Uncle Bill's Farm - Night of Fear and Mystery

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Welcome to another episode of the Nighttime Scary Tales Podcast, where we explore the dark side of storytelling. Tonight, prepare for spine-chilling tales featuring original horror stories, eerie supernatural encounters, and real-life crime that reveals the darker aspects of human nature. Each story is designed to keep you on the edge of your seat long after it ends. We’d love to hear your thoughts! Share your most chilling moments by leaving a review on your favorite podcast platform. More haunting stories are coming, so keep your lights on and your doors locked. Sweet dreams… if you can find them!

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:06):
When my mom said I was going to spend the
weekend at uncle Bill's farm. I wasn't exactly thrilled. I
was fifteen and preferred to spend my weekends gaming or
hanging out with my friends, not in the middle of nowhere.
But it was a family thing and my mom insisted,
so off I went. Uncle Bill's farm was in the
kind of rural area where all you could hear was

(00:26):
nothing but the wind, and every now and then the
distant bark of a dog echoing in the background. It
was November and the farm was gearing up for the
last big corn harvest of the season. Rows and rows
of dried stocks stretched out as far as I could see,
like a golden brown ocean. There was something oddly peaceful

(00:48):
about it. On the first day, Uncle Bill gave me
a tour of the farm, just as he did every
time I visited. I humored him, listening to his stories
about how this land had been in the family for generations,
but I was mostly just biding my time. He showed
me the fields, the tractor, the barn, and then, almost
like he'd been saving the best for last, the scarecrows.

(01:10):
There were three of them spaced out along the field,
tall lanky things dressed in old, weather beaten clothes that
probably came from Uncle Bill's closet. Their faces were burlap
sacks with button eyes and wide toothy grins stitched in
red thread. For some reason, something about them didn't sit
well with me. Maybe it was the fact that they

(01:30):
didn't have hats, so their heads were these strange, bare
lumps on top of the bodies. Or maybe it was
the way the wind made their arms sway ever so slightly,
like they were beckoning you closer. You like them, Uncle
Bill asked, clearly proud of his handiwork been using those
same fellas for years. Keep that the birds away real good.
I forced a smile and nodded, Yeah, they're effective. Uncle

(01:55):
Bill chuckled. You city kids don't see stuff like this much. Huh. Well,
they've done the trick for as long as I can remember.
He led me back toward the house, and I kept
looking back at the scarecrows. Something about them felt off,
but I didn't overthink it and just let it go.
It was just a couple of scarecrows, nothing to be
freaked out about. That night, I found myself in the

(02:17):
guest room scrolling through my phone and half watching the news.
Uncle Bill had gone to bed early, exhausted from the
day's work. The farm was dead quiet, and the only
light came from the dim lamp by my bed. I
wasn't used to this kind of stillness. The city was
always alive with energy, but out here you could hear
every creak of the old house, every gust of wind

(02:39):
that rattled the windows. Around midnight, I started hearing this
weird tapping noise against the window. At first I ignored it,
figuring it was a branch or maybe just the wind,
but it kept going. Curiosity got the better of me,
so I got up and pulled the curtains aside. I
expected to see nothing, just darkness and maybe a few

(03:00):
swaying trees, But instead I saw something that made my
stomach tighten. One of the scarecrows was in the yard
right there, maybe twenty feet from the house. Now I
knew Uncle Bill hadn't moved any of them. I'd seen
them in the field earlier, and they were still far
off by the time we came in for dinner. But
here one was standing eerily close to the house, its

(03:21):
button eyes gleaming in the moonlight, and for a moment
I wondered if it had always been that close and
I just hadn't noticed. But no, there was no way
I could have missed it. I stared at it for
a few more seconds, trying to figure out if this
was some kind of prank. Maybe Uncle Bill had moved
it to mess with me. He had a weird sense

(03:43):
of humor sometimes. But then I remembered that Uncle Bill
had been passed out for hours. I was pretty sure
he hadn't left his bed. I told myself that maybe
I had just imagined it being farther out earlier. So
I closed the curtains and went back to bed. It
sleep didn't come easy that night. Every time I closed
my eyes, I pictured the scarecrow's crooked grin and its

(04:05):
empty button eyes watching me. The next morning, I went
out to the yard, mostly just to prove to myself
that I hadn't imagined the whole thing. Sure Enough, the
scarecrow was still there, right where I'd seen it the
night before. Its long, straw stuffed arms hung limply by
its sides. But something was different now. The red stitching
that made up its grin was smudged. It looked wrong.

