💰[$1,000] Tell us your spooky story 📚

[Hey1]

The Last Trick-or-Treater

 

Maple Street was drowning in autumn. Crisp air carried the scent of woodsmoke and decaying leaves, and every porch blazed with jack-o'-lanterns – grinning, scowling, winking with candlelight. Costumed children shrieked with laughter, plastic bags rustling like dry leaves as they darted from door to door. Linda watched from her bay window, a mug of cider warming her hands. She’d handed out the last of her candy an hour ago – the satisfying thump* of empty buckets signaling the end of the night’s main event. Now, only the distant echoes of revelry and the rustle of wind through skeletal oaks remained.

 

She was about to draw the curtains when a flicker of movement caught her eye. Down at the end of the street, near the old Miller place – long abandoned, its windows boarded like blind eyes – a small figure stood. Not running, not skipping. Just… standing. Watching the houses.

 

Linda frowned. Most kids had been called home by now. This one was small, bundled in a dark, shapeless coat that seemed too big, hood pulled low. No discernible costume, just shadow. And they were holding something long and thin, almost like a stick, but held upright.

 

Curiosity warred with the prickle of unease crawling up Linda’s spine. *Probably just a latecomer*, she told herself. *Maybe lost.* She grabbed the small bowl of leftover candy corn and miniature chocolate bars she’d kept back "just in case" and stepped onto her porch, the cool air sharp against her face.

 

"Hey there!" she called, her voice sounding too loud in the sudden quiet. "Trick-or-treat?"

 

The figure didn’t jump or turn. It simply… pivoted. Slowly, deliberately, until it faced her direction. The hood remained low, casting the face in deep shadow. The object in its hand – Linda could see it better now – wasn’t a stick. It was a broomstick. An old-fashioned, worn wooden broomstick, held vertically like a staff.

 

"Come on up, sweetie," Linda said, forcing cheer into her voice, though it felt thin. "I’ve got a little something left."

 

The figure began to walk. Not with the bouncy energy of a child, but with a slow, deliberate glide. Each step seemed unnaturally silent on the fallen leaves. As it drew closer, Linda noticed the coat wasn’t just dark; it was the deep, velvety black of a moonless night, and it seemed to absorb the porch light rather than reflect it. The air around the figure felt… colder.

 

It stopped at the bottom of her porch steps. The hood tilted slightly upwards. Linda still couldn’t see a face, only deeper shadow within the cowl. But she felt the weight of its gaze, cold and ancient.

 

"Trick… or treat?" The voice was a dry whisper, like dead leaves skittering across stone. It didn’t sound young. It sounded *old*.

 

Linda’s hand tightened on the candy bowl. "T-treat, of course," she stammered, holding it out.

 

The small, gloved hand that emerged from the oversized sleeve wasn’t a child’s hand. It was thin, almost skeletal, the skin stretched taut and greyish, like old parchment. It didn’t reach for the candy. Instead, it pointed a bony finger, not at the bowl, but directly at Linda’s chest.

 

"Your turn," the whisper rasped. "For the taking."

 

A jolt of pure, icy fear shot through Linda. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t Halloween fun. This was something else. Something that had waited in the shadows of Maple Street long before plastic pumpkins and store-bought costumes.

 

"Go home," Linda said, her voice trembling but firm. She took a step back, onto the porch proper. "It’s late."

 

The figure didn’t move. The pointing finger remained steady. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. The cheerful jack-o'-lanterns on neighboring porches suddenly seemed like mocking faces. The wind died completely. Even the distant sounds of the neighborhood vanished, as if the world held its breath.

 

Then, slowly, the figure lowered its hand. It reached into the deep pocket of its black coat. Not for candy. It pulled out a single, perfect, blood-red apple. It held it out towards Linda, the stem stark against the crimson skin.

 

"Take it," the whisper urged, a strange, hollow hunger in its tone. "The last treat of the night. The sweetest one."

 

Linda stared at the apple. It looked impossibly real, impossibly tempting, yet radiated a profound wrongness. She remembered the old stories whispered about the Miller place – tales of a reclusive woman who vanished decades ago, rumored to dabble in things best left alone, who was said to leave strange offerings on doorsteps on All Hallows' Eve. Offerings that were never meant to be accepted.

 

"No," Linda breathed, the word barely audible. "I don’t want it."

