💰[$1,000] Tell us your spooky story 📚

[actionaer]

i saw scary movie. 

Stake Actionaer 

[AngelicaSmorzh]

The clock struck midnight as fog rolled through Hollow’s End. Every door creaked open, though no wind blew. Jack-o’-lanterns flickered to life, their grins widening unnaturally. From the shadows came the shuffle of shoes—hundreds of them—belonging to no one. Eliza, the last living soul in the village, peeked through her window. Faces formed in the mist: pale, hollow-eyed, whispering, *“Join the parade.”* She slammed the shutters, heart pounding—then froze. Behind her, another voice, soft and smiling: “You forgot your mask.” In the reflection of the glass, her pumpkin carved itself—perfectly matching her scream.

 

Stake Id: AngelicaSmorzh

[Alsayed24]

 

💀 The Whisper Behind the Door 💀

It was just after midnight when the power went out.

Using my phone’s flashlight, I noticed my front-door handle turning — slowly, like someone trying not to be heard.

I froze. Then a whisper came from the other side of the door:

“Don’t open it. He’s inside with you.”

My heart stopped. I scanned the apartment — nothing.

When I looked back, the handle was still.

I didn’t sleep till morning.

At sunrise, I opened the door.

No one was there. But my doorknob was ice-cold, and the welcome mat had been flipped upside down.

I moved out two days later.

 

 

 

🕯️ Stake ID: Alsayed24

[Azynda]

i bet $5 on Stake Casino and won $500.
Excited, i yelled, “Let’s gooo!”

Then your lights flickered, and a voice whispered from my laptop:

“Double or nothing… your life.”

I sighed and said,

“Jokes on you — I already work two jobs and still can’t afford to lose sleep.”

The ghost quietly logged off.

 

piddelito

[Emel]

🎃 The Spin of Shadows 🎃

 

In the quiet town of Hollowridge, Halloween was more than just costumes and candy—it was a night of old magic. Every October 31st, as the clock neared midnight, the townsfolk would whisper about The Spin Reaper—a ghostly figure who appeared only once a year at the old Stake Carnival on the edge of town.

 

No one had seen the carnival in decades. It had burned down long ago, swallowed by a fire that danced blue and green like will-o’-the-wisps. But every Halloween night, those who dared to walk near the ashes claimed to hear the faint creak of a ferris wheel turning in the fog, powered by something unseen.

 

This year, Mira—curious, brave, and a little reckless—decided to see if the tales were true. She followed the winding forest path until the air grew cold enough to mist her breath. Then, through the trees, she saw it: the Stake Carnival, restored and glowing. The rides spun slowly, the lights flickering with eerie life, though no one was in sight.

 

Mira stepped closer, her shoes crunching over leaves that seemed too crisp, too loud. A carousel began to turn. The painted horses blinked, their eyes following her. A voice, low and melodic, drifted from the shadows:

 

“Care for a spin?”

 

She turned. A tall figure stood by the roulette booth, cloaked in black, holding a long, curved scythe. His grin was bone-white, his eyes like hollow coins. The Spin Reaper.

 

“You get one spin,” he said, gesturing to the great wheel behind him—painted in shades of midnight and ember. “If luck favors you, your wish will come true. But if it doesn’t…”

 

He didn’t finish.

 

Mira hesitated, then placed her trembling hand on the wheel. It was ice-cold. She spun. The symbols blurred—skulls, spiders, candles, keys—until it slowed and stopped on a mark shaped like an eye.

 

The Reaper leaned close, his breath a chilling whisper.

“Ah… you’ve been seen.”

 

The lights of the carnival went out.

 

When Mira awoke, she was lying in her bed, morning sunlight spilling through her curtains. It must’ve been a dream, she thought… until she glanced at her mirror.

 

There, etched in fog across the glass, were words that hadn’t been there before:

 

“See you next spin.”

 

And far away, on the edge of Hollowridge, the ruins of the old Stake Carnival shimmered faintly in the daylight—its ferris wheel creaking once, ever so softly, as if still turning.