(04:30):
Almost like it had been tampered with. I walked over
to it, kind of expecting it to move. It didn't.
It was just a lifeless sack of straw and old clothes. Still,
I didn't want to touch it. Something about the whole
situation felt off, so I headed back to the house
and found Uncle Bill sipping his coffee at the kitchen table. Hey,
uncle Bill, did you move one of the scarecrows last night?

(04:52):
He looked up from his cup, raising an eyebrow. What
do you mean, I mean, there's one in the yard.
I saw but last night and it's still there. Uncle
Bill set his coffee down. I didn't move any scarecrows.
They're supposed to be out in the field. I shrugged,
playing it off. Weird. Maybe the wind blew it over.
Uncle Bill didn't look convinced, but he nodded. Could be.

(05:17):
Or maybe one of the neighbor kids thought they'd play
a little joke. I'll move it back later. I didn't
mention it again, but I couldn't shake the feeling that
something was wrong. I spent the rest of the day
helping Uncle Bill with the harvest, trying to focus on
the work and not on the scarecrow, which had been
standing vigil in the yard all morning. By the time

(05:39):
night fell, I was exhausted. I ate dinner, took a shower,
and went to bed early, hoping i'd sleep better this time.
But when I pulled the curtains closed, I noticed something strange.
The scarecrow was gone. I hadn't seen Uncle Bill move it,
and there was no way it could have walked off
on its own. I tried to brush it off, but
a nagging sense of uneasey settled over me. Sometime after midnight,

(06:03):
I was jolted awake by a loud thud against the window.
My heart raced as I sat up. Another thud and another.
It was like someone was throwing rocks at the window.
I pulled back the curtain just enough to peek outside.
There standing in the yard again were not one, but
all three of the scarecrows. They were arranged in a line,

(06:23):
their heads tilted slightly, as if they were watching the house.
I stared at them. They hadn't been there earlier. Uncle
Bill couldn't have moved all three of them in the
middle of the night, especially not without me hearing him.
I stumbled back from the window. My mind scrambling to
make sense of what I was seeing. Then I heard
a knock coming from the front door. The knocking continued,

(06:46):
soft but insistent, like someone trying to be polite, even
though it was the dead of night. I made my
way to the bedroom door. I opened it slowly, my
ears straining for any sign of Uncle Bill. Nothing. The
house was silent except for the tapping at the front door.
I crept down the hallway, every step making the old

(07:06):
wooden floor creak. I went down the stairs, and as
I reached the bottom, I looked toward the window by
the door. The scarecrows were still out there, unmoving, just
beyond the reach of the porch light. The knocking stopped.
I stood there, unsure of what to do. Should I
open the door call for Uncle Bill. My phone was upstairs,

(07:28):
charging by the bed. I didn't want to leave the
doorway unguarded long enough to grab it. Then the doorknob turned.
I froze, staring in disbelief. As the knob twisted slowly,
the door didn't open. It stayed locked, but whoever was
on the other side was definitely trying to get in.
Uncle Bill. I called, my voice shaking. There was no answer.

(07:49):
The knob twisted again, then stopped. I could feel my
heart hammering in my chest. I bolted up the stairs,
heading straight to uncle Bill's room. I pounded on his
door until I heard the groggy sh shuffle of him
waking up. He opened the door, rubbing his eyes. What's
going on. There's someone outside there trying to get in.
Uncle Bill frowned and grabbed his shotgun from the closet.