 

The air crackled. The shadow within the hood seemed to deepen, to *lean* forward. The temperature on the porch plummeted. Linda’s breath fogged in front of her. The cheerful glow of her own jack-o'-lantern flickered wildly, casting monstrous, leaping shadows.

 

"**Take it,**" the whisper commanded, no longer dry, but sharp as broken glass. "**Or give something else.**"

 

Panic surged. Linda slammed the screen door shut behind her, fumbling for the lock. She didn’t look back. She heard no footsteps, no angry cry. Just the soft, final *thud* of something heavy and wet hitting her porch step.

 

She pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the door, heart hammering against her ribs. After a long, trembling minute, she risked a glance.

 

The small figure was gone. Vanished as if it had never been. Only the blood-red apple remained, lying on her welcome mat, its surface gleaming wetly in the porch light. And beside it, nestled in the fallen leaves, was a single, perfect white bone – small, delicate, unmistakably a child’s finger bone.

 

Linda didn’t sleep that night. She left the apple and the bone untouched on the step. In the morning, under the weak autumn sun, both were gone. Only a faint, coppery smell lingered near the door, and the memory of that ancient, hungry whisper:  "Your turn."

 

She never handed out candy on Halloween again. And every year, as the last trick-or-treaters faded into the night, Linda would stand at her window, watching the end of Maple Street, her hand unconsciously rubbing the cold spot on her chest where the bony finger had pointed. Waiting. Wondering if this year, the last trick-or-treater would come back…

and what price the night might finally demand?

Id: hey1

Edited October 28, 2025 by Hey1
X

[Zeeus97]

Cuando mi papá murió, fue muy duro para mí, pero aún más para mi hija. Tenía apenas 2 años, pero mi papá era definitivamente su persona favorita en todo el mundo. Comparado con él, yo no era nadie y amaba a mi hija literalmente más que a su propia vida. Cuando murió, mi hija fue de cuarto en cuarto buscándolo. Salió y sin decir nada encogió los hombros como diciendo: 'No sé'. Se me salieron las lágrimas, ¿cómo le hablas sobre la muerte a una niña chiquita? Cuando fui a acostarla esa noche, estaba totalmente inconsolable. Quería jugar con el abuelo. La abrazaba y lloraba al mismo tiempo, tratando de mantener la calma para que pudiera dormir. De repente, se escuchó un clic y se prendió una pequeña luz roja de su silla de música y empezó a sonar una canción. Mi hija se calmó y se estaba quedando dormida pero cuando la silla se apagó, empezó a llorar otra vez. La silla se volvió a prender, tocó la canción y se calmó. Esto pasó varias veces durante unos 15 minutos hasta que finalmente se durmió. Lo peculiar de la silla es que es interactiva; para que reproduzca música, hay que pararse o sentarse en ella o pasar las páginas del libro. También tiene un switch para prenderla que cuando la saqué del cuarto para verla estaba bien puesto en la posición de apagado. Las baterías todavía estaban nuevas y nunca ha vuelto a pasar lo mismo. Creo que mi papá hizo todo lo posible para decirnos a todos, pero principalmente a mi hija, que todavía estaba ahí. Ahora ella sueña con él y me dice que se divierten mucho pescando juntos.

 

Stake id: Zeeus97

[Francol11]

On 10/27/2025 at 2:37 AM, Jake7589 said:

📚 Tell us your spooky story 👻

Ends: 7/11/2025 @  1.00 AM GMT

Write an original Halloween-themed story that captures the spirit of the season 👻
It can be scary, mysterious, or just a little strange; your creativity is what counts. 🎨
Drop your stories below 💬

Requirements: 

• Reply to this thread with your stories.
• Include your Stake ID.
• To have a valid entry, fill out the below form, providing your details 

HERE

Prize Pool: $1,000

• Distributed to 20 randomly selected winners who meet the above conditions.

How to Enter:

• Reply with your Stories
• Include your Stake ID

Prize pool distribution:

• Complete the challenge within the next 7 days for a shot at the prize pool.
• Winners are limited to 20.
• IMPORTANT: Don’t miss out! Stay tuned for the official winner announcements so you can grab your prize before the link expires. Users will not be credited after the 3 month time period ends.

Stake.com users only ‼

Terms of Service – Competition: 

For Full Terms of Service - Expand below Quote

The Stake Glitch

It was midnight on Halloween. Alex was alone, staring at the screen. His Stake balance was zero. Desperate, he put his last fraction of Bitcoin on an exclusive Dice game.

