August 5, 2025 • 48 mins
True Creepiest Unexplained Glitch in the Matrix Stories
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Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 2 (00:00):
Story one.
Speaker 1 (00:01):
I lived in a cramped flat in Malasana, Madrid, sharing
a small kitchen with two roommates. I barely knew my
name is Anna, and at twenty three, I had moved
here from California to study art at a local academy.
I'd felt a fierce excitement when I arrived, convinced the
city's pulse would ignite my creativity. A few weeks in,
(00:21):
the novelty had worn off, and the endless crowds now
made me feel like a tiny cog. That Tuesday, I
left my apartment around two o'clock, determined to grab milk
and bread from the panaderia a few blocks away. Feeling restless,
I wore a light denim jacket and my favorite sneakers,
though they were scuffed and sore from constant walking, and
(00:42):
the sun was generous, hanging at an angle that lit
the terra cotta rooftops and sent golden light across the sidewalks.
I never understood how Madriders tolerated heat until I moved
here in California. I could control my temperature, crank the
ac shade the windows. Here, I wore a single tank
top and still felt the city's breath on my skin.
(01:04):
My tote bag had seen better days, it seems, fraying
and straps stretching dangerously thin. That morning, I'd rolled out
of bed to the shrill beap of my alarm, stretching
and hesitating, before dragging myself to the bathroom mirror and
staring into my own eyes. Already dull with exhaustion, I'd
glanced at the piled up dishes in the sink, then
thrown on clothes without thought, my hair in a careless bun. Lately,
(01:29):
I'd been feeling more homesick than usual. I'd spoken to
my brother Jim on a grainy video chat the night before,
watching him joke with Mom from his dorm room. He'd
waved at the camera, his smile wide as ever, promising
he'd visit next semester. I'd laughed and said I'd save
all the good tapist spots for him. But when I
closed my laptop, the apartment felt emptier than usual. My
(01:52):
roommates were asleep after a late shift, and I'd spent
the night sketching empty streets that never looked the same
twice in my drawings. I wondered if I was starting
to lose myself in my own imagination. Madrid, in theory,
was mine to explore, but I often found myself lost
in familiar routines, grocery runs, art classes, late night cups
of cafe con leche, paid with a grin from the
(02:14):
barista who never learned my name. I liked the anonymity
at first, no one cared if I slipped into the
flat without speaking, but solitude sank in too deep. Sometimes
I missed hearing my brother's voice in the hallway and
the way he'd grown when he saw my budget friendly
serial choices. My phone vibrated with a text from my dad,
Hope classes are going well, give me a call later
(02:37):
that morning. As I glanced at the time on my phone,
it struck me that I was running late. My class
in the afternoon was canceled, so I'd given myself extra
time to wander. I wondered if I should swing by
my favorite gallery on Kalide La Montera, where a new
exhibit promised bold prints, but I shook my head, deciding
to stick to my plan straight to the panadarea. Back home,
(02:59):
sketch without distractions. Discipline felt necessary, a lifeline to keep
me grounded when the city threatened to swallow me. My
route to the Panaderia took me past an art supply store,
its window cluttered with tubes of paint and half finished canvases.
I stepped inside to scan markers and brushes, thinking I
might pick up a new tube of cadmium red, but
(03:21):
the stall was empty, lucky for my budget, but unlucky
for my creativity. I stepped back into the sun and
continued down Kayadela Palma, where a florist arranged crimson roses
and bosses, teasing out petals with glove fingers. The intersection
of Khalia dela Palma and Fuenkoral was a familiar crossroads,
defined by neon pedestrian lights and the metallic screech of trams.
(03:45):
I pressed the pedestrian button and heard the distant click
of the signal. The countdown began twenty seconds nineteen. I
shifted from one foot to the other, listening to my heartbeat,
thumb thumb, each rattling my rib cage.
Speaker 2 (04:01):
Then I saw him.
