Like ghosts? Then you’ll love Poveglia, a small, deserted island in the Venetian lagoon that’s going on the auction block next month. It’s been called “the island of madness,” “Hell,” and “the most haunted place on Earth.” You’d just love it to pieces.
I am going back through all of my r/nosleep posts, and have realized that putting the source through the tumblr posting tool is not actually showing the source to the post. I’ll be spending tomorrow editing each and every one to make sure the source is properly attributed. I will be putting the original link to the reddit post and user at the end of each r/nosleep post I make rather than in the source option tumblr gives me. I am sorry to any user whose story I have posted without a link back to the original.
Please if anyone sees an unsourced post or a wrong source message me so that I can correct it.
First, I need to apologize to you /r/nosleep. I am so sorry. I’m coming to you in my time of need.
Please help me.
Please read this to the end.
That’s it. That’s all I ask. I don’t know what to do or where to turn. Please just help me. That’s all I ask.
My name is Andrea, and I’m a single mother.
I don’t tell you this like it’s some badge of honor and I’m expecting cookies, milk, and chocolate-covered snowflakes like most of the others in my social circle would. They want your pats on the back and recognition; I just want some of your time.
I see motherhood as a burden. Necessary, yes, but still a burden. My son’s name is Jesse. He’s eleven. That’s fifth grade for the math haters.
Jesse started the fifth grade this year like any other kid would. There was a little bit of trepidation and lots of excitement. He was a happy-go-lucky sort of kid. Full of life and energy.
All that changed after he met Stan on Tuesday.
Stan was a late addition to Jesse’s class; a transfer student from another district. Jesse’s teacher sat Stan next to Jesse.
When I picked Jesse up after school on Tuesday, he told me that Stan was his new best friend. He wasn’t acting like himself though. He was pale and sweaty. I took his temperature, but he wasn’t running a fever. I asked about his day and all he would tell me was that Stan was his new best friend.
“Stan’s my new best friend,” Jesse would say.
“I know. I can’t wait to meet him,” I’d say back.
“Mom, Stan is great. You should meet him. He’s my new best friend. The best in the world.”
We must’ve had this same conversation a thousand times that night. When I tucked Jesse in bed, he looked up at me with tears in his eyes. He put his little hand in front of his face and wiggled his index finger, telling me to come closer.
I bent over him and he put his hands to either side of his mouth. You know, the little kid way of telling a secret? Well I turned my head and he whispered something into my ear that chilled me. At the time, I didn’t know why it chilled me, but it did.
He whispered, “You believe me. Right, Mom?”
I sat back up and looked down at him. “Believe you about what, honey?”
“Stan,” he said. “Stan’s my best friend.”
I nodded and took his temperature once more.
Again, he wasn’t running a fever.
I went to bed, but couldn’t really sleep that night.
I actually liked it. It wasn’t all that scary, but the story was interesting and kept me intrigued. I probably wouldn’t buy the DVD, but I enjoyed seeing it in theaters. It definitely falls more on the mindfuck spectrum of horror, so if that’s your thing I’d recommend seeing it.
I was driving a shortcut from Twentynine Palms, CA to Albuquerque, NM. Twentynine Palms is located in the desolate high desert east of LA. The shortcut was all two lane road through total nothingness, except for passing through Amboy, CA. Amboy is a nearly abandoned town nearly as far below sea level as Death Valley, with a dormant volcano and lava field on one side and a salt flat on the other. It was also, at the time, a hotspot for satanic group activity.
So I was driving by myself in the afternoon. I stopped in Amboy and snapped a picture of the city sign, just to prove I was there to friends who dared me to take that route to the I-40. I got back in my car and proceeded to drive up into the mountain range between Amboy and the I-40.
Once I reach the top I am driving north through a canyon with high grass on both sides of the road. Up ahead I see some stuff in the middle of the road. As I approach I slow down to see a red Pontiac Fiero stopped sideways across both lanes, a suitcase open with clothes scattered everywhere and two bodies laying face down in the road, a man and a woman.
