that money.

I joined a table called "Phantom Roulette." The users had names like SoulHarvest and FinalBreath. I put my last $50 on black. The wheel spun, the bone-white ball clicking... and landed on red 13. A chill filled the room. FinalBreath typed: "The house always collects."

Desperate, I entered the "Haunted Hold'em" poker room. My final hand was a king-high flush. I went all-in. My opponent, VeilWalker, revealed a royal flush. A perfect, impossible hand.

As my balance hit zero, a new message appeared from the house: "Payment accepted. Thank you for playing."

The screen went black. But in the reflection, I saw a figure standing behind my chair. Its hand, cold and solid, rested on my shoulder. I hadn't just lost my money. I had won a permanent seat at their table.

HALLOWEN-STAKE.

Id : Aydoox

Edited October 28, 2025 by Aydoox

[trex70]

Stake username trex70

🍷

The Devil’s Hand 😈 😈 😈 😈

Every Halloween, the old Marrow House lit up again—not with candles, but with cards. Rumor said it wasn’t abandoned at all. It just waited for players.

Inside, a single poker table sat under a flickering chandelier. No dealer. No chips. Just a stack of cards and a whisper: “Place your bet.”

Riley was the first to sit down. He thought it was a stunt—a Halloween promo, maybe even a Stake livestream gone too far. He laughed, placing his wallet on the table. Then the cards moved on their own.

A royal flush. The lights flared. And the voice said, “Double or nothing.”

He played again. And again. Each hand he won made the house pulse brighter. Each loss made the shadows lean closer. He couldn’t stop—didn’t want to stop—until his reflection in the window wasn’t his anymore.

The next morning, the cards were neatly stacked. A new wallet sat beside them, still warm.

Now, every Halloween, the Marrow House opens its doors to gamblers who crave one more hand. The buy-in? Just your soul.

And the prize? Eternity at the table

 

 

[Cafegitanes]

It's a sugar cube that walks into a bar, and suddenly you hear “Splash!”
 

Id: Cafegitanes

[kancha08]

On Halloween night, in a smoky tavern at the edge of town, a gambler dressed in a pumpkin-colored suit shuffled a deck of black cards.

No one knew his name—only that he appeared once a year when the moon was full and the wind smelled of ashes. He invited the brave to play.

The wager? A single coin—pure silver, or a piece of one’s soul. One by one, the players lost. Each time, the gambler smiled, his eyes glowing faintly orange, and the loser vanished into the deck. When the clock struck midnight, he gathered his cards, whispered,

“See you next year,”

and melted into the shadows—leaving behind only laughter and the faint scent of burnt sugar.

[Patasin]

Title: "The Echo Bet"

Stake Id: Patasin

The digital glow of the online casino was the only light in Silas’s cramped apartment. It was Halloween night, almost 3 AM, and he was chasing a losing streak on a slot game themed with gothic monsters. The game’s grinning vampire mascot felt like it was mocking him.

“Just one more. One good win,” he muttered, clicking the mouse. The spin was a bust.

Frustrated, he was about to close the tab when a new game icon appeared in the lobby. He’d never seen it before. It was just called “The Empty Seat.” The icon was a simple, old-fashioned wooden chair against a black background. Curious, and honestly, a little desperate, he clicked it.

The screen went black. Then, a new interface loaded. It wasn't a slot or a card table. It was a live feed of a dark room, empty except for two chairs at a simple table. The feed was grainy, like an old security camera. In the corner, a chat box pulsed.

A message appeared. [Player_1928] has joined.

Silas typed, “Hello? Is this a game?”

A new message popped up from [The Dealer]: Welcome. The wager is simple. You bet one memory. I bet one secret. We play one hand of cards.

Silas laughed. “A memory? What is this?”

[The Dealer]: A happy one. Think of it. Hold it in your mind. If you win, I will tell you the secret to the vampire slot you were just playing.

Silas froze. How did it know? He was hooked. "Fine," he typed. "I'm thinking of my 10th birthday. A perfect day."

[The Dealer]: Good. We play.

Two spectral, blurry hands appeared on the screen. They dealt two cards for Silas, face down, and two for the Dealer. It was simple high card.

Silas’s cards were revealed: a King and a 7.

The Dealer’s cards: a 4 and a 2.

Silas won.

[The Dealer]: A win. As promised. The secret: The vampire slot is weighted. It will never pay out after 2:30 AM on a holiday.

Silas felt a chill. He had been losing worse since 2:30. "Who is this?" he typed.

[The Dealer]: It is your turn to deal. Same wager?

Silas was energized. "You bet. I'm thinking of... my first kiss."