Click "Bet".

The screen froze at 7.77. A system error. Alex yelled in frustration. Suddenly, the screen went black, then flashed a balance: $\infty$ (Infinity).

A cold, bodiless, digital voice spoke through his headphones: "Congratulations, Alex! You've broken the casino! But now the casino collects."

In the screen's reflection, Alex didn't see his face, but moving binary code and the silhouette of a faceless dealer with a Stake logo burning on its chest.

He felt an icy tug, as if his very luck and digital identity were being extracted.

The next morning, Alex was fine. His Stake account and all his devices were wiped clean. No one remembered his username. Only one persistent error message remained in his browser history:

Error 404: User Not Found. Wager Paid.

Stake user is  Francol11

[Angelinho2]

Era hace una vez en un pequeño pueblo un chico llamado john, a él no le fue bien hoy en sus parleys un día un personaje le mandó un mensaje diciendo “te paso el definitivo para que no pierdas jamás” John muy confiado aceptó aunque parecían imposibles y poco a poco se iban cumpliendo hasta que al último calló todo como estaba planeado en el parley John ganó miles de dólares pero le llegó otro mensaje de este usuario misterioso que decía, ahora tu vida también es una combinada, durante días conseguía pegar todo lo que apostaba pero noto un pequeño detalle que al final de todos los partidos un jugador lo miraba directamente, el usuario que ahora mandaba los mensajes era John 

 

ID: Angelv1

[SingleG]

The Whispers in the Cornfield 🌾👻

Every year, when October’s chill swept through Blackridge, the cornfields began to whisper. Locals said the wind carried secrets — voices of those who never made it out before the first frost.

Eli didn’t believe the stories. Until one night, he dared his friends to walk the path that cut through the fields. Halfway in, the moon vanished behind the clouds, and the stalks began to rustle — not with wind, but with breathing.

He turned, laughing at first, but the laughter died when he heard his name whispered softly, from somewhere deep in the maze. The voice was familiar. His sister’s. The one who’d vanished there three Halloweens ago.

When the sun rose, the path was empty — except for Eli’s flashlight, lying in the mud, still flickering weakly.

And now, on cold October nights, the corn still whispers… but sometimes, if you listen closely, it whispers two names.

Stake: SingleG

[Staker911]

“The Scarecrow”

Okay, so this happened a couple Halloweens ago .... 🥶

I was helping out at this tiny haunted house thing our town does — super low budget, like black trash bags for walls and a fog machine that wouldn’t stop beeping. Anyway, around 10 PM, this tall guy walks in wearing a scarecrow costume. Like… really good. Old burlap mask, straw hands, stitched mouth — it looked way too real for something from a thrift store.

He didn’t talk, just stood in the corner watching everyone. I figured he was one of the volunteers being creepy, so I just ignored it.

When the night ended, I went to thank everyone for helping. That’s when I realized no one knew who the scarecrow guy was.

So I walk over, trying to be chill, and I’m like, “Hey, man, good job tonight.”

He turns his head — slowly — and I hear whispering coming from inside the mask. Not mumbling, not breathing. It was my name.

I froze. I didn’t even tell anyone there my name.

Then he leans in, real close, and goes, “See you next Halloween.”

And just walks out the side door.

Next morning, the door’s still locked from the inside. Nobody saw him leave.

This year? I came home from work last night…
and there’s a burlap mask sitting on my porch.

It’s wet — like it’s been out in the rain —
but it smells like fresh hay ....

i appreciate the love if i win , def gonna need it so i dont have to go work at the same haunted house this year 🥰
Stake id : 91196

[Daglas1986]

Id: Daglas1986

The Whispering Window
It was nearly midnight when Emma noticed the old wooden window creaking open on its own. She had shut it hours ago. The storm outside had long passed, yet a cold gust still slipped through, carrying faint whispers—soft, almost polite.
At first, she thought it was the wind. Until one of the whispers said her name.
Frozen in place, Emma stared at the glass. Her reflection shivered, but then… it smiled. Only, she wasn’t smiling.
A figure appeared behind the reflection—tall, thin, with eyes like dying embers. It leaned closer to the glass and whispered again, this time clearer:  
“May I come in now?”
The latch clicked open by itself.
When the police arrived the next morning, they found the room undisturbed—except for the window, which was sealed shut from the inside. On the fogged glass, written in the faint outline of a fingertip, were four words:  
“Thank you for letting me.”