 

👻🕯️ Happy Halloween, from the shadows that still spin. 🕯️👻
 

 

stake ID =Emel9

[stiffa]

Title: The Nameless Pumpkin 🎃

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 echoed 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. 🎃

 

Stkae id     stiffa

[Rameshbabu25]

The air on the Silent Trace tasted of pine and deep dread. Anji saw the figure near the logging trail, utterly motionless in its heavy, dark coat. He stopped the car, headlights bathing the still form. Slowly, the head tilted back, defying human anatomy, until it faced the black sky. It seemed hinged and broken. From its throat came a single, sustained note. The sound was not a scream but pure, vibrating cold. Liam floored the accelerator, not waiting for the inevitable. He didn't look back until the main highway's light hit. The car was warm, but the chilling feeling stayed. Anji knew the cold had traveled with him.

Stake -  rameshbabu25

[marleysdad]

There was a cold fall night

And to my delight

In my bank there was a good sight

Alot of money, such a delight

Was such a shame when I lost it all to my favourite gambling site

But it was all a nightmare, filled with fright

[nagomi115]

It was just past midnight on Halloween when I saw it—my reflection smiling back at me.I wasn’t smiling. I leaned closer to the mirror. My reflection tilted its head, just a second too late, eyes wide and hungry. Then it whispered, “You’re the reflection now.”The lights flickered.When they came back on, I was on the other side of the glass…watching her walk away in my body.

 

Happy Halloween!

Stake:nagomi115

[Suryagg]

🕯️ “Whispers Under the Bed”

 

Every night, nine-year-old Riya heard whispering beneath her bed — soft voices calling her name, giggling faintly. Her parents said it was just the wind.

 

One night, tired of being scared, she leaned down and whispered back, “Who’s there?”

 

The voices went silent. Then, from behind her, she heard a reply — in her own voice —

“We were waiting for you to ask.”

 

The next morning, her parents found the bed empty. But the whispering never stopped. It just had one new voice added to it.

 

Stake id : Suryagg

[StYrox]

🎰 Eddie’s Weekend

Steve wasn’t an unlucky man, but he had that kind of naïveté that people like Eddie can smell from miles away.
When he answered the ad — “Host wanted for private weekend casino events. Great pay, good atmosphere.” — he thought he’d just be entertaining guests in a big house.

The mansion stood at the end of a country road — no number, no neighbors. Eddie was waiting on the porch, smile too wide, eyes too calm.
— “Welcome, Steve. We start tonight.”

Inside, everything looked normal… at first. Gaming tables, red and gold lights, soft music. But there were no guests. Just Eddie — and a muffled laughter that seemed to seep from the walls.

Steve tried to leave, but the front door wouldn’t open. Eddie, behind him, laid a hand on his shoulder.
— “No, no. You stay until the end of the weekend. You’ll host for me.”

In the basement, he found the “entertainment room”: a large, empty space with a steel cage at its center. Inside — a microphone and a camera pointed at a virtual blackjack table.
Eddie explained the rules:
— “You talk. You smile. You spin the wheel. People are watching. And if you stop, they bet on how long you’ll last before you break.”

Steve thought it was a joke… until he heard voices above him — invisible spectators placing bets on his fear.
Day after day, he hosted the games, his throat dry, his eyes locked on the screen.
The bets had changed now:

“How many days before he begs?”
“How many nights before he laughs for real?”

Eddie watched silently from the shadows, notebook in hand.
Each time Steve tried to talk about escaping, Eddie whispered softly:
— “You are the game now.”

stake id : StYrox77

[gs400889]

 "The Last Bet"

The air is thick with smoke.
Poker chips *clack*, cards *snap*. The only light comes from flickering chandeliers.

At the center table sits **RAY**, mid-30s, eyes bloodshot, sleeves rolled up. He’s been here too long. Across from him — **THE DEALER**, pale, expressionless, wearing a cracked porcelain mask.