I stop a hundred feet or so away and the hair on the back of my neck is standing up. Being a Marine, I reach under the seat and pull out a 9mm pistol and chamber a round. Something seemed very wrong, it looked too perfect as if it were staged. An ambush? Was I being paranoid? Something was just wrong. Getting out of the car seemed unthinkable, it was the horror movie move.
As I scanned the road I saw a line I could drive. Pass the guy in the road on his left, swerve to the right side of the woman, behind the Fiero and I’d be on the other side. I dropped it into first gear, punched it and drove the line I planned.
I passed the back of the Fiero without hitting it or either of the bodies in the road. I continued forward a couple hundred feet and slowed down so I could breathe and let my heart slow down. As I looked up into the rearview mirror I saw that the two bodies had gotten up to their knees and twenty or so people emerged from the tall grass on either side of the road by the car and bodies. At that moment my right foot smashed the gas pedal to the floor and did not let up until I had to slowdown for the I-40 east onramp.
I will never know what would have happened to me had I gotten out of the car to check on the bodies or stopped my car closer to them. Somehow I do not think it would have been good. Sometimes real life can be scarier than a movie.
Man is found dead on Australian beach in 1948. Classic John Doe case, right? Wrong. For starters, this man was a proper John Doe – absolutely no clues to his identity on his person. He wasn’t carrying a wallet, all of the tags from his clothing had been removed; in fact the only clue was the words “Taman Shud”, written on a small piece of paper concealed in a hidden pocket of his trousers. These were eventually discovered to be Persian words, translating as “finished” or “ended”, and lifted directly from the final page of Rubaiyat, a collection of poems written by Omar Khayyam. The actual text was discovered in a parked car not far from the body – with the last page missing – and an indecipherable code scrawled inside it. Police were, and still are, understandably stumped. Who was this man? Where did he come from? And what do all these confusing signs mean? Really, it’s enough to make anyone’s head hurt.
The day I found my first hole was the day my best friend came back from the dead.
We were in high school and stupid. Jake was his name and we liked to go out to this old abandoned house in the woods after school to just…screw around. Do stupid teenage things. It was a pretty big place to be honest. Two story house with a basement or three stories if you counted the small attic above it. The story is supposed to go that an old woman was building the house years and years ago in order to get away from the city life but, for some reason, never finished it. Probably died. Anyway, the house was pretty close to completion when she stopped but nobody bothered to finish it and now it just sits there rotting away.
So Jake and I would go to the house and just screw around, scaring each other or exploring the place. Whatever we felt like. Usually we were careful — or lucky — but nothing ever happened to make us worry.
Then the floorboards broke under Jake’s feet when we were exploring the second floor and he fell. I never realized how bad the condition of the house must have been because when he hit the first floor, that broke too and he fell into the basement. I ran down and looked through the broken hole in the first floor. It was dark (but we usually had the foresight to bring flashlights) so I shined a light on him. I’ll…never forget what I saw.
One of the boards or…something must’ve fallen at just the right angle that when Jake hit the ground, it speared up right through his stomach. I could see him shift and try to grab at it. Even hear him gurgle…and then he stopped.
He was dead. I was sure of it. Our stupidity got him killed. I was in shock. I didn’t know what to do.
So I just…ran. I ran out of the house and left him there.
It was about evening when I got home and I went straight to my room. I didn’t talk to anyone. Didn’t stop for anything. I just wanted to curl up and try to forget that scene. My parents tried to talk to me but I feigned sleep and they just went on. Later that night, we got a call from Jake’s parents asking where he was. They actually “woke me up” for that one and I said I had no idea. The usual “Well, if you see him, please let us know!” came afterward and I just nodded before I went back to sleep.
The next day was school and I went through the morning ritual in a bit of a trance. I didn’t want to go but I couldn’t stay home. I was pretty sure Jake’s parents already suspected something of me. So I went. School was…just like usual. People screwing around in the morning and talking. I went up to my normal group of friends that I hung out with before the first bell rang and my heart stopped.