(08:12):
Not asking any more questions, he led the way downstairs.
When we reached the front door, he peered through the
window cautiously. His eyes scanned the yard for a moment
before he cursed under his breath. All the scarecrows are back,
he muttered, tightening his grip on the shotgun. Back. What
do you mean? Uncle Bill turned to me. They were

(08:32):
gone this afternoon. I went to check on him, and
they weren't there. We both stood in silence for a
few seconds, listening for any signs of movement outside. Finally,
Uncle Bill opened the door and stepped out onto the porch.
I followed, keeping close behind him. The scarecrows were standing
right where I'd seen them, just beyond the reach of

(08:54):
the porch light. Their button eyes gleaming in the moonlight.
Uncle Bill raised his shotgun, but before he could take aim,
a shadow move behind one of the scarecrows get inside.
Uncle Bill barked, shoving me back toward the door. He
aimed the shotgun and fired, but it didn't hit anything.
He fired two more shots into the darkness, which also

(09:15):
didn't hit anything. Then Uncle Bill grabbed my arm and
dragged me inside. We slammed the door shut and locked it.
He bolted the door with his hands shaking. We didn't
sleep that night. We sat in the living room silently
in the dark, uncle Bill with his shotgun in hand,
waiting for someone or something to try to get in again.

(09:36):
But that didn't happen. To this day, we don't know
what that shadow was and who or what was carrying
the scarecrows close to the house. I don't know if
it was some kind of prank or something more serious,
but one thing is for sure, it scared the hell
out of me, and I'll never forget that night. Every

(09:59):
fa like clockwork, my family would make our annual pilgrimage
to Pumpkin Land. We'd pick out a pumpkin, carve goofy
faces into them. Later ride on the haunted hay ride
and drink apple cider until we couldn't stomach another drop.
But there was this one year, a year I'll never
forget that changed pumpkin Land from a cherished memory to

(10:20):
a dark one that still creeps up on me whenever
fall rolls around. I was about nine years old, maybe
ten when it happened. It was one of those chilly
autumn afternoons. The sky was clear, not a cloud in sight,
and the entire park smelled like cinnamon roasted peanuts and
the musty earth of a farm preparing for the long
winter ahead. I remember everything about that day, the crunch

(10:44):
of the leaves underfoot, the warmth of the wool sweater
my mom had knitted for me, and the excitement buzzing
in the air as families bustled around us. We arrived
just after lunch, my dad and his usual baseball cap
and flannel jacket, my mom snapping pictures with her old
disposable camera, and me well, I was darting ahead, already

(11:05):
eager to hit the hay rides and corn maize. Dad
had to remind me to slow down more than once.
You'll get lost if you run ahead like that. He'd say,
but I never took him seriously. At pumpkin Land, it
felt like nothing bad could ever happen. The first half
of the day was a blur of fun. We picked
out pumpkins, navigated the corn maze without too much argument

(11:25):
about which way to go, and I ate enough caramel
apples to last a lifetime. I remember wanting to ride
the mini roller coaster they had set up at the
far end of the park, but before that I needed
to use the bathroom. I told my dad, and we
headed over to the porta potties near the entrance. Go ahead,
I'll wait right here, he said, motioning to the edge

(11:47):
of the path where a few other parents stood. He
had one hand in his pocket, the other holding a
pumpkin spice coffee that my mom teased him about drinking.
I dashed into the portable bathroom, scrunched my nose at
the smell, and did what I needed to do. As
I came out, I expected to see my dad standing
right there where he said he'd be. Only he wasn't.

(12:09):
I looked around, confused. The crowd was thick, kids running
around with plastic bags full of candy from the trick
or treat stations, parents juggling hot drinks and taking pictures
of their little ones. But there was no sign of
my dad. Dad. I called out, my voice, barely audible
over the noise of the park. I was used to
him being right where he said he'd be, so this

(12:32):
was strange. I waited for a few minutes, thinking he
must have just stepped away for a second, or maybe
I had missed him in the crowd. I tried to
convince myself it was no big deal that i'd find
him soon enough. But when the minutes dragged on and
there was still no sign of him, a gnawing feeling
started to settle in my stomach. Something wasn't right. I