---

**DEALER**
(last hand of the night)
Care to make it interesting?

**RAY**
(grins nervously)
It’s already interesting. I’m broke.

**DEALER**
Not quite. You still have… *your soul.*

The table laughs — or maybe it’s the room echoing.
RAY hesitates, then pushes his last chips forward.

---

**RAY**
Deal.

Cards are dealt. The room quiets.
Every eye in the casino turns toward him. Shadows lean closer.

He flips his cards — *Full House.*

RAY smirks.
The DEALER turns his — *Four of a Kind.*

Silence. Then, the lights flicker red.

---

**RAY**
Wait— no, that’s not possible. You shuffled—

**DEALER**
You played fair. I didn’t.

The clock on the wall strikes **midnight**.
The chips on the table melt into black tar, spreading across Ray’s hands.

---

**RAY**
(terrified)
What—what’s happening?!

**DEALER**
Debt always finds its collector.

The other players vanish — leaving only shadows in their seats.
The tar crawls up Ray’s arms, his veins glowing crimson.

He tries to scream, but the sound is *muffled* — like underwater.
His reflection in a nearby mirror shows **empty eye sockets**, oozing darkness.

---

**DEALER**
(softly)
Happy Halloween.

He flips one last card toward the camera — **THE DEVIL** tarot.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

STAKE：gs400889

[jaat37]

Every October, mist rolled over the crooked bridge leading into Hollow Creek, curling like pale fingers around the railings. The townsfolk said it was the spirits returning to look for something they’d lost—though no one could agree on what.

But everyone feared one thing:
**The Lantern Keeper.**

Long ago, before Hollow Creek had paved roads or streetlights, a watchman walked the woods to guide travelers home. He carried a brass lantern that never went out, no matter wind or rain. But one Halloween night, a terrible storm struck. The watchman never returned. The next day, only his lantern remained—still burning—at the foot of the old ash tree near the creek.

Since then, every year on Halloween night, a figure with a glowing lantern wanders the bridge, his face shadowed, his footsteps silent. Some say he is lost. Others say he is searching.

But no one knows what happens if he finds what he seeks.

---

On one chilly Halloween evening, **Emilia** dared her friends to cross the bridge at dusk. They laughed nervously, clutching plastic pumpkins of candy, but agreed—because no one wanted to seem afraid.

The closer they walked, the thicker the mist became, cold and damp like breath on the back of their necks.

Then they heard it:
**Tap. Tap. Tap.**

A slow, deliberate step on the planks.

A warm glow flickered through the fog.

The friends froze.

The Lantern Keeper emerged—tall, cloaked, his lantern shining golden against the gray. His face could not be seen, but his voice was soft as autumn wind:

**“Are you lost?”**

Emilia swallowed hard.
“N-No. We were just—”

The Keeper lifted the lantern, and the world around them seemed to shift.
The bridge was newer now. The town beyond was smaller. The air smelled of woodsmoke and fresh leaves. They saw people walking—people dressed in old-fashioned clothes, laughing, talking.

A world from *long ago.*

The Lantern Keeper’s voice trembled.

**“I was guiding them home…”**

The lantern flickered, and the vision faded. The Keeper lowered his head as though the weight of time pressed upon him.

Emilia stepped forward.

“Maybe… you still can.”

For a moment, the night held its breath.

The lantern’s flame brightened—warm, steady, hopeful.

And the Keeper’s outline began to soften, dissolving into the mist, as though at last, he could rest.

When it was over, the bridge was just a bridge.

The fog slowly cleared.

The friends walked home without running—but they didn’t speak.

The next morning, townsfolk found something near the creek:

**A brass lantern.
Finally quiet.
Finally dark.**

---

Some say the spirits of Hollow Creek no longer wander in the mist.

Because someone finally guided the Lantern Keeper home. 
 

 

 

Stake I'd XYZ123495

[AlexeyF50]

The Wrong Reflection

Every night at exactly 1:00 AM GMT, the same thing happened.

The screen flickered.
Just once.
Like something on the other side was knocking.

