August 23, 2025 • 31 mins
👻 Feed Drop: They’re Not Shadows – Real Ghost Stories, Campfire Style
This week, we’re sharing a special episode from one of our favorite spooky storytelling shows: They’re Not Shadows.
Every episode delivers a mix of real paranormal stories—ghostly encounters, supernatural creatures, creepy shadow people, and more—all told in a gripping, campfire-style format. No chit-chat, no fluff—just story after eerie story that will keep you hooked (and maybe a little paranoid).
🎤 Hosted by Chris Griffiths
🎧 Smooth narration + tight pacing = perfect spooky binge
🔊 Subtle sound design for max atmosphere
If you like Spooked, Radio Rental, or Campfire, this one’s a must-listen.
Subscribe to They’re Not Shadows wherever you get your podcasts → https://pod.link/1574448401
🎧 LISTEN NOW and subscribe for spine-tingling horror stories every week!
🎉 Unlock exclusive bonus episodes and support the show on Patreon!
👉 WeeklySpooky.com/Join
📬 Contact Us / Submit Your Horror Story!
🎵 Music by Ray Mattis 👉 Check out Ray’s incredible work here !
👨💼 Executive Producers: Rob Fields, Bobbletopia.com
🎥 Produced by: Daniel Wilder
🌐 Explore more terrifying tales at: WeeklySpooky.com
This week, we’re sharing a special episode from one of our favorite spooky storytelling shows: They’re Not Shadows.
Every episode delivers a mix of real paranormal stories—ghostly encounters, supernatural creatures, creepy shadow people, and more—all told in a gripping, campfire-style format. No chit-chat, no fluff—just story after eerie story that will keep you hooked (and maybe a little paranoid).
🎤 Hosted by Chris Griffiths
🎧 Smooth narration + tight pacing = perfect spooky binge
🔊 Subtle sound design for max atmosphere
If you like Spooked, Radio Rental, or Campfire, this one’s a must-listen.
Subscribe to They’re Not Shadows wherever you get your podcasts → https://pod.link/1574448401
🎧 LISTEN NOW and subscribe for spine-tingling horror stories every week!
🎉 Unlock exclusive bonus episodes and support the show on Patreon!
👉 WeeklySpooky.com/Join
📬 Contact Us / Submit Your Horror Story!
- Twitter: @WeeklySpooky
- Facebook: facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
- Email: WeeklySpooky@gmail.com
🎵 Music by Ray Mattis 👉 Check out Ray’s incredible work here !
👨💼 Executive Producers: Rob Fields, Bobbletopia.com
🎥 Produced by: Daniel Wilder
🌐 Explore more terrifying tales at: WeeklySpooky.com
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
Hello, my spookies. Tonight we have a very special feed
drop to share with you. It's a show that's been
creeping up my spine as of late. It's called They're
Not Shadows. If you love spooky stories, and I know
you do, told like you're huddled around a campfire, well
(00:23):
this one is for you. Each episode delivers several real
life paranormal encounters, whether it's ghosts, creepy Ouiji board moments,
shadow people, or more, all told with zero filler, just
pure goosebumps. It's hosted by Chris Griffiths, whose voice is
so smooth it might just lull you to sleep if
(00:47):
the stories didn't keep you in a cold sweat. So
sit back, relax and enjoy this episode of Their Not Shadows.
And when you're done, head over to the show notes
or search Their Not Shadows on your favorite podcasting app
and give them a subscribe tell them weekly. Spooky Cenya.
Speaker 2 (01:27):
We have four stories today, a mix of the spooky
and the strange. The first is genuinely taken. The old
rotary phone, the one we still keep because Sarah likes
(01:51):
vintage things, sprang to life. I picked it up. Genuinely
taken aback.
Speaker 3 (02:04):
Hello, you know what you have to do, don't you?
Speaker 2 (02:08):
David?
Speaker 3 (02:09):
Who is this?
Speaker 2 (02:12):
I looked at the receiver, then at Sarah, who was
scrolling on her phone.
Speaker 3 (02:20):
Well that was a little weird.
Speaker 2 (02:22):
But she didn't seem interested.
Speaker 3 (02:25):
It still rings, sometimes, mostly from salespeople.
Speaker 2 (02:30):
Later that day, we were at the supermarket in the
produce aisle. A woman in a bright pink tracksuit stopped
beside me. She leaned in her eyes, glinting.
Speaker 4 (02:50):
Are you still trying to close it?
Speaker 5 (02:52):
David?
Speaker 6 (02:53):
Some doors, once opened can never truly close.
Speaker 3 (02:56):
Excuse me? I felt an actual do I know you?