(12:55):
wandered a little further from the porta pottis, trying to
scan through the crowds of families and kids. I walked
past the food stalls, searching for any sign of my
dad's baseball cap in the sea of people. But he
wasn't there. Now, let me explain something. I wasn't the
kind of kid who panicked easily. I'd been told all
the usual warnings, don't talk to strangers, stay where your

(13:17):
parents can see you. But in a place like Pumpkin land.
It just felt safe. Everyone was there for the same reason.
Everyone was in a good mood, and bad things didn't
happen in places like this, right at least that's what
I thought. After a few more minutes, I saw a
man approaching me. He was tall, older than my dad,

(13:37):
with graying hair poking out from under a baseball cap.
He wore one of those puffy vests that older guys
seemed to love, and there was a friendly, if slightly
forced smile on his face. You look a little lost, kiddo,
he said, his voice smooth, almost too casual. Are you
trying to find someone? I nodded, still looking around for

(13:58):
my dad. Yeah, my dad was supposed to wait for me,
but I don't see him. The man gave a sympathetic
nod and crouched down so that we were almost at
eye level. What's your dad look like? Maybe I've seen
him around. I wasn't sure if I should talk to him.
The warnings about not trusting strangers floated in the back
of my mind, but this guy seemed okay, friendly enough,

(14:20):
so I described my dad, the jacket, the hat, the
coffee in his hand. The man listened carefully, his eyes narrowing,
just slightly, like he was trying to recall someone matching
the description. I think I saw him by the corn
maze a few minutes ago, he said, standing up, I
can walk you over there if you want. There was

(14:41):
something about the offer that didn't sit right with me.
The corn maze was all the way on the other
side of the park. Why would my dad go there
without me? He knew how excited I was to try
the maze. Uh maybe, I mumbled, unsure, I hesitated, taking
a step back. The man smiled again, but this time
it didn't feel real. It never reached his eyes. Your

(15:03):
dad told me to come get you, he said, more firmly,
said you were taking a little too long in the bathroom.
Come on, I'll take you to him. That was the moment,
That one sentence was when my mind shifted from confusion
to fear. My dad would never send someone else to
come get me, not without telling me. And the more
I thought about it, the more this guy's story didn't

(15:24):
add up. He was too eager, too insistent. I stepped
back again, my unease growing. I think I'll just wait here.
The man's smile vanished for a split second. He looked
around quickly, then back at me. It'll be quicker if
you come with me. I'm sure your dad's waiting. Something
about his tone sent a surge of panic through me.

(15:45):
I was just a kid, but I wasn't stupid. This
wasn't right. Before I could react, before I could even
think of what to say, I spotted a flash of
orange a Pumpkin Land employee's vest off to the side
of the crowd. Without thinking, I turned and bolted toward
the words work, Hey, excuse me, I shouted, weaving through
the crowd as fast as my legs could carry me.

(16:07):
The employee, a guy about my dad's age, turned around
just in time to see me running toward him. I
could hear the man behind me calling out, but I
didn't stop. I reached the employee and gasped out, I
can't find my dad. The worker immediately crouched down, concerned, Hey,
slow down, what's going on. I looked back, but the
man was already gone, melted into the crowd like he'd

(16:30):
never been there at all. The worker looked around, but
there was no one suspicious in sight. He led me
to the security office, where within minutes my dad showed up.
Breathless and panicked. He'd been looking for me the whole time,
frantic when he realized I wasn't where he'd left me.
I told him and the security team everything about the man,

(16:51):
the offer to help, the lie about knowing my dad.
They took it seriously, but with so many people in
costumes and hats and no cameras in that part of
the there wasn't much they could do. We never saw
the man again, No one did. As I got older,
I replayed that moment over and over in my mind,
each time realizing just how close I came to something

(17:12):
far worse than getting lost at a Halloween festival. At
the time, I didn't understand the gravity of it, but now,
as an adult, I can see it clearly. That man
wasn't just trying to be helpful. He was trying to
lead me away, away from the safety of the crowd,
away from where anyone could find me. The realization hit
me hard later in life. What if I hadn't listened