At first, it seemed like a glitch.
But then the reflection in the monitor began to delay — half a second behind, then a full second, then longer.

Until one night…
the reflection didn’t move at all.

It just stared.

Its eyes were darker than they should be, too focused, too aware.
And then the impossible happened:

It smiled.

Not the person sitting in front of the screen.
Only the reflection.

Slowly, carefully, deliberately…
the reflection lifted a hand and wrote something across the inside of the screen, as if the glass was fogged from the other side:

“LET ME IN.”

The room went ice-cold.
The lights dimmed.

And the reflection started tapping on the glass—
not with fingers,
but with something sharper.

Each tap deeper, louder, closer.

The final tap cracked the screen.

And then everything went dark.

No one knows what came through.

Or if the reflection ever went back.

stake: AlexeyF50

Edited November 6, 2025 by AlexeyF50

[n9tsky]

Here is the story: 

The wind howled through Blackridge as Halloween night wrapped the town in shadows.
Dogs in costumes patrolled the streets: a pug in a vampire cape, a retriever draped in a ghostly sheet, and a terrier with painted Frankenstein bolts.
Above, lightning slashed across the sky, and the thunder didn’t just roll—it soared, sparks writhing like electric serpents.
The dogs barked in unison, eyes glowing, fur bristling with the storm’s energy.
Children froze as the costumes shimmered unnaturally, capes and sheets floating without wind.
A violet bolt struck the old oak at the street’s corner, and the tree seemed to shiver like it was alive.
From its hollow emerged a tiny orange-glowing door, pulsing in rhythm with the thunder.
The dogs ran toward it, paws barely touching the ground, then disappeared inside, leaving only flickering shadows.
The storm laughed, lightning dancing across the clouds, and the street fell silent except for faint, unearthly howls.
Some say the dogs now patrol the skies every Halloween, chasing shadows and thunder, guarding secrets only the storm knows.

St: n9tsky

[NotoriousGG]

One midnight i was driving back home, saw a lady walking alone she asked for a lift, i picked her up and after sometime she disappeared.

id- notoriousgg

[JYUNKI]

It happened when I was about 10 years old. My father's friend had died in an accident, so my father, my brother, and my friend's father all slept in his room. When the night was quiet, the light bulb in the room shook violently. Of course, the windows were closed and there was no wind. Perhaps they had come to say their final goodbyes. It was scary at the time, but now I believe there is some invisible force at work.

 

ID JYUNKI

[Hadhikh]

The Copper Penny Exchange

Maple Drive was infamous, but not for anything gruesome or haunted. It was infamous for being perfect. Every year, come October 31st, Maple Drive transformed into an untouchable Halloween spectacle—the kind that made news channels and caused traffic jams. The fog machines were synchronized, the plastic spiderwebs were artfully draped, and not a single candy bowl was empty before midnight.

Elara, who had lived on Maple Drive for all seventeen of her Halloweens, found it unsettling. The meticulousness wasn't the weird part; it was the changeover. On November 1st, before the morning mist lifted, every single decoration—the ten-foot inflatable gargoyle, the perfectly aligned skeleton chorus, the hundreds of twinkling amber lights—would be gone. Not packed away, but simply erased.

“It’s like the street breathes them in,” Elara muttered to her best friend, Liam, as they walked home from school two days before the big night.

Liam shrugged, adjusting the mask he planned to wear. “It’s rich people, Elara. They hire a crew. A very, very efficient crew.”

“No, you don’t get it. They never reuse the same stuff. And where does it go? The trash truck doesn’t come until Wednesday, and I’ve checked the attics. They’re empty.”

This year, the mystery felt personal. The 'perfect' Halloween was set to culminate at her house, Number 42, which meant they were next to experience the instant disappearance.

That evening, Elara's grandmother, a sharp-eyed woman who rarely spoke about the street's customs, called her into the dimly lit hallway.

“Did you check the front door?” her grandmother asked, her voice low.

“Check it for what, Grandma? Candy corn?”

“The mat, child. Under the welcome mat.”