[Minushi12]

On 10/27/2025 at 6:37 AM, Jake7589 said:

📚 Tell us your spooky story 👻

Ends: 7/11/2025 @  1.00 AM GMT

Write an original Halloween-themed story that captures the spirit of the season 👻
It can be scary, mysterious, or just a little strange; your creativity is what counts. 🎨
Drop your stories below 💬

Requirements: 

• Reply to this thread with your stories.
• Include your Stake ID.
• To have a valid entry, fill out the below form, providing your details 

HERE

Prize Pool: $1,000

• Distributed to 20 randomly selected winners who meet the above conditions.

How to Enter:

• Reply with your Stories
• Include your Stake ID

Prize pool distribution:

• Complete the challenge within the next 7 days for a shot at the prize pool.
• Winners are limited to 20.
• IMPORTANT: Don’t miss out! Stay tuned for the official winner announcements so you can grab your prize before the link expires. Users will not be credited after the 3 month time period ends.

Stake.com users only ‼

Terms of Service – Competition: 

For Full Terms of Service 

 

 

Stake id: minushi12

The air is cold, the lights flicker… and I swear I saw someone behind the mirror. But when I turned, there was no one. Only my shadow… still smiling at me.

👁️🎃

[gusha625]

October 31st.
The town shimmered beneath rows of orange lanterns, their light trembling on wet cobblestones. From every doorway hung a mask—some smiling, some solemn, some expressionless.

Here, they didn’t call it Halloween.
It was the Festival of Masks.
Every resident wore one until dawn. No one removed it early.
If you did, they said, you’d never find your way out of town again.

Mio fastened the white fox mask her mother had given her since childhood. Each year, her mother polished it and whispered, “Wear this, and you’ll come home safely.” Mio never asked what she meant.

Tonight, the streets were alive with laughter. Her friends wore devils and clowns and witches, skipping between lanterns that swayed like fireflies. But as Mio moved through the crowd, she noticed something strange: beneath the paint and paper, every mask seemed to share the same faint expression—neither joy nor sorrow, only stillness.

“Hey! This way!”
Her friend’s voice echoed from a side alley.
Mio followed, and the sound of celebration dimmed behind her.
The air cooled. The lanterns thinned, until only shadows remained.

At the end of the narrow lane stood a small wooden shrine.
Fox masks hung from ropes in rows, their eyes catching the dim light.
One of them trembled.

“Don’t take it off,” a voice said.

Mio turned.
A girl stood behind her, wearing the same school uniform—and the same fox mask.

“Who are you?”
“I’m you,” the girl said softly. “From last year.”

The world seemed to hold its breath.
“When one returns, another stays,” the girl continued.
“It’s how this town remembers itself.
If you leave, I’ll stay behind.
If you stay, you’ll wear this face forever.”

Mio reached for her mask, but the girl caught her wrist.
“If you take it off,” she whispered, “you’ll have my face.”

A bell rang in the distance—the signal that the festival was ending.
The girl’s grip loosened.
“Go. The town waiting for you will think you’re me. That’s how it always works.”

When Mio opened her eyes, morning light poured through her window.
For a moment she thought she had dreamt it.
But on her desk lay the fox mask.
Inside, written in black ink, were four words:

See you next year.

Downstairs, her mother smiled.
“Welcome back. You made it home.”
“...Yeah,” Mio said, forcing a smile.

In the mirror, her reflection stared back—
eyes calm, lips faintly curved,
the same expression worn by every mask in town.

Outside, new fox masks were already drying in the autumn wind.
One of them tilted slightly,
as if nodding to her,
as if it already knew her face.

[barbarisch]

Gece saat 02.40 civarıydı. Uykum bir türlü gelmiyordu, telefonla biraz oyalandım sonra kenara koyup gözlerimi kapattım. Ev tamamen sessizdi ama içimde garip bir tedirginlik vardı — sanki biri beni izliyormuş gibi.

 

Bir süre sonra, yatağımın altından çok hafif bir fısıltı duydum. Önce hayal sandım, ama ses yeniden geldi.

Bu kez açıkça bir kelimeydi: “Uyanma…”

 

Tüm vücudum buz kesti. Kımıldayamadım.

Bir süre sessiz kaldım, sonra kendimi zorlayıp doğruldum. Odamda kimse yoktu. Ama o anda, kulağımın hemen yanından aynı ses fısıldadı:

“Demiştim, uyanma.”