Speaker 2 (03:02):
But she just walked away, disappearing down the aisle. I
went down with to Sarah.
Speaker 3 (03:14):
That woman knew my name and said something about a
door being opened.
Speaker 6 (03:19):
David, what are you talking about.
Speaker 3 (03:21):
The woman wearing pink? You're being weird today. No, she
just old watermelon. Forget it.
Speaker 2 (03:28):
Let to check out. A young kid with far too
many piercings scanned down groceries. Just before I tacked my card,
he looked at me with a strange, knowing smile.
Speaker 1 (03:45):
The door still opened.
Speaker 3 (03:46):
Dude, what did you say?
Speaker 2 (03:48):
I asked? If you had a loyalty card?
Speaker 3 (03:51):
No, you didn't you said something about a door.
Speaker 7 (03:54):
Stop it?
Speaker 3 (03:55):
I didn't, I swear, admit it, David, stop it.
Speaker 6 (03:59):
I'm sorry.
Speaker 1 (04:00):
Let's go.
Speaker 2 (04:11):
On the drive home. I was still trying to process everything.
I turned on the radio, hoping for a distraction.
Speaker 3 (04:23):
The station with the best music.
Speaker 1 (04:27):
Coming up next on Hits and Oldies eighty nine point seven.
We got some classic rock and a special shout out
to David, who I know is listening. When will you
accept the truth?
Speaker 3 (04:39):
Did you hear that some jibber jabber about classic rock?
It's my numbing That's why I listened to NPR.
Speaker 2 (04:47):
What was happening to me? Was I losing my mind?
Speaker 3 (04:53):
We put into the.
Speaker 2 (04:54):
Driveway, the silence thick with my unspoken dread. As I
turned off the ignition, Sarah turned to me, her eyes
wide and unblinking, her gaze unnervingly direct.
Speaker 6 (05:19):
Time to wake up, David. This isn't your home.
Speaker 4 (05:24):
It never was.
Speaker 2 (05:26):
The world was blurry for a moment, then coalesced into
the familiarity of my bedroom, the sunlight, gentle and warm,
filtered through the blinds. It was a dream, just a terrible,
(05:48):
vivid dream. I found Sarah in the kitchen.
Speaker 6 (05:57):
Hey, rough night.
Speaker 3 (06:01):
I didn't sleep well.
Speaker 2 (06:04):
I began recounting my dream, telling Sarah about my strange
encounters with the woman in pink, the cashier, and the
radio DJ.
Speaker 3 (06:17):
And then you said it's time to wake up. This
is not your home. It never was.
Speaker 2 (06:24):
Sarah looked at me with an expression I couldn't quite decipher.
Speaker 3 (06:30):
David, I didn't say that, you said it to me.
Speaker 6 (06:35):
What then you went back to sleep, Sarah, you're still dreaming, David.
Speaker 3 (06:42):
Sarah, this isn't funny.
Speaker 2 (06:46):
The old rotary phone, the one we still keep because
Sarah likes vintage things, sprang to life. I picked it up,
genuinely taken back.
Speaker 3 (07:09):
Hello, David, who is this? Where do you work? David?
Speaker 2 (07:15):
Where did you go to school?
Speaker 3 (07:18):
I don't wait.
Speaker 8 (07:19):
Can you remember anything other than going to the supermarket
and driving home?
Speaker 3 (07:27):
Well, of course I can. I went to the.
Speaker 2 (07:32):
You know what you have to do, don't you, David?
Speaker 3 (07:35):
No, I really don't. We'll try again tomorrow. Tell me goodbye, David. Please.
Speaker 2 (08:10):
This next one is a soldier's tale. We were on
night patrol through a string of abandoned villages south of Kandahar,
(08:33):
ghost towns, places the Soviets had bled in and the
Taliban had finished emptying. There were six of us in
my fire team, moving in a staggered file. The cold
air bit at any exposed skin, a stark contrast to
(08:58):
the oppressive heat of the day. The world was painted
in the green and black of our night vision, a
ghostly ethereal landscape. The buildings were mostly mud brick, what
(09:20):
they called colat compounds, with high walls and flat roofs.
They were crumbling, their riches softened by time and the
relentless wind, looking like melted sand castles under the ghostly
green of my envygs. Then sniper, one of our guys,
(09:47):
went down. The rest of us scattered, diving for whatever
cover we could find. There was another shot from the
sniper and returned fire from my team. I scrambled into
(10:10):
what was left of a large building, and when the
dust settled, I was alone. I was pinned down. The
sniper had a beat on my position. Every time I
even thought about leaving the building, another round would thud
(10:34):
into the wall whole. I backed up, going deeper into
the darkness of the ruined building. The air inside was
thick and stagnant, heavy with the smell of dust and
(10:56):
something old and unsettling.