Elara rolled her eyes but obliged. She lifted the heavy, rubber mat. Lying directly on the cold stone, where it must have been for months, was a single, tarnished copper penny. It looked old, worn smooth, and vaguely green with age.

“What is this?” Elara asked, holding the cold coin.

“That,” her grandmother whispered, stepping closer, “is the tax. Every year, you leave a little bit of yourself in the dirt for the street to consume, and in return, it gives you its best night.”

The next night, Halloween, the noise was unbearable. Elara’s house was the central beacon of manufactured spookiness. She retreated to her bedroom window, pulling the heavy drapes back just enough to watch the porch. The clock in the hall chimed midnight.

One. The stream of trick-or-treaters had long since dried up. Two. The streetlights flickered with a sound like wet static. Three. Every synchronized fog machine sputtered and died simultaneously.

Elara watched as a strange, pale blue glow began to emanate from the front door—specifically, from under the welcome mat. The copper penny was humming, a sound Elara felt in her teeth more than she heard.

Then, the decorations began to move.

It wasn't that the plastic ghouls walked. It was worse. They were pulled. The heavy, resin tombstones slid across the lawn, dragging the tattered moss they were supposedly covered in. The inflated Frankenstein’s Monster seemed to deflate entirely, but the material didn't collapse; it recoiled, rolling itself toward the porch. The skeletal chorus didn't dance; their wires twitched and contracted, gathering the plastic bones into a tight, pale bundle.

Everything that had made the scene "perfect"—the dust of the fake cobwebs, the residue of the cheap paint, the synthetic decay—was being drawn into the blue light near the door. It wasn't decomposition; it was recollection.

Elara realized the penny wasn't paying for new decorations. It was collecting the used-up spirit of the old ones. It was drawing out the last spark of festive energy from the spent plastic and polyester, converting the memory of the perfect display into currency for the street’s invisible curator.

The pile of decorations gathered on the porch compressed until it was small enough to fit under the mat, where it shimmered and was absorbed into the glowing penny.

When the light finally faded, the pumpkin on the railing, which had been perfectly carved, instantly shriveled, leaving only a brittle husk. Maple Drive was silent, spotless, and utterly bare.

Elara crept down the stairs and lifted the welcome mat. The copper penny was gone, replaced by a new one—shiny, freshly minted, and ready to begin its year-long process of collecting the street’s subtle tax. She carefully tucked the new coin under the mat and went back to bed, knowing that the secret of Maple Drive wasn’t money or a crew, but a simple, continuous exchange: one year of perfect beauty for one small copper soul.

stake-id:Hadhikh

[kuwawa]

On 2025/10/27 at 午後9時6分, Taufeeqkhan said:

芸術が人生を少し近づきすぎるとき

 

メリーランド州の小さな近所に、毎年ハロウィーンの飾り付けで行き過ぎた家がありました。さわやかな秋の空気が転がり込んでくると、町全体が新しいディスプレイの発表を楽しみにしています。しかし、誰も実際の装飾をした人と本当に話しませんでした。彼は孤独でした。人々は彼のハロウィーンの精神で彼を知っていただけで、彼の装飾は年々壮大でリアルなものになりました。最新のものは、Vlad the Impalerのテーマでした。超リアルな、血まみれのマネキンが木製の杭で突き刺され、恐ろしいディスプレイでカラスに残されました。それは究極のホラー作品であり、町でかなりの論争を引き起こしたほどでした。気に入った人もいましたが、地元の親の多くは子供のために取り壊すことを望んでいたので、町の役人が発表後すぐに家を訪れ、そこに住んでいた男性と問題について話し合った。

 

彼女は玄関のドアをノックした。答えがない。ノック、ノック。何もない。彼女はドアベルを鳴らした。まだ何もない。その時、役人は庭に腐った臭いがあり、この時期には異常な量の虫が飛び回っていることに気づきました。彼女はマネキンの1人にさまよって、信じられないほどの職人技を詳しく見ました。臭いがひどくなった。彼女は猿轡をし、手で口を塞がなければならなかった。彼女は目を見開いた。役人は震える指を人形に当てて...そして人間の肌の柔らかく、滑らかで、冷たい感触を感じた。その後、誰もかつてそこに住んでいた男を見つけることができませんでした。今、それは本当にお化け屋敷です