For those of you who like survival-horror games, you definitely need to check out The Evil Within. It was created by the father of survival-horor games, Shinji Mikami (best know for The Resident Evil Series), so you know you’re in for a truely terrifying experience….
When I was 9 years old I had a favorite TV series. It had human actors and actors in animal suits and funny and educational clips in between. I don’t want to name it because it was a really good show and this story is not at all a fault of the show. I will just call it “The M Show”.
The M Show was running for years and I had been watching it for as long as I can remember. I always sat down, straight after school with my older sister Scarlett and my best friend Brandi, who lived next door.
It was our ritual, every day the three of us sat together – with sweets, if our moms allowed it, or else with apples or grapes – and in the breaks of the show we talked and gossiped about all those important issues in our lives.
Then, I remember it was a warm summer Friday, Scarlett found a prize competition in one of her girl magazines. It asked questions about the show and first prize was a travel with your parents to Disney World. But even better, everybody who sent in the correct answers would become a member of The M Show Club, a fan club for the show. The same day, after watching the M Show, the three of us huddled together on the couch to answer the quiz.
The questions were very hard; they asked details about old episodes of the show. Without Scarlett, Brandi and I would never have managed to answer all the questions.
Scarlett begged our mom for stamps and envelopes and we filled the three envelopes each with a paper with our names and contact details and the answers to the questions. Scarlett even told us to vary our answers slightly so that we wouldn’t be called out for cheating.
The letters were sent off and every day we all rushed to the mailbox to get our The M Show Club badges. When the first snow began to fall we stopped checking the mailbox. Brandi was still passionate about the show and watched it every day, but Scarlett lost interest. When Scarlett stopped watching I too began to skip the show. Brandi still came over, but she was the only one watching. I sat next to her while working my way through Scarlett’s old girl magazines.
It was early spring. I remember there were tulips in our garden and my mom reprimanded me for plucking two to decorate the kitchen table. But right after her lecture she handed me a small square letter with my name printed on it. The back said “Welcome to The M Show Fan Club.”
There was not much in the envelope – only a short leaflet that welcomed me to the club and a small ID card with my name on it, a big logo of the show and in black letters “The M Show Fan Club,” and in the line below, in big black letters, the word “Member.”
Brandi got her envelope the same day. She was glowing with happiness. Scarlett was jealous at first, but two days later she got her envelope too.
From then on, every Friday, each of us received a leaflet about the show with photos and anecdotes and background information on the characters. Occasionally the leaflets also called on the club members to promote the show and to watch out for “The M Show Tour.”
Either way, it worked: We loved the show afterwards. I think from that day on, after I proudly stuffed the membership card in my bag, I didn’t miss a single episode.
Then, in mid-June, we all got two leaflets. The first was the usual one with facts and photos. But the second was an ad:
“The tour bus is in town – this is your chance to become an ‘Elite Member’!”
The bus was coming the next Sunday to our town. We were all allowed to go. We were beyond excited.
The leaflet didn’t have much information and that was before we had a computer at home. The tour bus would arrive at 1pm and the main characters of the show would be there to welcome everybody and play games with us. Those that participated in at least four games would be upgraded to “Elite Member”-status and receive a new, golden membership card.
Those nine days of waiting for “The M Show Tour” were some of the longest in my life. Brandi and Scarlett and I planned every day how we would take photos with each of the characters and then play games with them. I secretly dreamed of beating Scarlett at the “knowledge game”, where our knowledge about the show would be tested.
On Saturday Scarlett went to a birthday-sleepover at one of her friends’ houses. The parents were supposed to bring Scarlett back by 12 on Sunday.
Around 12:30 Brandi came running to our house. She knocked on the back door, like she always did, and I let her in. Brandi was beyond excited; her mom had volunteered to accompany the three of us and she wanted to go early so that we wouldn’t miss anything.