(17:34):
to that gut instinct. What if I had gone with him.
It's not something I like to dwell on, but it's
always there in the back of my mind, especially every
time October rolls around. Pumpkin Land used to be a
place of joy, of family memories and laughter. Now, though,
it's a reminder of how quickly something can change, how
easily a happy day can turn into something darker. We

(17:57):
never went back there. Some places tainted can never feel
safe again. I never really considered myself an outdoorsy kind
of guy, but when my girlfriend Jen suggested we go camping,
I figured it wouldn't be that bad. Besides, it was

(18:18):
late November, the leaves were beautiful, and she seemed excited
about it. We'd been together for a while and this
felt like the kind of cupply thing that would get
me some points. A weekend camping trip in the woods
just us, a tent and a fire. What could go wrong? Right?
We left early Saturday morning, the car packed with everything

(18:39):
we needed, tent, sleeping bags, food, and enough firewood to
last the night. The drive up state was peaceful, the
roads winding through forests already covered in that crisp golden
fall glow. Jen had grown up around here, so she
knew all the best spots for camping. She suggested a
clearing near her dad's property, somewhere used to go as

(19:00):
a kid. It wasn't too far from the house, but
far enough that we wouldn't be disturbed. Sounded perfect to me.
After about an hour, we turned off the main road
and drove down a dirt path until we reached the clearing.
It was secluded and surrounded by towering trees. The light
filtered through the branches in that soft autumn way, casting

(19:21):
shadows that danced across the ground. Honestly, it was kind
of beautiful. Jen was already out of the car, scouting
the area for the best place to set up the tent.
This spot is perfect, she said, pointing toward a flat
patch of ground near the edge of the clearing. We
can set up here and the fire pit can go

(19:41):
over there. I followed her lead. She was the camping expert,
after all. We spent the next hour setting up the
tent and getting everything organized. By the time we were done,
the sun was beginning to set behind the trees, painting
the sky in shades of orange and purple. With the
camp set up, we decided to relax for a bit

(20:02):
before starting the fire. Jen pulled out a couple of
beers from the cooler and we sat down on the
fold out chairs, enjoying the silence as the evening wore on,
we started the fire and cooked some hot dogs over
the flames. The warmth of the fire was a welcome
contrast to the chill that was beginning to settle in.
We talked about everything and nothing, just enjoying each other's company.

(20:25):
It felt good to be out here, disconnected from the world.
But as the night got darker, the whole atmosphere started
to change. It wasn't anything dramatic at first, just little
things every now and then I thought I heard something,
a twig snapping, leaves crunching, But when I looked around,
there was nothing. You hear that, I asked Jen, trying

(20:46):
to sound casual. She looked up from poking the fire
with a stick. Here what I don't know, like footsteps
or something. Probably just an animal, right, Jen shrugged, not
seeming too concerned. Probably there's all kinds of wildlife out here, deer, raccoons,
maybe a fox. They're more scared of us than we

(21:07):
are of them. That made sense. Still, I couldn't shake
the weird feeling that we weren't alone out here, but
I didn't want to freak Jen out, so I kept
it to myself. We carried on with our evening, talking
and laughing, trying to ignore the creeping cold that was
settling in. At some point, we both got quiet, just
staring into the fire, the kind of quiet where you're

(21:28):
comfortable but also a little lost in your thoughts. I
was just about to suggest we call it a night
when something caught my eye. At first, it was just movement,
a dark shape slipping between the trees, just outside the
reach of the firelight. I stared into the woods, trying
to convince myself it was nothing more than a deer
or some other animal. Jen, did you see that, I

(21:51):
asked quietly, not taking my eyes off the tree line.
She looked up from the fire. See what I pointed?
Into the darkness, there was something moving. Jen squinted, leaning
forward as if that would help her see better. Probably
just a raccoon or something, she said, but there was
hesitation in her voice. I nodded, but I wasn't convinced.