 

賭けるI'd-Taufeeqkhan

On 2025/10/27 at 午後3時15分, ralfonso said:

「ステークコレクター」🎃 

エディは、ステークカジノのボーナスを短くするビジネスだけだと思っていました。数字、レポート、個人的なものはありません。しかし、ハロウィーンの夜、数字がささやき始めました。

画面がちらつき、ユーザー名が長い間削除されました。チャットボックスには「私たちは私たちのものが欲しい」と入力しました。

それから明かりが消えた。影から何千ものかすかな輝く顔で構成された人物が歩きました。彼がショートしたすべてのプレーヤーは、1つに融合しました。その声は怒りの合唱だった。

「あなたは私たちの運を奪った」と、コードと静電気で作られた手で手を伸ばしながら、それはヒスノイズを言った。「さあ、あなたのものを取ります。」

電源が戻ったとき、エディのオフィスは空っぽで、モニターが新しいメッセージで光っていただけです。

ウェン・マンスリー...

 

ステーク - ラルフォン

 

12 minutes ago, JYUNKI said:

It happened when I was about 10 years old. My father's friend had died in an accident, so my father, my brother, and my friend's father all slept in his room. When the night was quiet, the light bulb in the room shook violently. Of course, the windows were closed and there was no wind. Perhaps they had come to say their final goodbyes. It was scary at the time, but now I believe there is some invisible force at work.

 

ID JYUNKI

 

1時間前、jaat37は言った：

毎年10月、霧がホロウクリークに通じる曲がった橋の上を転がり、手すりの周りを淡い指のように丸くします。町民は、彼らが失ったものを探すために戻ってきたのは精霊だと言いましたが、誰も何について同意できませんでした。

しかし、誰もが一つのことを恐れていました。
**ランタンキーパー。**

昔、ホロウクリークに舗装された道路や街灯がある前、見張り人が森の中を歩き、旅行者を家まで案内していました。彼は風でも雨でも決して消えない真鍮のランタンを運んでいた。しかし、あるハロウィーンの夜、ひどい嵐が襲った。見張りは戻ってこなかった。翌日、彼のランタンだけが、小川の近くの古い灰の木のふもとに残っていました。

それ以来、毎年ハロウィーンの夜に、輝くランタンを持つ人物が橋を歩き回り、彼の顔は影で、彼の足音は静かです。彼は道に迷っていると言う人もいます。他の人は彼が探していると言います。

しかし、彼が探しているものを見つけたら何が起こるかは誰にもわかりません。

---

ある寒いハロウィーンの夜、**エミリア**は夕暮れ時に友達に橋を渡るように挑戦しました。彼らは神経質に笑い、キャンディーのプラスチックのカボチャを握りしめましたが、誰も恐れているように見えたくなかったので、同意しました。

彼らが近づくほど、霧は濃くなり、首の後ろに息のように冷たく湿った。

それから彼らはそれを聞いた：
**タップ。タップします。タップします。**

板の上のゆっくりとした、意図的なステップ。

暖かい光が霧の中をちらつけた。

友達は凍りついた。

ランタンキーパーが現れました。背があり、マントをまとい、彼のランタンは灰色に対して金色に輝いていました。彼の顔は見えなかったが、彼の声は秋の風のように柔らかかった。

**「道に迷ったの？」**

エミリアは激しく飲み込んだ。
「いいえ、いいえ。私たちはただ-」

キーパーがランタンを持ち上げると、彼らの周りの世界が変化したように見えた。
橋は今より新しくなった。向こうの町は小さかった。空気は木煙と新鮮な葉の匂いがした。彼らは人々が歩いているのを見ました。昔ながらの服を着て、笑ったり、話したりしている人たちです。