My mom called the house of Scarlett’s friend, but they didn’t pick up their phone. She said that Scarlett would be home soon – early enough to go on time.
At 12:45 Brandi’s mother came over to ask for us. She said that we would have to leave so that the queues wouldn’t be too long. My mom said we should wait for Scarlett, but Brandi threw a tantrum; she was scared that she wouldn’t be able to hug all the characters if we came late.
Brandi’s mom decided to drive. I wanted to come along – but my mother said that she would drive Scarlett and me. I felt like I was being punished for Scarlett’s being late. I begged. I cried.
Nothing helped; Brandi went alone.
Her friends’ parents dropped Scarlett off at 13:40. I was mad at her, but my mom said if I made a scene we wouldn’t go at all. I relented.
We arrived around twenty minutes later at the big parking lot where the bus was scheduled to stop. We saw the crowds from the distance, parked the car and walked over.
I asked my mom where the characters of the show were; she said that they were just behind the crowd.
They all held the “The M Show Tour” flyers, but it looked as if the crowd were mostly parents. They stood in a half-circle towards the edge of the parking lot. Some of them looked concerned, but most of them were laughing and talking.
My mom spotted Brandi’s mother at the other end of the half-circle; we walked over to her. Brandi’s mother was one of the worried ones.
She told us that the bus had been there, together with all the animal figures from “The M Show.” They had a large bus with the “The M Show” logo and they handed out sweets.
One of the animal figures had explained to the parents that they had built a set outside of town where we all could make our own short film with the characters of the show. They said they would drive everybody there.
They took the children first. They were all so excited that few parents objected. Still, three or four parents came along and that calmed the rest. The next bus was supposed to arrive within a few minutes, to bring everyone to the set.
When I heard that I was excited like never before.
I ran to the street to look around so I could be the first on the bus. Scarlett followed me.
I didn’t see the worried expression when Brandi’s mother talked to mine.
I didn’t understand why the police came not even an hour later.
In Monday’s episode of “The M Show” one of the characters came on stage and told us to call our parents to watch the show. Our mom was already sitting with Scarlett and me.
The character said that “The M Show” didn’t have a fan club.
That week Brandi’s parents cried a lot. I was still sure that Brandi was okay, I thought she just had so much fun that she didn’t want to come back.
She must have had a lot of fun; she never came back.
Brandi’s mother cried even more, that Friday, when the small parcel arrived.
There was a new “The M Show Fan Club” membership card for Brandi. It was golden and said “Elite Member” in big, bold letters.
The parcel also contained a video. It was only a minute long; a minute of Brandi at the set of “The M Show.” She was wearing the same dress as when she came over to our house that Sunday morning.
On the video Brandi was smiling; an actor in a big animal suit stood next to her, silently.
“Hi mom, I really like it here.” Said Brandi. “I really wish you could be here.”
Then she laughed. “I’m sorry the others were late. I’m sure they would have loved it too.”
If literary history teaches us one thing, it’s that people were just as confused and immature in the Middle Ages as they are now. From unsolvable codes to 13th-century penis doodles in the margins of bibles, history is like an all-encompassing high school cliche that never comes to an end. These books span the course of written history, and they’re all utterly bizarre.
When I was young, I lived on a farm in rural Oregon with my parents. I was the only child. We weren’t a big commercial farm. Just a family-type thing. We had five cows, three horses, a small herd of goats, two dogs, and one chicken coop. We also had some Indian Runner ducks we kept mostly as pets. We didn’t really make any money off the place, just enough to sustain the animals and a little extra for ourselves. Money enough to take a decent vacation every couple of years. Dad had his other job in town, an insurance agent. He was the only one around really, the town wasn’t more than about 1,500 people. Mom gave horse-riding lessons as well. We weren’t rich, but we were comfortable.