(22:12):
Whatever I'd seen seemed too tall, too human. But it
was probably just my imagination getting the better of me.
We sat there for another few minutes, both of us
a little on edge, now listening to the sounds of
the forest, and then I heard it. Footsteps, not the
soft rustling of an animal, but the distinct crunch of
someone walking through the dry leaves. The sound seemed to

(22:35):
come from behind us, just beyond the circle of light
cast by the fire. I turned my head and there
it was again, movement. This time, it wasn't just one shadow.
It was two, maybe three, dark figures slipping between the trees,
just far enough away that I couldn't make out any details.
Do you hear that, I whispered. Jen nodded slowly, Yeah,

(22:57):
I hear it. We both stood up at the same time,
instinctively moving closer to each other. I looked at the tent,
which suddenly felt like the most vulnerable place in the world.
There was no way I was going in there now,
not with whatever was out there watching us. The footsteps
stopped for a moment, and everything went quiet. Jen whispered,
Maybe it's just people hiking or something. It's a public trail, right,

(23:21):
I shook my head. Not at this time of night,
nobody's hiking out here this late. We stood there, straining
to hear anything else, and then the footsteps started again,
this time from a different direction, closer, circling the campsite.
There's more than one, Jen muttered. I didn't need to
be told twice. It was obvious now. The sounds were

(23:42):
coming from all sides, surrounding us, the figures darting between
the trees like they were playing some twisted game of
hide and seek. What do we do? She asked? We
need to leave now. We both moved quickly, grabbing the
essentials keys, phone, flashlight, or get the tent or get
the chairs. We could come back for them in the daylight,
but right now, getting out of there was all that mattered.

(24:06):
As we packed up in a rush, I kept one
eye on the woods, watching the dark shapes that seemed
to melt in and out of the shadows. I couldn't
tell how many there were, but the footsteps were getting louder,
as if whatever was out there was closing in on us.
We started walking toward the car, keeping low and quiet,
trying not to make any sudden movements. Every few steps

(24:29):
I looked over my shoulder, thinking I'd see someone step
out of the trees and block our path. The tension
in the air was suffocating, the sense of being watched overwhelming,
and then out of nowhere, a branch snapped loudly to
our left. Go I whispered sharply, and we broke into
a run, sprinting toward the car behind us. The footsteps

(24:50):
quickened too, like they were chasing us, but I didn't
dare turn around to look. We made it to the car,
and I fumbled with the keys for a second, my
hands shaking. I got the door unlocked, and we both
scrambled inside, slamming the doors shut behind us. For a moment,
everything was still. The figures didn't come into view. Drive.

(25:11):
Jen urged her voice, tight with fear. I started the
car slammed into reverse, backing up quickly before spinning the
wheel and heading down the dirt road. The trees blurred
past us as we sped away from the campsite. As
we drove, I looked into the rear view mirror, expecting
to see someone, but there was nothing. The dark shapes

(25:31):
had melted back into the forest, disappearing as quickly as
they had appeared. We kept driving until we reached Jen's
dad's cabin. It was nearly morning by then, and the
first light of dawn was starting to break through the trees.
We parked the car and sat there for a moment,
just trying to process what had just happened. I don't
know what that was, Jen said, finally, but I'm never

(25:53):
going back there again. I agreed. We were lucky we'd
gotten away. We never went back to that campsite. We
didn't even bother going back for the tent. In fact,
we never went camping again. I was thirteen, and it

(26:15):
was supposed to be just another night of messing around,
something to kill the boredom that always set in as
fall dragged on in our small town me. Jose, Tara,
and Micah had been hanging out all day doing nothing
in particular, when Jose came up with this idea of
doing something a little more daring. You guys ever heard
about the old pumpkin patch on Mill Road? Tara replied,

(26:37):
That place is abandoned, has been for years. They say
it's haunted or some crap exactly. Jose said we should
check it out. We weren't the type to pass up
a dare, but I could tell we were hesitant. There
was always something off about that side of town, run down, overgrown,
the kind of place you avoided without really thinking about it.