Speaker 3 (11:02):
Bravo is your position?
Speaker 2 (11:05):
I keyed my mic, pinned down east side of the
main structure.
Speaker 1 (11:10):
Cannot move, sniper as me zeroed. We're pulling back and
calling in support.
Speaker 3 (11:17):
Do not repeat, do not leave that building. We'll come you.
At first light, that.
Speaker 2 (11:24):
Landed like a stone in my gout. First light was
a couple of hours away. I moved even deeper into
the building, my M four helped tight against my shoulder.
(11:48):
The interior was a maze of small, interconnected rooms. The
floor was littered with debris, the detritus of lives hastily abandoned.
Moonlight filtered through cracks in the ceiling, casting long, distorted shadows.
(12:14):
And that's when I heard it, a sound that slid
into my brain by passing the normal channels of hearing.
I scanned the room through my envy g's but there
was nothing, just shadows. The whispers came again, not in
(12:49):
English or Peshto or any other language I could identify.
I wasn't a superstitious man. I believed in what I
could see and what I could shoot. But the feeling
in that room, it was primal, a kind of fear
(13:13):
without reason that goes straight for the lizard part of
your brain. I backed into a smaller room. The whispers
had stopped, but now there was a smell ozone, like
(13:36):
a coming storm. I remembered stories our interpreter used to
tell us, half jokingly around the fire back at base,
stories about the old ones. These creatures are the gin,
made of smokeless fire, unseen but always watching, he said.
(14:00):
They haunted places of ruin and sorrow. Then in the
far corner, something shifted, but it wasn't a threat that
I could shoot. It was tall, stretching to the low ceiling,
(14:22):
a column of shimmering heat, like the mirage you see
on a hot road, but darker and tinged with a faint,
ethereal glow. And then it spoke, not with the mouth,
but inside my head.
Speaker 4 (14:45):
You are a guest in this place of dust and shadows,
this land of forgotten gods. Tread lightly, warrior, for you
are not the only one who fights in the darkness.
Speaker 2 (15:01):
My blood ran cold. I could feel the immense power
of this thing. The air in the room returned to normal.
It was gone, but the memory of that voice, of
(15:23):
that shimmering darkness is etched into me. Story number three
(15:54):
concerns the daily commute hitter boring, pretty doable. The evening
(16:15):
train is my decompression chamber, a metal tube that hurtles
me from the day's chaos to the quiet of home.
I find the rhythmic clacking helps me unwind. I know
the journey by heart, the lurch of the acceleration, the
(16:36):
groan of the brakes, and the familiar sequence of stops
that mark the path home. I was about halfway home,
scrolling through my phone. Then the rhythm broke. The train slowed,
(16:58):
the usual rocking motion, easing into a smooth, silent glide.
I looked up from my screen, annoyed. Unscheduled stops were rare.
Outside the window, there was no station. I recognized this
(17:23):
place was ancient. The platform was made of wood. Black
ivy crept over everything in a slow motion sliver. The
only signage was the station name morning Gate Morning with
(17:43):
a ewe. I looked around the carriage to see what
the remaining three passengers were making of it, but they
hadn't even noticed. A woman across the aisle was texting,
a man in a suit was slumped against the window,
fast asleep, and two rows in front of me, a
(18:07):
man in a tweed coat sat reading a newspaper. The
massive broadsheet was completely obscuring his view of the strangeness.
My brain couldn't reconcile it. I felt like I'd fallen
asleep and woken up in some one else's nightmare. I
(18:32):
knew I hadn't got on the wrong train. I've been
catching the same one for six years, and all the
other stops were correct. The doors opened, and I turned
my head to see if any one would get off,
(18:53):
or god forbid on The platform had been empty, but
when I looked again, there was some one there, a
lone man standing beneath one of the gas lamps. He
was tall and gaunt, dressed in a dark, simple suit.
(19:14):
It looked like an old photograph come to life. As
I watched, he lifted his head and his eyes locked
on to mine. I wanted to turn away, but I
was transfixed. A sad smile touched his lips, and he
(19:35):
gave me a nod, as if we were old acquaintances.
Then he lifted a hand to his throat and drew
his thumb across it in a long, deliberate line from
ear to ear, and somehow the flesh parted a clean
(19:59):
black line opened up in his throat, yet his smile
never faltered, and his eyes never left mine. He held
my gaze for another second or two before his knees
buckled and he collapsed onto the wooden platform, folding in
(20:20):
on himself like a discarded puppet. My phone was in
my hand, the camera a single tap away, but the
thought to use it never even formed. It was like
watching a silent horror film being played just for me.