He clicked "Deal."

His cards: a 9 and a 5.

The Dealer’s cards: a Jack and a 10.

He lost.

[The Dealer]: Payment taken.

Silas frowned. "What? Nothing happened." He tried to picture his first kiss. The park, the rain... the face. He couldn't remember her face. Or her name. A cold panic seized him. He could remember the event, but the feeling, the happiness, was gone. It felt like looking at a faded, gray photograph.

"What did you do?" he typed, his hands shaking.

[The Dealer]: We played. Would you like to play again? You can win it back.

Silas stared at the screen. The room in the video feed suddenly felt much colder. He looked at the chair opposite the "Dealer's" spot. It wasn't empty.

A faint, shadowy figure was sitting there. It looked skeletal, thin, and was staring right at him through the screen.

[The Dealer]: One more hand, Silas? Double or nothing. Your birthday... or the name of your first pet?

Silas slammed his laptop shut. He sat in the dark, his heart pounding. He tried to remember his 10th birthday. He remembered a cake. He remembered a blue bike. But he couldn't remember smiling. He couldn't remember feeling happy at all.

He never opened the site again. But sometimes, late at night, he’ll get a notification on his phone. A simple, pulsing message from an app he doesn’t remember installing.

It just says: The seat is open.

Edited October 28, 2025 by Patasin

[BrianAlberto]

Tommy, the bravest, climbed the creaking porch. Before he could knock, the heavy door swung open with a groan. Inside was only darkness and the smell of dust.

 

A whisper, dry as dead leaves, echoed from within: "The candy is inside... but so am I."

 

The door slammed shut. The candle went out. Tommy was never seen again. Now, every Halloween, a new candle lights in the attic, waiting for the next brave soul.

ID: BrianAlberto 

[Bombi13]

Hi bombi13 please colaboración

[SenaSantos]

El día Que el hombre empezó a creer

Erase un día, donde un chico llamado Justin Sena, estaba con sus amigos en una esquina a horas de la noche, simplemente riéndose y pasando el rato, en eso quisimos cooperar para ir a comprar unos dulces a una tienda cercana, pero solo 2 quisieron quedarse en esa esquina a charlar, cuando en eso volteamos y arriba de la casa de justin sena, había un niño, era un jodido niño, mirándonos fijamente, no se movía, no hacía ningún gesto, solo miraba, lo más espeluznante esque los padres de Justin sena no estaban en la casa esa noche, tampoco había niños en la casa, ese día fue cuando, empecé a creer. (Basado en hechos reales) 

[disco90s]

Well my story isnt related to Stake or gambling at all.

When i was about 8-9 years old, i went to school camping. Sometimes closer to nights, each of us told stories, make new friends and etc. Some kid told us that in this camp, if u go closer to forest late at night, you can see Queen of Spades. And what scared me the most, this story wasn't told by only 1 kid, a lot of them told the same thing.

Whole campus had 1 toilet and it was far from my camp. It also was close to forest and i needed to go to toilet late at night once, around 2-3 am. i couldnt decide for some time, i was soooo scared to go alone. Basically no lights, darkness and toilet is far away.

i had to go and when i got there, i closed the door, it was so cold, i was shaking from how cold it was and how scared i was 😂

after about 3 minutes there, i heard that someone is coming. Whatever or whoever that was, he wasnt using sink, he wasnt talking, he was just walking around ... i was just sitting in there with closed door, but that thing or whoever it was, wasn't leaving..

all i remember i was running back to campus so fast, i got tripped by root of tree (of course, like in all scary movies) 🤣

since then, i never went to camps again😂

Stake: disco90s

[darkreligions]

When i was 18 i used to live in a city with my brother. We moved there because he had to work there and dragged me along to work there as well.

We first moved from our small hometown to a big city but after a few months we moved into a small and creepy village.

It was a farmers town where everyone knew everyone. We went out to drink in the weekend (me and my brother) to get to know the locals a bit.

Then we got to know a guy named Dylan. Dylan told us he moved here with his sister from new zealand, but was soon about to move again and told us it may be for the best if we did the same.

We felt as if he was trying to threaten us so we asked him what the problem was. He told us we would meet up the day after because we all had too much to drink.

We gave him our adress and he instantly said he wasnt coming down there it was better if we went to his house.

We both thought it was strange, however me and my brother dont back down that fast and we said fine and went back home.

The day after (saturday) i was taking a shower and on the shower there was this hatch which lead to the attic. The lights started flashing and i was getting annoyed with it.

We grew up with a pretty spiritual family so for fun i said "listen here ghost if you want to kill me just turn the lights off" and BOOM lights were off.