*ずっと前の世界。*

ランタンキーパーの声が震えた。

**「私は彼らを家に案内していました...」**

ランタンがちらつき、視界が薄れた。キーパーは、時間の重みが彼に迫られているかのように頭を下げた。

エミリアは前に出た。

「たぶん...あなたはまだできます。」

一瞬、夜は息を止めた。

ランタンの炎は明るくなり、暖かく、安定し、希望に満ちていた。

そして、キーパーの輪郭は柔らかくなり始め、霧に溶け込み、まるで彼がついに休めるかのように。

それが終わったとき、橋はただの橋でした。

霧がゆっくりと晴れた。

友達は走らずに歩いて家に帰ったが、彼らは話さなかった。

翌朝、町民は小川の近くで何かを見つけました。

**真鍮製のランタン。
やっと静かになった。
ついに暗くなった。**

---

中空クリークの霊はもはや霧の中をさまよらないと言う人もいます。

誰かがついにランタンキーパーを家まで案内したからです。
 

 

 

賭け I'D XYZ123495

 

[nana.apjw]

This incident happened while my brother and I were taking a break at a rest area on the freeway during our holiday trip.

At first, when our car was parked, I didn’t notice that an ambulance was right next to us. Our view was blocked by another car parked in the middle between our vehicle and the ambulance. But through a small gap, I could see an older man "who seemed to be the ambulance driver" choosing to sleep alone on the bare concrete sidewalk in front of his vehicle.

Not long after, the car that was blocking the view left. That’s when I finally realized it was an ambulance. The side door was wide open, and inside, there was a figure sitting upright on the stretcher. He was bare chested, with only a white cloth covering the lower half of his body. He was sitting directly facing the open door, so it felt like we were staring right at each other. I still remember it clearly his hair was long and messy, completely shirtless, with just a single white sheet draped from his waist down. The streetlights only illuminated his body up to his stomach. from the waist up to his head, he was nothing but a solid black silhouette.

At first, I didn’t think much of it. But then it hit me this wasn’t a regular emergency ambulance or one carrying a living patient. This was a hearse ambulance. A vehicle for the dead.

Instantly, the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I quickly turned my face away and begged my brother, who was behind the wheel, to move the car to another parking spot right away. When I dared to steal one last glance toward the ambulance, the figure was gone. The stretcher was empty. The white cloth that had been covering him had vanished without a trace. Empty. Silent.

Only the ambulance door remained wide open, as if it were waiting for something or someone

Stake: KorbanSlot

 

[leornadobk]

The Lantern Maker’s Secret

In a fog-drenched village, every Halloween night, the lanterns crafted by an old woodcarver burn with strange green flames. When a curious child peeks into his workshop, she discovers that each lantern holds the trapped soul of someone who vanished on Halloween past — and her own reflection flickers faintly inside an unfinished one.

 

leornadobk

[Sau92018]

Whispers in the Cornfield

Teenagers dare each other to run through the old Miller cornfield on Halloween night — a field that supposedly grows higher than the tallest man after midnight. But this year, the stalks whisper their names, the path keeps shifting, and something ancient beneath the soil wakes hungry for new names to remember.

 

sau92018

[bigmoneyhunt]

The Candle That Wouldn’t Go Out

A grieving widow lights a candle every Halloween to remember her late husband. One year, the flame burns blue and won’t extinguish. Each night afterward, she hears his footsteps, closer and closer — until she realizes the spirit she’s called back isn’t him at all.

 

bigmoneyhunt

[muno1love]

Spider Lace

A fashion designer finds an old spool of lace in an estate sale, delicate as cobwebs. When she uses it in her Halloween collection, the models begin to vanish one by one. The lace wasn’t made — it was grown by a creature that still weaves beneath the city.

 

muno1love

[wincraftr7111]

The Thirteenth Cat

A witch’s familiar, one of thirteen magical cats, is left behind after her mistress’s death. On Halloween night, the cat must gather the scattered pieces of her witch’s soul before dawn — or risk being turned into an ordinary feline forever.

 

wincraftr7111