Speaker 1 (04:03):
He appeared from behind a parked motorcycle, walking toward me
on the sidewalk. At first I thought it might be
a friend or one of my roommates. Catching up faster
than expected. His body moved with an easy, familiar grace,
and I thought he looks like Jim. The second his
face came into view, my blood turned to ice. He
wore a dark green hoodie and faded jeans, the same
(04:24):
exact outfit my brother Jim favored when he visited six
months ago. His hair was the same shade of brown,
cut in the same off center part. Those soft waves
falling in familiar strands across his forehead. He stopped a
few feet away, folding his arms and looking at me directly.
The timer on the crosswalk signal ticked down to eight
(04:44):
seconds and then paused. Everything felt poised, suspended. The man's
brown eyes locked onto mine, and a vertigo of recognition
twisted through my chest. I knew my brother was back
in Oregon, halfway across an ocean. He was in class
at that that moment, doing calculus or complaining about dorm food.
There was no possible way he could be here, standing
(05:07):
across from me in Madrid, less than twenty feet away,
Aras Americana Verdan. He asked, his voice soft, with a
hint of curiosity, not impatience. The words spilled out smooth,
and practiced as though he'd been expecting me to speak English.
My mouth felt dry, my tongue thick. I blinked again,
(05:27):
which sent a wave of dizziness rushing through me. My
heart pounded so loudly I thought the man might hear it.
I realized I didn't speak enough Spanish to respond quickly.
My brain felt like it was wrapped in cotton. I
forced out, you look exactly like my brother. The words
came out flat in English. If he noticed, he didn't
show it. Instead, his lips curved into a slow smile
(05:50):
that echoed my brother's grin to Hermano deviser mui wappo
in tonses, he said, with a light laugh. I heard
the ghost of my brother's chuckle in his voice, fun
familiar and utterly horrifying. Your brother must be very handsome.
The crosswalk signal changed to green. He stepped forward, as
though crossing the street mattered more than what was happening.
(06:12):
I clutched my bag strap, the canvas biting into my fingers.
With every step he took. The bloody fear in my
gut churned. He matched my pace at the curb, eyes
never leaving mine, He took one step then another, entering
the crosswalk with deliberate slow strides. Each step echoed in
my ears, punctuating the roar of the city. The pavement
(06:34):
beneath him seemed to hum. He reached the other side,
glanced back, and our eyes met for a final moment.
Speaker 2 (06:41):
My legs buckled.
Speaker 1 (06:42):
I stumbled onto the pavement and nearly fell, pressing my
palms into the cold stone to steady myself. I stared
at the space where he'd vanished into the flow of strangers.
I never saw him again. Story two. I don't usually
get rattled on the job, but this one night still
haunts me. I worked nights as a security attendant at
(07:02):
this old apartment building downtown, twenty four stories, pretty much
one of the oldest in the city, the kind of
place where the wiring buzzes in the walls and the
elevators creak like they're about to fall apart. I've been
doing this gig for over a year, so I'm used
to odd noises in the occasional weird vibe, but nothing
prepared me for what happened that night. It was around
(07:22):
three am, dead quiet except for the hum of the
fluorescent lights at the front desk. Then the phone rings.
I pick it up and say, Hello, this is Dravin
at the front desk. How can I help you. The
voice on the other end was female, but it was
all static and garbled. I couldn't make out most of
what she said. The only thing I caught was the
(07:42):
twenty third floor. I asked her to repeat it, trying
to get more info, like what apartment she was in,
but it was just the same garbled mess and twenty
third floor again. After a few minutes of this, I
told her I couldn't understand and that i'd come upstairs
to meet her. I figured maybe her phone was bad
or something. I grabbed the key for the service elevator.
(08:03):
The regular elevators were both already on the twenty third floor,
which I thought was weird, but shrugged off. The service
elevator was older and usually stuck on the lower floors.