It was really an easy life (or at least it could have been a lot worse), I went to school, Dad went to work, Mom took care of the animals, then we all had dinner together every night, and I would go to bed while Mom and Dad had a beer or two and watched the news. Sometimes at night I would hear things outside. Mostly just normal stuff. The cows or horses would get spooked by a coyote or something, or I would hear the dogs chasing a rabbit, barking their heads off. Every once in a great while we would find a chicken dead. Dad would always tell me about it but never let me see the body, although I asked frequently. He would keep Mom and I inside until he had gone out, did whatever he did with the body, throw sawdust over any blood, and then life would go on as normal. I assumed it was foxes, as I had seen a couple of them out in the pasture over the years, slinking around back and forth through the grass.
The summer when I was ten years old, I remember helping Mom change the bedding in the horse stalls, when we heard a huge racket going on outside. If you’ve never heard the sounds of a horse in pain, you don’t want to, trust me. It sounds almost like a person screaming. Well that’s what we heard, and one of our horses, the palamino, came running into the barn with a wound on it’s left thigh. Four long marks, like claw marks, ran across it’s body for about a foot. It had blood running down it’s leg, and was limping. I was so scared by the sight of that much blood that Mom locked the horse in a stall and made me go inside with one of the dogs. She told me to lock the door and stay inside until she came in to get me. I did.
Eventually Mom came inside and told me that the horse had hurt itself on the barbed wire that ran the perimeter of the pasture, we owned more land beyond that, but it was mostly forested. I guess I believed her at the time, but at dinner that night I noticed Dad was being particularly quiet and Mom was talking a lot more than she normally did. She was being really animated, and I noticed that Dad had gotten his rifle out and set it by the back door. Usually he only did that when the coyotes had been acting up.
Yep, it’s a pretty decent early James Wan horror film (he also did Saw, Insidious, and the Conjuring). It’s not top tier horror, but definitely worth a watch (especially if dolls/puppets freak you out).
I found your blog last night and read through a few stories before going to sleep. Interestingly enough, my brain took every last one of those stories and mashed them into one giant mindfuck of a dream. Thanks, it was pretty entertaining!
Do know of anymore scary texts or emails links of some sort sent between people? Ones like the "Annie96 is typing"? I really like reading those and they always give me a chill! And btw, your blog is frightening, so job well done!
The Dionaea House is a classic. You might also want to check out Candle Cove or Ted the Caver - one is correspondence through an internet message board, and the other is from an early 2000’s geocities page done in the style of blog updates. Here are two great ones from r/nosleep:
Last night was the first time at my friend's house and I'd watched Lights Out before I went over and HER FUCKING HALLWAY IS REALLY SIMILAR TO THE ONE IN THE VIDEO AND WE WERE HOME ALONE AND WE WENT INTO HER ROOM AND SHE ASKED IF I MINDED TURNING THE LIGHTS OFF IN THE HALL my heart dropped so much
I use to have a very similar hallway once upon a time, but the worst part about it was the fact it had a mirror at the end. Every time I walked past that damn hallway I about pissed myself thinking someone was standing at the end. Luckily my new home has no creepy hallways to freak me out at night.
Also keep all your lights on.. forever. You can never be too safe.
Do you know any stories revolving around cannibalism? I'd love to read one of those some time!
Well if you are looking for creepypastas or short stories specifically about cannibalism I really don’t know any great ones off the top of my head (maybe some of my followers will). But if cannibalism interests you history is filled with some gruesome stories of real life cannibalism: The Donner Party, Jeffrey Dahmer, Albert Fish, Sawney Bean, the survivors of Uruguayan Air Force Flight 571, etc…
have you heard anything about the waverly hills sanatorium being restored to be used as a hotel (obviously using it's haunted status to draw in the more adventurous types)?
I actually made a post about it a few weeks ago. It’s probably the only way us normal people would ever get to see the inside of Waverly Hills. Even during my very short stint as a paranormal investigator my fellow teammates who were veterans said it is impossible to investigate Waverly Hills.