(20:43):
The man in tweed rustled his newspaper, the woman kept texting,
and the other man kept sleeping. The doors slid shut
with a soft sigh, and the train began to move,
(21:05):
pulling away from morning Gate and the body on its platform.
I pressed my face to the glass until the horrific
scene was out of sight. The woman was putting her
(21:31):
phone away, The man in the suit was stretching, waking up,
and two rows ahead, the old man was folding his newspaper,
tucking it into a leather briefcase. He hadn't seen a thing,
(21:53):
None of them had. The weekend was a blur. I
barely spoke, I barely ate. Every time I closed my
eyes I saw him, the sad smile, the nod of acknowledgment,
(22:19):
and of course, the grotesque sight of the gaping wound
in his throat. I replayed it dozens of times, searching
for a rational explanation, but there was none. And now
(22:40):
it's Monday morning. I'm standing on the platform, waiting for
the train to take me back into the city, and
a single question pounds in my head with the rhythm
of an approaching train. We stop at morning Gate. Again.
(23:04):
Part of me is sick at the thought of it.
But there's a smaller, darker part of me that was
strangely beguiled by the horror and did wants to see
it again.
Speaker 8 (23:26):
The train is now approaching platform one. Please stand clear
the edge of the platform.
Speaker 2 (24:04):
We have one more. It's titled a Demon's Gifts. We'll
see you next time. They say about eight percent of
the population experiences sleep paralysis, a misfire in the brain.
(24:26):
Your body is asleep, but your mind wakes up and
you're trapped a prisoner in your own body. It always
starts the same way. The top of my head tingles,
then I hear a humming sound, and then then I'm
(24:52):
paralyzed and it comes. I can't move, I can't scram
but my eyes are open, darting around my familiar bedroom,
searching the corners.
Speaker 7 (25:11):
And that's when I see it. It's never fully clear,
more of a suggestion of a shape, a jagged silhouette
standing in the corner. It just watches, and that's when
I close my eyes. I've suffered from it on and
(25:34):
off since I was a kid. But last week something changed.
I finally got control of my limbs back and as
I reached for my phone, my fingers brushed against something,
(25:55):
something that wasn't there when I went to bed. It
was a feather, black and shiny.
Speaker 2 (26:05):
I live in a fourth floor apartment in the middle
of the city. My windows were closed. Later, when I
got up, I threw it away. But the next night
it happened again. And when I woke up, how there
(26:26):
was a brooch on the night stand, its pin open
and facing upward. What the hell it drew blood?
Speaker 5 (26:43):
You look like hal Melanie, Are you sleeping at all?
Speaker 6 (26:47):
It's just weird dreams, you know how it is?
Speaker 5 (26:50):
No?
Speaker 6 (26:50):
I don't know how it is.
Speaker 5 (26:52):
Is it the paralysis thing again?
Speaker 6 (26:54):
It's evolved, evolved, How.
Speaker 5 (27:00):
Melanie talk to me?
Speaker 6 (27:03):
It's leaving things on my nightstand.
Speaker 5 (27:06):
Leaving things what are you talking about.
Speaker 6 (27:09):
A feather and a brooch? And last night it was
a porcelain doll's eye, just sitting there staring up at
the ceiling.
Speaker 5 (27:15):
Okay, stop, that's seriously creepy. There has to be an explanation,
a new medication.
Speaker 6 (27:23):
I'm not on anything, Anna. I know how it sounds,
but it's real. It feels intentional, like they're gifts.
Speaker 5 (27:31):
Gifts, Melanie, those aren't gifts, they're threats. You need to
see someone, a doctor, a therapist. Hell, girl, put a
camera in your room.
Speaker 6 (27:42):
To record what a high def video of my own
personal tormentor? And what if it knows? What if it
gets you know, angry?
Speaker 5 (27:51):
Angry? It's a hallucination. How can it get angry? Please, Melanie,
just promise me you'll call doctor Evans.
Speaker 6 (28:00):
Okay, I'll call her.
Speaker 2 (28:05):
I didn't call her. What would I say? My sleep
paralysis demon is giving me gifts. I know what Anna
thinks that I'm cracking up. Maybe i am. But tonight
I'm not going to sleep. I'm going to stay awake
(28:26):
and see what happens when it thinks I'm under its spell.
My eyelids feel like they're lined with sandpaper. And then
it began.
Speaker 5 (28:50):
This time.