I ran out the bathroom buttnaked my brother came up the stairs laughed and asked me wtf i was doing.

I told him the story and he was like it was just a coincidence. He said im gonna be on my way ill see you at olafs house (thats where we were going before we were heading to dylans house)

Fine..i said. So i was getting dressed and when i was done i walked downstairs and saw a quick glimpse of a girl with long hair and white dress glide into my brothers bedroom.

i froze and was scared shitless. I went into his room to check and his dog (an english stafford) was laying on the bed. 

It could not have been the dog because its too small , i thought to myself.

So i went downstairs went out the door and went to Olafs place and after that we went to Dylan. 

When we arrived at Dylan he said he wasnt expecting Olaf to come along. But he said it was fine since Olaf also knew the truth about the town.

And the house..

Dylan told us:

Apparantly back in the days there used to be a cult living in the town. And almost every family was a member of that cult. Some say the cult is still active but others say its not because 80% of the members committed mass suicide.

Women men elders and even children. All of them died. 

But there was one little girl named Marie Elsemir. A girl with long dark hair and a white dress always walking around with a small teddybear held in het little arms.

And sadly she got sacrificed on the cult grounds.

And the house where me and my brother lived , was the exact place where her little body was found murdered.

Wearing the same white dress and the long black hair.

Some say the girls spirit killed the members of the cult. Some say a demon which awakened after the sacrifice. Some say it was suicide.

But all i know is what i saw that night...and that i found a teddy bear in the corner of the attic of that house with the initials M.E on its back.

 

Stake - DarkReligions

[Morax69]

The jack-o’-lantern on the porch had no candle, yet it glowed.Timmy, age six, stared at its triangle eyes. “Hi, Mr. Pumpkin.”The grin widened. “Trick or treat?”Timmy offered a candy corn.The pumpkin ate it, shell and all. Crunch.“More,” it whispered. Timmy gave his whole bag.The light inside turned green. The porch steps creaked. The pumpkin rolled forward, growing taller, sprouting vine arms.Timmy giggled. “You’re funny!”The pumpkin leaned close. “Tag. You’re it.”It tapped his nose with a cold leaf finger.Timmy blinked. The glow vanished. The pumpkin was small again, empty. But Timmy’s candy bag was full of seeds. He planted one in the yard. Next Halloween, a new pumpkin grew—bigger, brighter. It already knew his name.

stake : Morax69

[Ornietv]

George had always hated the old pumpkin patch behind the house. Every October, his wife Clara insisted they carve jack-o’-lanterns there, claiming the soil gave the gourds “character.” Their twins, Lily and Leo, loved it—running between the vines, pockets bulging with seeds, faces smeared orange. George tolerated it for them. This year, the patch felt different. The pumpkins were enormous, their rinds pale as bone. One sat apart from the rest, perfectly round, with a stem curled like a question mark. Clara traced the word Stake carved into its side—letters glowing faintly, as if lit from within. “Someone’s prank,” she laughed. George wasn’t so sure. That night, they carved by lantern light. The knife slipped through the flesh like butter. Inside, the pumpkin wasn’t hollow. A single black seed pulsed, warm to the touch. Leo pocketed it before George could stop him. Midnight struck. The house groaned. Downstairs, the jack-o’-lanterns they’d set on the porch flickered—not with candles, but with green fire. Clara’s breath fogged though the room was warm. Lily whispered, “Daddy, the patch is moving.” George looked out. The vines had slithered across the lawn, coiling up the steps. Pumpkins rolled like tumbleweeds, faces leering. The largest one—the one with Stake—sat on the welcome mat, seed missing. Leo stood in the doorway, eyes milk-white. “It wants its heart back,” he said, voice not his own. The seed in his fist cracked open, roots burrowing into his palm. George grabbed the axe. Clara screamed. The patch surged forward, a tide of orange and shadow. He swung once—twice. Pulp exploded. The vines recoiled. Dawn found them huddled in the kitchen, the patch silent again. Only scorched earth remained. Leo blinked, confused, the seed gone from his hand. Next October, Clara bought pumpkins from the store. George burned the patch to ash. But every night, he hears it—soft, wet thudding beneath the floorboards. Something growing. Waiting to be staked.

Ornietv

[vlados0508]

On a fog-choked Halloween night, Angus wandered into the old cemetery, chasing the whisper of a voice that sounded like his own. The moon was thin, the trees skeletal, and each step sank into the wet earth as if the ground were breathing. He found a grave with his name carved deep into the stone — Angus Blackwood, Died October 31st, 2025. His flashlight flickered, and when it steadied, the soil before the grave was disturbed… freshly dug.