The other two people in my group had gone off toward the stairs, and I wanted to take a quick peak out of the window to the west of us. We had been in the old mill for maybe an hour or so already and had seen some pretty amazing old equipment and machinery, and I had already gotten so pretty good shots. The others started to descend the stairs so I snapped a quick and shitty pic of the window, then turned around and headed back. I could hear their whispers off in the distance, far away from me now I stepped quickly and heavily across the glass of the shattered window.
As I hopped back out into the main factory floor, I could see the faint beams of their flashlights flickering at the bottom of the staircase some 30 yards away. For only a moment, I caught a glance to my right of a darkened tunnel with a circular arch above it, and red and orange pipes lining either side. It seemed so out of place in the factory floor, like it was new or barely used, maybe some long-forgotten passageway around the hustle and bustle of the Sugar Mill beyond it. I moved toward the tunnel, readying my camera as I felt the little hairs on the back of my neck stand tall. The cold was setting in, and I could not longer hear my party’s voices in the distance. I coudln’t hear anything but my quiet, careful footstep on a bolt or creaky metal panel. I stood in the entrance, just beneath the arch of the tunnel. It was dark in there, so I popped up my flash on my new camera and held down the trigger, not expecting anything. As I held it down for it to focus and I stared at the tiny, LCD screen I saw it. I saw that tall, dark figure staring straight back at me from the other side of the tunnel. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. My chest heavy, my heart frozen, I did what any idiot would do. I went down the tunnel after it and here’s what I found:http://imgur.com/a/T9AC5
I’m posting this tonight in the hope that it will clear up the misunderstandings surrounding the disappearance of Debra Lindsay Caine, at the risk of my personal ridicule. Sticks and stones and all that. None of it will matter after tonight. Consider this my one pathetic attempt at an apology, if nothing else. It’s sort of my fault what happened.
Even in her heyday, internet blogger Sugarcaine was just another web comedian. She was funnier than average and certainly skilled with a pen, but otherwise no more remarkable than the rest. For years the circumstances surrounding her disappearance were only occasionally mentioned, and only in the most obscure threads on a couple of forums. She would’ve been forgotten forever if those city workers hadn’t found the tape recorder last Monday.
Sugarcaine’s true identity was a boyishly cute redhead named Debra Lindsay Caine. Her sister Payton described her as, “…a bag fulla fists, nails, and opinions just looking for an excuse to burst open on somebody, nourished by beer and spite since our Papa died in ’91.”
Debra unintentionally began her career as a humor blogger when she let her friends talk her into setting up a MySpace account. She thought blogs were self-absorbed, whiny, and without substance, and thus used her MySpace page to parody the asinine ramblings of her peers. After a while she graduated to belittling popular culture and occasionally reviewing books, comics, movies, and whatever hate mail she received from her growing reader base.
She quickly realized people enjoyed her writing, and by mid-2005 she’d ditched her MySpace account and set up her own humor site, Sugarcaine Junction. Despite Debra’s more-than-decent writing the site was mediocre at best. Most ‘net junkies likely never knew she existed, much less that she’d vanished and possibly been murdered.
What do you think of the new horror movie coming our soon "Oculus"? and what's you favorite one over all?
I’ve heard a lot about Oculus recently, but haven’t actually seen the movie yet. I know a few people who have seen it though, and they have given it some pretty great reviews. I’ll definitely go see it myself so I can form my own opinion, but if what I’m hearing is correct I think it’ll be a pretty good movie.
As far as my favorite horror movie goes I don’t have just one. I love most horror movies, but here are a few from my top tier list:
I freaking love your blog!! I just wish you'd be more active but nontheless, your blog scares the shxt outta me and that's why I love it ♥️♥️ am a new follower btw.
Glad you like my blog, it’s always great to have enthusiastic followers :D
Yeah, I wish I was a bit more active too. I’m often sick so i don’t always have the energy to post on here, but I try to at least update 2 or more times a week if I can. Since my large influx of followers recently I am a bit more pumped to update and keep all of you awesome people creeped out.