Speaker 6 (28:51):
I'm keeping my eyes open.
Speaker 2 (28:54):
Tonight.
Speaker 6 (28:55):
I need to see it. Oh God, there it is.
Speaker 2 (29:04):
It's moving. I've never seen it move before. It's coming
out of the corner. It's just a shape, a dark
hole in the room. It's not walking, it's gliding toward
(29:27):
my bed. It's leaning over me. I can't see a face,
but I can feel its attention, a cold, ancient curiosity.
(29:47):
Then a shift, a release, a scramble for the lamp.
And there, next to the doll's eye that I was
too afraid to throw away, is a silver necklace.
Speaker 6 (30:08):
No, it can't be.
Speaker 2 (30:13):
Not just any necklace, but Sarah's necklace, the one she
never took off. It was a gift from our grandmother.
That necklace was a part of her, as much as
her smile or the freckles on her nose. Oh God,
(30:39):
when the police found her body days later, it wasn't there.
Another piece of her taken or perhaps simply lost in
the chaos of that terrible day. And now it's here
in my room, and it's not just watching anymore. It's interacting.
(31:05):
And its gifts aren't gifts at all. They're a twisted game,
each one a whisper of beauty, hiding a brutal, undeniable
proof that it was there, that it knows my deepest wound,
(31:27):
And I know with a cold certainty that the game
has only just begun
Hello, my spookies. Tonight we have a very special feed
drop to share with you. It's a show that's been
creeping up my spine as of late. It's called They're
Not Shadows. If you love spooky stories, and I know
you do, told like you're huddled around a campfire, well
(00:23):
this one is for you. Each episode delivers several real
life paranormal encounters, whether it's ghosts, creepy Ouiji board moments,
shadow people, or more, all told with zero filler, just
pure goosebumps. It's hosted by Chris Griffiths, whose voice is
so smooth it might just lull you to sleep if
(00:47):
the stories didn't keep you in a cold sweat. So
sit back, relax and enjoy this episode of Their Not Shadows.
And when you're done, head over to the show notes
or search Their Not Shadows on your favorite podcasting app
and give them a subscribe tell them weekly. Spooky Cenya.
Speaker 2 (01:27):
We have four stories today, a mix of the spooky
and the strange. The first is genuinely taken. The old
rotary phone, the one we still keep because Sarah likes
(01:51):
vintage things, sprang to life. I picked it up. Genuinely
taken aback.
Speaker 3 (02:04):
Hello, you know what you have to do, don't you?
Speaker 2 (02:08):
David?
Speaker 3 (02:09):
Who is this?
Speaker 2 (02:12):
I looked at the receiver, then at Sarah, who was
scrolling on her phone.
Speaker 3 (02:20):
Well that was a little weird.
Speaker 2 (02:22):
But she didn't seem interested.
Speaker 3 (02:25):
It still rings, sometimes, mostly from salespeople.
Speaker 2 (02:30):
Later that day, we were at the supermarket in the
produce aisle. A woman in a bright pink tracksuit stopped
beside me. She leaned in her eyes, glinting.
Speaker 4 (02:50):
Are you still trying to close it?
Speaker 5 (02:52):
David?
Speaker 6 (02:53):
Some doors, once opened can never truly close.
Speaker 3 (02:56):
Excuse me? I felt an actual do I know you?
Speaker 2 (03:02):
But she just walked away, disappearing down the aisle. I
went down with to Sarah.
Speaker 3 (03:14):
That woman knew my name and said something about a
door being opened.
Speaker 6 (03:19):
David, what are you talking about.
Speaker 3 (03:21):
The woman wearing pink? You're being weird today. No, she
just old watermelon. Forget it.
Speaker 2 (03:28):
Let to check out. A young kid with far too
many piercings scanned down groceries. Just before I tacked my card,
he looked at me with a strange, knowing smile.
Speaker 1 (03:45):
The door still opened.
Speaker 3 (03:46):
Dude, what did you say?
Speaker 2 (03:48):
I asked? If you had a loyalty card?
Speaker 3 (03:51):
No, you didn't you said something about a door.
Speaker 7 (03:54):
Stop it?
Speaker 3 (03:55):
I didn't, I swear, admit it, David, stop it.
Speaker 6 (03:59):
I'm sorry.
Speaker 1 (04:00):
Let's go.
Speaker 2 (04:11):
On the drive home. I was still trying to process everything.
I turned on the radio, hoping for a distraction.
Speaker 3 (04:23):
The station with the best music.
Speaker 1 (04:27):
Coming up next on Hits and Oldies eighty nine point seven.