 

Çığlık atarak lambayı açtım. Her şey yerli yerindeydi.

Ama sabah olduğunda yatağımı çekince… zeminde, tırnak izleri gördüm.

Ve en kötüsü, o izler yatak yönüne değil, dışarı çıkmak ister gibi kazınmıştı.

[qarqni]

I always felt it on Halloween—the way the air hummed just beneath my skin, like the world held its breath waiting for me. While others wore costumes, I never needed one. The shadows leaned in when I passed. Jack-o’-lanterns turned their grins to follow me. Even the wind seemed to whisper my name.

This year, I walked alone down Elm Street after midnight, the last soul out. My boots crunched on fallen leaves, and my breath curled like ghost smoke in the cold. That’s when I saw it: a single, unlit pumpkin on a porch that hadn’t been there yesterday. Carved not with a face—but with my initials.

I stepped closer. The moment my fingers brushed its cool rind, every porch light on the block flickered on at once.

And from inside the pumpkin, something whispered back… in my own voice.

"Trick or treat?"

I smiled.
Finally, someone remembered who really owns this night.

Happy Halloween—you’ve always been the most mysterious one on the block. 🕯️🎃
stake ID : DsQarQni

[xGhostCoC4]

When I was little, my mom used to go to work and so did my dad, so I would stay home alone. One day, while I was playing in my room, I thought I heard my mother calling my name. I went to check, but there was no one there. I got a bit scared, but since I was a kid, I thought it was just my imagination and went back to playing.

Suddenly, I heard my name again. I went to check in case my mom had come back, but she hadn’t. That’s when I started to get really scared, though I tried not to think much of it. When I went back to my room, I began hearing noises outside in the yard — like something scratching or hitting the window. From that moment on, I just tried to distract myself by playing until my mom came home.

xghostcoc4

[AlmightyGangGG]

I woke up this morning .... 🎃

 

AlmightyGang 

Edited October 29, 2025 by AlmightyGangGG

[Brightside]

🎃👻
Rumor has it that every year on Halloween at midnight, if you visit Stake, you can see a new player in the lobby - "Ghost_Oleh". His bets always win... But no one has ever withdrawn his balance.

sane4ka007

[DDragon56]

🎃 The Two Faces of Ethan Vale

By day, Ethan Vale is the nicest man in Hollow’s End — delivering mail, helping neighbors, and feeding stray cats.

But when Halloween night falls… he changes.

Years ago, he found an old leather mask in his attic — cursed, they say, by a witch centuries ago. Now, when the moon rises on October 31st, Ethan becomes The Postman — a silent figure leaving victims behind with a blood-sealed letter that reads:

> “You’ve been delivered.”

When morning comes, Ethan remembers nothing — only the screams echoing in his dreams.

This Halloween, if you see your mailman smiling too wide…
don’t open the door.

 

Makddragon

[chris6131]

Cuando tenía unos 13 años. Solía ir con mi hermano y unos primos a un ciber que estaba muy cerca de casa. 

El ciber era un lugar bastante angosto y muy poco iluminado y sabía tener unas 10 computadoras.

Bueno nosotros nos pusimos cada uno en su PC y comenzamos a jugar bien tranquilos. 

En eso yo me levanto de mi PC para ir al baño y al volver notaba que parecía estar solo en el ciber. Busco a mi hermano y mis primos y no estaban.

Me voy hasta la entrada para ver si están el chico que atendía el ciber y tampoco estaba.

En eso había una PC que estaba encendida que decía como empezar el juego y bueno me puse a jugar y era un juego simple en su

Ya que era tocar los botones de izquierda o derecha y había que ir guiando a una chica vestida toda de blanco con el pelo negro por un camino.

Bueno era facil el juego y entonces yo empecé a chocarla a la chica al propósito en el juego para ver q pasaba.

Y era como que aparecía en la pantalla en grande la chica toda lastimada y con un grito fuerte. Que me hizo dar muchísimo miedo eso y de la desesperación quería apagar la PC y no podía. Así q la desenchufe 

Y en eso yo cuando termino de jugar veo q en la puerta del baño aparece una chica de pelo negro y con un vestido blanco caminando hacia a mi.

Yo de la desesperación trato de salir del ciber pero la puerta no abría y la chica cada vez se acerca a más hacia a mi.