 

A pale hand burst from the dirt, clutching his ankle. The voice returned — not from behind, but from below. “You came back,” it hissed, dragging him down into the pit as the earth sealed itself. The next morning, only his flashlight remained, still glowing weakly beside his grave.
 

 

stake id- vlados0508

[maniubi]

ID：maniubi

================

The Whispering Scarecrow of Hollow’s End 🎃

It was October 30th, and Lila hated Hollow’s End—especially the scarecrow in the field across the street. Her little brother Milo insisted it “watched him,” but Lila brushed it off… until that night. She heard a thin whisper from his room: “Come play… Halloween’s for us.” Milo sat trance-like, clutching a doll that matched the scarecrow’s flannel. Lila tossed the doll away, but swore she heard it giggle.

Halloween dawned foggy. The scarecrow now held a tiny pumpkin carved like Milo’s face. By dusk, while trick-or-treating, Milo vanished. A girl pointed to the field: “With something straw-y.”

Lila ran into the foggy field. Corn stalks whispered as she found the scarecrow in a circle of pumpkins (each carved with a child’s face) and Milo at its feet, smiling at the doll. The scarecrow moved fast, blocking her—under its button eyes were human ones, faded blue.

“He’s mine,” it said. “The lost ones are.” Lila remembered the town’s stories: kids vanishing on Halloween. “You’re Jesse,” she said—Mrs. Henderson’s son, missing 20 years. “You’re lonely.”

“I just didn’t want to be forgotten,” Jesse whispered. Milo felt lost, new here—like he’d been. Lila knelt: “Milo has me. We’ll remember you.”

Jesse’s shoulders sagged. For a second, Lila saw a freckled boy—then he was gone, leaving only straw and the doll. Milo woke, confused.

Next day, Mrs. Henderson cried: “I dreamed Jesse was happy. He found home.” That Halloween, Lila swore she saw a boy playing with kids. And in the field? A pumpkin, grinning like relief. 🦇

[Actiwist]

Whispers at Hinterkaifeck

 

*warning* this story is based on the unsolved murders if the Gruber family imn 1922 (its a real event)

The farmstead stood alone at the edge of the Bavarian woods, miles from the nearest village. Locals called it Hinterkaifeck — a lonely name for a lonely place. The wind there always seemed to carry voices, the kind that made you look over your shoulder when no one was around.

Inside the farmhouse lived Andreas Gruber, a hard, grizzled man in his sixties; his wife Cäzilia; their widowed daughter Victoria; and her two young children, Cäzilia (seven) and Josef (two). They kept to themselves, but not out of peace — there were rumors, whispers of family secrets that made even the neighbors uneasy.

In the last week of March 1922, strange things began to happen.

Andreas told his neighbor that he’d found footprints in the snow leading from the forest straight to his house — but none going back. He heard footsteps in the attic at night, but when he searched, there was no one there. A newspaper appeared in the house that no one remembered buying. And the family keys had gone missing.

He tried to shrug it off. But he told the postman, “Something’s not right here.”

Then, one by one, the days went silent.

It wasn’t until April 4th, when the postman noticed the mail piling up and the cows mooing restlessly in the barn, that anyone came to check.

They found the farm eerily quiet. Smoke no longer rose from the chimney.

A group of villagers entered the barn — and froze.

Under a thin layer of hay lay Andreas, Cäzilia, Victoria, and little Cäzilia, the child. Their skulls had been smashed with a mattock, a sharp farm tool. Someone had stacked their bodies neatly, one atop another, and covered them with straw and boards.

Inside the house, they found the maid, Maria, murdered in her bed — her first night on the job. Baby Josef was dead in his crib.

Six people. All slaughtered.

What made it worse was what they discovered next.

Whoever had done it had stayed.

The farm animals were fed. The kitchen had been used. Smoke had drifted from the chimney for days after the murders. The killer — or killers — had lived there, sleeping among the corpses, eating the family’s food, listening to the wind whisper through the forest.

The investigation went on for years, through wars and new governments, but no one was ever caught. Every clue led to another dead end.

Some said it was a vagrant. Others whispered that it was someone close to the family — maybe someone who knew their secrets.

But no one ever proved who crept into that lonely house, waited in the attic, and then, one by one, took the lives of everyone inside.

Today, the farm at Hinterkaifeck is gone. They tore it down in the 1920s, leaving only a memorial stone in a quiet field surrounded by trees.

But sometimes, travelers say that when the wind is just right, you can hear faint footsteps in the grass — as if someone’s still up there, waiting in the attic.

 

Stakeid: Actiwist