We got some classic rock and a special shout out
to David, who I know is listening. When will you
accept the truth?
Speaker 3 (04:39):
Did you hear that some jibber jabber about classic rock?
It's my numbing That's why I listened to NPR.
Speaker 2 (04:47):
What was happening to me? Was I losing my mind?
Speaker 3 (04:53):
We put into the.
Speaker 2 (04:54):
Driveway, the silence thick with my unspoken dread. As I
turned off the ignition, Sarah turned to me, her eyes
wide and unblinking, her gaze unnervingly direct.
Speaker 6 (05:19):
Time to wake up, David. This isn't your home.
Speaker 4 (05:24):
It never was.
Speaker 2 (05:26):
The world was blurry for a moment, then coalesced into
the familiarity of my bedroom, the sunlight, gentle and warm,
filtered through the blinds. It was a dream, just a terrible,
(05:48):
vivid dream. I found Sarah in the kitchen.
Speaker 6 (05:57):
Hey, rough night.
Speaker 3 (06:01):
I didn't sleep well.
Speaker 2 (06:04):
I began recounting my dream, telling Sarah about my strange
encounters with the woman in pink, the cashier, and the
radio DJ.
Speaker 3 (06:17):
And then you said it's time to wake up. This
is not your home. It never was.
Speaker 2 (06:24):
Sarah looked at me with an expression I couldn't quite decipher.
Speaker 3 (06:30):
David, I didn't say that, you said it to me.
Speaker 6 (06:35):
What then you went back to sleep, Sarah, you're still dreaming, David.
Speaker 3 (06:42):
Sarah, this isn't funny.
Speaker 2 (06:46):
The old rotary phone, the one we still keep because
Sarah likes vintage things, sprang to life. I picked it up,
genuinely taken back.
Speaker 3 (07:09):
Hello, David, who is this? Where do you work? David?
Speaker 2 (07:15):
Where did you go to school?
Speaker 3 (07:18):
I don't wait.
Speaker 8 (07:19):
Can you remember anything other than going to the supermarket
and driving home?
Speaker 3 (07:27):
Well, of course I can. I went to the.
Speaker 2 (07:32):
You know what you have to do, don't you, David?
Speaker 3 (07:35):
No, I really don't. We'll try again tomorrow. Tell me goodbye, David. Please.
Speaker 2 (08:10):
This next one is a soldier's tale. We were on
night patrol through a string of abandoned villages south of Kandahar,
(08:33):
ghost towns, places the Soviets had bled in and the
Taliban had finished emptying. There were six of us in
my fire team, moving in a staggered file. The cold
air bit at any exposed skin, a stark contrast to
(08:58):
the oppressive heat of the day. The world was painted
in the green and black of our night vision, a
ghostly ethereal landscape. The buildings were mostly mud brick, what
(09:20):
they called colat compounds, with high walls and flat roofs.
They were crumbling, their riches softened by time and the
relentless wind, looking like melted sand castles under the ghostly
green of my envygs. Then sniper, one of our guys,
(09:47):
went down. The rest of us scattered, diving for whatever
cover we could find. There was another shot from the
sniper and returned fire from my team. I scrambled into
(10:10):
what was left of a large building, and when the
dust settled, I was alone. I was pinned down. The
sniper had a beat on my position. Every time I
even thought about leaving the building, another round would thud
(10:34):
into the wall whole. I backed up, going deeper into
the darkness of the ruined building. The air inside was
thick and stagnant, heavy with the smell of dust and
(10:56):
something old and unsettling.
Speaker 3 (11:02):
Bravo is your position?
Speaker 2 (11:05):
I keyed my mic, pinned down east side of the
main structure.
Speaker 1 (11:10):
Cannot move, sniper as me zeroed. We're pulling back and
calling in support.
Speaker 3 (11:17):
Do not repeat, do not leave that building. We'll come you.
At first light, that.
Speaker 2 (11:24):
Landed like a stone in my gout. First light was
a couple of hours away. I moved even deeper into
the building, my M four helped tight against my shoulder.
(11:48):
The interior was a maze of small, interconnected rooms. The
floor was littered with debris, the detritus of lives hastily abandoned.
Moonlight filtered through cracks in the ceiling, casting long, distorted shadows.
(12:14):
And that's when I heard it, a sound that slid
into my brain by passing the normal channels of hearing.
I scanned the room through my envy g's but there
was nothing, just shadows. The whispers came again, not in
(12:49):
English or Peshto or any other language I could identify.