En eso sigo intentando abrir la puerta y en eso que me doy vuelta veo la chica como grita y se viene hacia a mi..

Y justo en ese momento mi mamá había prendido la luz de mi habitación y me dijo que era hora de ir al cole..

Jaja la verdad que fue el sueño más feo que tuve y fue algo que recuerdo siempre..

Bueno espero que hayan tenido tiempo para leer mi historia y les haya gustado

[c9Aghoul]

The jack-o’-lantern on the porch grinned with a single candle. 🕯️ 

Timmy, eight and alone, waited for his parents to come home from the party.

At 10:03 p.m. the flame turned blue.A small voice drifted from inside the pumpkin. 🎃

“Trade me your name for one wish.”Timmy leaned close. “I wish Mom and Dad were here.”The flame flared white. 

The pumpkin’s carved mouth closed.

The candle went out.Footsteps on the driveway. 🚶‍♀️🚶‍♂️

Two adults in cheap vampire capes stepped into the porch light. 🧛‍♂️🧛‍♀️

“Trick or treat,” they said in unison, voices flat.Timmy smiled. “You’re early.”The woman tilted her head. “Who’s Timmy?”The man shrugged. “Never heard of him.”They walked inside, calling for their son.

The pumpkin sat cold and nameless, smiling at an empty porch. 

stake ID:Aghoul

[Ignacio34]

En argentina no se festeja eso 🤣🤣

Los que tienen plata nomas. Jaja

 

Id Ignacio6666

[Jackhackmax]

Max smirked.

“Eat the whole steak at midnight — one bite, no fear.”

Luke nodded. Easy bet.

 

Clock struck twelve.

He cut the steak. It twitched.

Blood bubbled, steam hissed.

 

He ate. One bite. Two.

Then whispers rose — “More… more…”

 

Morning came.

The plate was full again.

But Luke’s chair was empty.

stakeid:Jackhackmax

Edited October 29, 2025 by Jackhackmax

[sashkomef61]

stake: sashkomef61

"There was a guy who only played "Zeus vs. Nades," but on Halloween night, he decided to try "Mental 2." He caught Maxwin on the first spin. He was shocked, because it was 100,000x! It completely blew his head off, and instead of a pumpkin, he ended up standing on a stump.

Edited October 29, 2025 by sashkomef61

[rmoctezuma]

“Crash of the Dead”

Nobody knew who LuckySkull13 really was. Just another username lighting up the Stake.com chat with insane wins.

It was Día de Muertos, and while others lit candles and placed marigolds on their altars, he opened his laptop and logged into the only shrine he trusted — the glowing interface of Stake Originals.

He started with Crash. The rocket climbed — 2x, 5x, 25x — and he cashed out right before the explosion.
The balance doubled. Tripled. Luck was dripping from his fingers.

Then Plinko — balls falling like silver bones through a pyramid of lights. Mines, every click pure gold, no bombs. Dice, a streak so perfect it looked scripted.

The chat went wild. ElCalavera777: “The dead are with you, amigo.” Catrina_Love: “One more spin, just one…" He laughed. “Let’s make it legendary.” He went all in.

The room darkened. The only light was from the screen — now pulsing like a heartbeat. The rocket launched again. 10x. 50x. 100x. He didn’t blink. He couldn’t.

Then everything froze. The counter stopped at 666x. The chat fell silent.

The cursor moved on its own. A whisper crawled from the speakers: “You played too well, corazón. Time to upload your luck.”

He tried to pull away, but his hands wouldn’t move. The air was heavy, electric. The clock on the wall stopped ticking. The flame of his copal froze mid-flicker. And then the screen pulled him in.

His body dissolved into static — pixels peeling from his skin, his breath turning into binary. His scream echoed inside the speakers, distorted and endless.

Some say the servers of Stake still hum louder on that night. If you play at midnight on November 2nd, sometimes the Crash multiplier goes beyond reason — climbing into impossible numbers.

And in the corner of the chat, a message appears for a second, then vanishes: LuckySkull13: “The house always wins. Even your soul.” Nobody ever sees him leave the lobby.
Just another player, frozen in time — a calavera made of code, still betting in the dark.

Stake ID: rmoctezuma

Edited October 29, 2025 by rmoctezuma

[hydroken]

On the night of 2025’s All Hallows’ Eve…
Hydro logged into Stake, and the unthinkable happened.
He won.