(27:00):
But boredom does strange things to people, and before I
knew it, we were pedaling our bikes down the dark
road toward the old farm. It was dusk by the
time we reached the overgrown path that led to the
pumpkin patch. We ditched our bikes near a rusted out
gate and walked the rest of the way. The place
was just as run down as I'd imagined. Weeds and
dead corn stalks stretched across the fields, and in the

(27:21):
distance the farmhouse loomed. You sure about this, Mikah muttered.
Jose didn't hesitate. Come on, It's just an old farm,
nothing to be scared of. I wasn't convinced either, but
we followed anyway, walking down the dirt path toward the house.
The closer we got, the weirder the place felt. Something

(27:43):
about the way the house stood there alone and decaying
made my skin itch. It was the kind of place
you see in horror movies, the kind of place where
you expect something to jump out at you any minute.
When we reached the front door, it was already half open.
None of us made a move to enter. I'll go first,
I said, feeling a strange need to prove something, though

(28:06):
I wasn't sure what. I pushed the door open the
rest of the way, and it creaked loudly, echoing into
the emptiness inside. As we stepped inside, the walls were
lined with peeling wallpaper. Furniture was still scattered around, like
whoever lived here had just up and left one day
and never came back. A layer of dust covered everything,
making it clear that no one had set foot in

(28:28):
here for years. Man, this place is a dump. Jose said,
what a waste of time. But as he said it,
something thudded from upstairs. We all stopped. What the hell
was that, Tara asked. Probably just some window closing in
the wind, Jose said, but even he didn't sound convinced.
Then it happened again, a rhythmic thumping, like someone was

(28:48):
hitting the wall upstairs. There was no way it was
the wind or the house shifting. The sound was too deliberate,
too controlled. Maybe we should leave. Micah suggested, you guys
are paranoid. Let's just check it out. None of us
really wanted to go upstairs, but something about that noise
pulled us like we had to see what was making it. So,

(29:09):
against every ounce of common sense, we climbed the creaky stairs,
one step at a time. The thumping grew louder the
higher we went. When we reached the top, there was
a long hallway with several doors, all of them closed
except one at the far end. That's where the noise
was coming from. I don't like this, Tara whispered, clutching

(29:30):
onto Micah's arm. We'll just take a quick look, Jose said,
though I noticed his bravado had faded. We walked down
the hall. The closer we got to the open door,
the more I regretted coming here. Something was very, very wrong.
Jose and I reached the doorway first, and we both
stopped dead in our tracks. Inside the room was a man.
He was standing in the corner facing the wall, his

(29:52):
head slowly knocking against it over and over. The sound
reverberated through the room like a nightmare. Holy shit, Jose whispered.
I didn't move, none of us did. We just stood
there watching this man, if you could call him that,
continuing to bang his head against the wall, as if
he didn't even know we were there. Is he okay?

(30:12):
Tara finally asked, her voice shaky, but there was no answer,
just the sound of his head hitting the wall. We
need to go. We bolted down the hallway. Behind us.
I could hear the man's footsteps chasing us. We flew
down the stairs, nearly tripping in our panic. When we
reached the front door, I heard a scream. I didn't

(30:33):
dare look back. We tore through the doorway and out
into the yard, running as fast as we could toward
our bikes. As we jumped on and pedaled away, I
could still hear that scream echoing through the night. We
didn't stop pedaling until we were halfway back to town,
our legs burning from the effort. What was that, Tara asked.
I shook my head two out of breath to speak.

(30:56):
There was something deeply wrong with that place, something we
never should have messed with. When we finally made it
back to town, we stopped at the park, collapsing onto
the grass, gasping for air. None of us spoke for
a long time. We never told anyone what happened at
the abandoned pumpkin patch, and we never went back. I

(31:16):
still wonder what we would have seen if we had
looked back as we ran, But part of me is
glad I never found out. If these fall stories creeped
you out, make sure to smash that like button and
hit subscribe for more Spine tingling content. Which story scared
you the most? Drop it in the comments below and
let me know. Don't forget to share this video with

(31:38):
friends who love a good scare. Stay safe out there,
and remember sometimes the scariest things are hiding in plain sight.
Thanks for watching, and I'll see you in the next nightmare.