I wasn't a superstitious man. I believed in what I
could see and what I could shoot. But the feeling
in that room, it was primal, a kind of fear
(13:13):
without reason that goes straight for the lizard part of
your brain. I backed into a smaller room. The whispers
had stopped, but now there was a smell ozone, like
(13:36):
a coming storm. I remembered stories our interpreter used to
tell us, half jokingly around the fire back at base,
stories about the old ones. These creatures are the gin,
made of smokeless fire, unseen but always watching, he said.
(14:00):
They haunted places of ruin and sorrow. Then in the
far corner, something shifted, but it wasn't a threat that
I could shoot. It was tall, stretching to the low ceiling,
(14:22):
a column of shimmering heat, like the mirage you see
on a hot road, but darker and tinged with a faint,
ethereal glow. And then it spoke, not with the mouth,
but inside my head.
Speaker 4 (14:45):
You are a guest in this place of dust and shadows,
this land of forgotten gods. Tread lightly, warrior, for you
are not the only one who fights in the darkness.
Speaker 2 (15:01):
My blood ran cold. I could feel the immense power
of this thing. The air in the room returned to normal.
It was gone, but the memory of that voice, of
(15:23):
that shimmering darkness is etched into me. Story number three
(15:54):
concerns the daily commute hitter boring, pretty doable. The evening
(16:15):
train is my decompression chamber, a metal tube that hurtles
me from the day's chaos to the quiet of home.
I find the rhythmic clacking helps me unwind. I know
the journey by heart, the lurch of the acceleration, the
(16:36):
groan of the brakes, and the familiar sequence of stops
that mark the path home. I was about halfway home,
scrolling through my phone. Then the rhythm broke. The train slowed,
(16:58):
the usual rocking motion, easing into a smooth, silent glide.
I looked up from my screen, annoyed. Unscheduled stops were rare.
Outside the window, there was no station. I recognized this
(17:23):
place was ancient. The platform was made of wood. Black
ivy crept over everything in a slow motion sliver. The
only signage was the station name morning Gate Morning with
(17:43):
a ewe. I looked around the carriage to see what
the remaining three passengers were making of it, but they
hadn't even noticed. A woman across the aisle was texting,
a man in a suit was slumped against the window,
fast asleep, and two rows in front of me, a
(18:07):
man in a tweed coat sat reading a newspaper. The
massive broadsheet was completely obscuring his view of the strangeness.
My brain couldn't reconcile it. I felt like I'd fallen
asleep and woken up in some one else's nightmare. I
(18:32):
knew I hadn't got on the wrong train. I've been
catching the same one for six years, and all the
other stops were correct. The doors opened, and I turned
my head to see if any one would get off,
(18:53):
or god forbid on The platform had been empty, but
when I looked again, there was some one there, a
lone man standing beneath one of the gas lamps. He
was tall and gaunt, dressed in a dark, simple suit.
(19:14):
It looked like an old photograph come to life. As
I watched, he lifted his head and his eyes locked
on to mine. I wanted to turn away, but I
was transfixed. A sad smile touched his lips, and he
(19:35):
gave me a nod, as if we were old acquaintances.
Then he lifted a hand to his throat and drew
his thumb across it in a long, deliberate line from
ear to ear, and somehow the flesh parted a clean
(19:59):
black line opened up in his throat, yet his smile
never faltered, and his eyes never left mine. He held
my gaze for another second or two before his knees
buckled and he collapsed onto the wooden platform, folding in
(20:20):
on himself like a discarded puppet. My phone was in
my hand, the camera a single tap away, but the
thought to use it never even formed. It was like
watching a silent horror film being played just for me.
(20:43):
The man in tweed rustled his newspaper, the woman kept texting,
and the other man kept sleeping. The doors slid shut
with a soft sigh, and the train began to move,
(21:05):
pulling away from morning Gate and the body on its platform.
I pressed my face to the glass until the horrific
scene was out of sight. The woman was putting her
(21:31):
phone away, The man in the suit was stretching, waking up,
and two rows ahead, the old man was folding his newspaper,
tucking it into a leather briefcase. He hadn't seen a thing,
(21:53):
None of them had. The weekend was a blur. I
barely spoke, I barely ate. Every time I closed my
eyes I saw him, the sad smile, the nod of acknowledgment,
(22:19):
and of course, the grotesque sight of the gaping wound
in his throat. I replayed it dozens of times, searching
for a rational explanation, but there was none. And now
(22:40):
it's Monday morning. I'm standing on the platform, waiting for
the train to take me back into the city, and
a single question pounds in my head with the rhythm
of an approaching train. We stop at morning Gate. Again.
(23:04):
Part of me is sick at the thought of it.
But there's a smaller, darker part of me that was
strangely beguiled by the horror and did wants to see
it again.