The world shuddered. The balance of fate cracked.
Something was terribly wrong.
Armageddon. Apocalypse. Total world destruction.

Hydro wept that night, convinced it was the end.

But wait—
HAHA! Got you.

Hydro never wins. Like you’d believe that for a second.
Rest easy, everyone—the universe is safe tonight.

 

Stake ID: HydroKen

[gimenezl]

I was on a late ride near the General Belgrano Bridge, the one that links Corrientes with Resistencia over the Paraná.
The windows were open and the radio had low chamamé, just enough to hear the squeeze-box and the wind.
Right around the midpoint the interior lights flickered and in the window I saw my face older, with wet hair, like I’d just come out of the river.
A minute later my phone saved a blank voice memo while we rolled back along the river road into the city.
I got off by the Costanera and noticed thin muddy streaks on my sneakers I didn’t step into anywhere that night.
Next day the memo title showed my name with a little accordion icon, which only made me think of chamamé again for no real reason...

 

id: gimenezl

[enisrexheepi]

"The Reflection That Smiled First"

When my grandmother died, she left me her old farmhouse and one rule:
“Cover every mirror at night.”

I thought it was just superstition — until last Thursday.

The power went out around midnight. I was brushing my teeth by flashlight when I noticed the bathroom mirror wasn’t covered. My reflection was standing still even though my hand was still moving.

I froze. My reflection smiled.

Not a mirror-smile — not that slow echo of your own grin — but something deliberate, wide, wrong. Then it raised its hand and traced a word in fog on the glass:

“SOON.”

I stumbled back, tripped, and the flashlight rolled away. When I grabbed it again, the mirror was empty — no reflection at all. Just my shaking breath against the cold glass.

The next morning, I found fresh fingerprints inside the mirror’s surface — pressed behind the glass, as if someone had been trying to get out.

That night, I covered every mirror.
But I still hear fingernails scratching from the other side, tracing that same word again…
“SOON.” 

stake id-username : enisrexheepi 

 

[Szechuan1]

MY FRIEND WAS HEADLESS IN THE GROUP PICTURE

It was 7 PM. 

While eating dinner, I was browsing through the pictures my friends and I took at a birthday party last night.
I smiled as I looked at the photos. It was a special moment because we don’t get to hang out as often anymore everyone’s busy with work and life but whenever we do, the bond feels just like the old days.

When I was younger, I couldn’t wait to become an adult so I could do anything I wanted. But now that I’m here, all I feel is fear something I know some people can relate to.

Staring at these pictures, I can’t tell anymore what genuine happiness looks like. I just hope the smiles in these photos are real.

Suddenly, I heard an ambulance rushing past our house. I could see the flashing lights through the window as the wind blew in, making the curtains sway.
I swallowed hard, a familiar sense of unease washing over me. I’ve always hated the sound of ambulances.

I took a deep breath and continued eating.
Moments later, a hand suddenly rested on my shoulder, startling me.

“Son, you’ve been sitting there for a while now. Put your phone down and finish your food first,” my mom said.

“You scared me, Ma!” I exclaimed, clutching my chest.

Then my phone vibrated, a notification sound from our group chat.
I grabbed my phone and saw that everyone was talking. A smile formed on my face, thinking it was just some funny conversation again.

“Guys!!! Don’t freak out...” one of my friends typed.
We all laughed because he was known for his jokes, so none of us took it seriously,
until the next message came:

“I’m serious... Jay took his own life earlier tonight. They found his body in his bedroom.”

Everyone went silent. Shock. Confusion. Disbelief.
Some of them started a video call to talk about what happened. I just sat there, frozen, my hands trembling as I held my phone.

“Guys, get dressed. We’re going to his house,” one of my friends said.

I left my phone on the table and rushed to change clothes.
When I came back, the group chat was flooded with messages.
They were talking about one of the photos from last night.

I clicked on it and looked closer.
My mouth fell open. I accidentally knocked my fork off the table, it clattered to the floor.

I covered my mouth, trembling.
In the picture... Jay had no head.

We were all horrified.

“Let’s just meet there. Be careful, everyone,” said one of my friends before ending the call.

I picked up the fork and placed it back on my plate.
Then, my phone vibrated again.

Another message.

“Where are you? I’m outside your house. Look out the window.”

I slowly turned my head toward the window.
And there standing under the dim light outside, was Jay.

StakeID: KitsIRL