Speaker 8 (23:26):
The train is now approaching platform one. Please stand clear
the edge of the platform.
Speaker 2 (24:04):
We have one more. It's titled a Demon's Gifts. We'll
see you next time. They say about eight percent of
the population experiences sleep paralysis, a misfire in the brain.
(24:26):
Your body is asleep, but your mind wakes up and
you're trapped a prisoner in your own body. It always
starts the same way. The top of my head tingles,
then I hear a humming sound, and then then I'm
(24:52):
paralyzed and it comes. I can't move, I can't scram
but my eyes are open, darting around my familiar bedroom,
searching the corners.
Speaker 7 (25:11):
And that's when I see it. It's never fully clear,
more of a suggestion of a shape, a jagged silhouette
standing in the corner. It just watches, and that's when
I close my eyes. I've suffered from it on and
(25:34):
off since I was a kid. But last week something changed.
I finally got control of my limbs back and as
I reached for my phone, my fingers brushed against something,
(25:55):
something that wasn't there when I went to bed. It
was a feather, black and shiny.
Speaker 2 (26:05):
I live in a fourth floor apartment in the middle
of the city. My windows were closed. Later, when I
got up, I threw it away. But the next night
it happened again. And when I woke up, how there
(26:26):
was a brooch on the night stand, its pin open
and facing upward. What the hell it drew blood?
Speaker 5 (26:43):
You look like hal Melanie, Are you sleeping at all?
Speaker 6 (26:47):
It's just weird dreams, you know how it is?
Speaker 5 (26:50):
No?
Speaker 6 (26:50):
I don't know how it is.
Speaker 5 (26:52):
Is it the paralysis thing again?
Speaker 6 (26:54):
It's evolved, evolved, How.
Speaker 5 (27:00):
Melanie talk to me?
Speaker 6 (27:03):
It's leaving things on my nightstand.
Speaker 5 (27:06):
Leaving things what are you talking about.
Speaker 6 (27:09):
A feather and a brooch? And last night it was
a porcelain doll's eye, just sitting there staring up at
the ceiling.
Speaker 5 (27:15):
Okay, stop, that's seriously creepy. There has to be an explanation,
a new medication.
Speaker 6 (27:23):
I'm not on anything, Anna. I know how it sounds,
but it's real. It feels intentional, like they're gifts.
Speaker 5 (27:31):
Gifts, Melanie, those aren't gifts, they're threats. You need to
see someone, a doctor, a therapist. Hell, girl, put a
camera in your room.
Speaker 6 (27:42):
To record what a high def video of my own
personal tormentor? And what if it knows? What if it
gets you know, angry?
Speaker 5 (27:51):
Angry? It's a hallucination. How can it get angry? Please, Melanie,
just promise me you'll call doctor Evans.
Speaker 6 (28:00):
Okay, I'll call her.
Speaker 2 (28:05):
I didn't call her. What would I say? My sleep
paralysis demon is giving me gifts. I know what Anna
thinks that I'm cracking up. Maybe i am. But tonight
I'm not going to sleep. I'm going to stay awake
(28:26):
and see what happens when it thinks I'm under its spell.
My eyelids feel like they're lined with sandpaper. And then
it began.
Speaker 5 (28:50):
This time.
Speaker 6 (28:51):
I'm keeping my eyes open.
Speaker 2 (28:54):
Tonight.
Speaker 6 (28:55):
I need to see it. Oh God, there it is.
Speaker 2 (29:04):
It's moving. I've never seen it move before. It's coming
out of the corner. It's just a shape, a dark
hole in the room. It's not walking, it's gliding toward
(29:27):
my bed. It's leaning over me. I can't see a face,
but I can feel its attention, a cold, ancient curiosity.
(29:47):
Then a shift, a release, a scramble for the lamp.
And there, next to the doll's eye that I was
too afraid to throw away, is a silver necklace.
Speaker 6 (30:08):
No, it can't be.
Speaker 2 (30:13):
Not just any necklace, but Sarah's necklace, the one she
never took off. It was a gift from our grandmother.
That necklace was a part of her, as much as
her smile or the freckles on her nose. Oh God,
(30:39):
when the police found her body days later, it wasn't there.
Another piece of her taken or perhaps simply lost in
the chaos of that terrible day. And now it's here
in my room, and it's not just watching anymore. It's interacting.
(31:05):
And its gifts aren't gifts at all. They're a twisted game,
each one a whisper of beauty, hiding a brutal, undeniable
proof that it was there, that it knows my deepest wound,
(31:27):
And I know with a cold certainty that the game
has only just begun
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