I called it down from the seventh floor. When it arrived,
I stepped in and pressed the button for the twenty
third floor. The elevator didn't move and the inner door
wouldn't close. That's when I opened the reset panel, and
(08:25):
suddenly it jolted upward with the doors still open, shaking
like crazy. I was tense, staying toward the back of
the elevator, heart pounding. It shot up fast, and I
swear the creaks and rattles sounded louder than usual. Then
it stopped at twenty three. I stepped out, and the
doors shut behind me. Normally, the hallway was empty, dead, silent.
(08:47):
I walked slowly, checking every doorway, listening for any sound,
a voice, footsteps, anything.
Speaker 2 (08:55):
Nothing.
Speaker 1 (08:56):
It felt like the whole floor was abandoned. I headed
toward the main elevators, which still stood there with their
doors wide open, like they were waiting. I was pretty spooked,
but figured the elevators might just be glitching again, so
I stepped inside, intending to go down and reset them.
Then I heard it, the back stairwell door slamming shut
somewhere behind me. I jumped out and rushed to the stairwell.
(09:20):
No one there. The only thing out of place was
the maintenance door to the machine room slightly open. That
room's at the very top, noisy as hell during the day,
but eerie at night. Nobody ever goes up there except me,
and I'm the only one with a key. I didn't
want to go in, but curiosity and a rising sense
of dread pushed me forward. The fluorescent lights flickered, barely
(09:43):
lighting the cramped space full of clanking machinery. I called
out hello, no answer. At the end of the room
was the roof access door cracked open just a bit.
I hesitated, but moved toward it. I stepped out onto
the roof and looked around. It was It's dark except
for the dim city glow. Nothing there. I left the
(10:04):
door ajar behind me, and as soon as I took
a step forward, the door slams shut hard.
Speaker 2 (10:09):
I froze.
Speaker 1 (10:10):
That door isn't light, It's heavy metal, and it takes
real force to close it. No way the wind could
do that. I grabbed the handle and pulled, but it
stayed shut. I yanked it open, slammed it behind me,
and sprinted back inside. The maintenance door slamed shut behind
me and locked automatically. I didn't stop running until I
(10:31):
got back to the twenty third floor hallway. I shoved
my way into the elevator with the door still open,
hit the button for the first floor, and watched the
numbers tick down as the elevator shook and rattled again.
When I hit the lobby, I plopped into my chair,
trying to calm down. Then the phone rang. I didn't
even want to pick it up, but the ringing was relentless.
(10:52):
I grabbed the receiver without saying a word. The same
garbled female voice whispered twenty third floor, no other words.
I hung up, immediately turned off the ringer, and spent
the rest of the night watching the security cameras of
the parking garage anywhere but upstairs. I never found out
who called. There was no sign anyone had been on
(11:13):
the twenty third floor or the roof. No one was
supposed to be there except me. I don't know if
it was some glitch in the building, a prank, or
something else, but it still creeps me out. That heavy
door slamming shut, the garbled voice repeating twenty third floor,
the elevators stuck with open doors. It was like the
(11:35):
building itself was trying to tell me something. I quit
going up there alone after that night. Story three. I
don't usually tell this story because people tend to brush
it off, like I'm making it up or exaggerating. But
I swear on everything I love this happened exactly how
I'm about to tell it. My name's Dylan, I was
twenty two at the time, and I had just moved
(11:56):
out of Brisbane with my folks after they sold our place.
Speaker 2 (12:00):
He bought this weird old property a few.
Speaker 1 (12:01):
Hours out in the countryside New South Wales, middle of nowhere,
lots of land, barely any neighbors, just bush and silence,
the kind of place you think is peaceful until you're
actually living in it. Anyway, there was this big detached
shed on the property, probably used for tools or machinery
back in the day. I thought it'd be a good
(12:22):
idea to turn it into my own little pad. Gave
me space, some independence and a break from my parents.
I fixed it up, put my bed, a desk, some
shelves in there. It wasn't fancy, but it was good enough.
From day one, though, it felt off. You know that
feeling when you walk into a room and immediately want
(12:42):
to walk back out. It was like that, but constant
even during the day. Still, I figured I was just
being soft. It's an old place, it creaks whatever. My dog, Rex,
a big brown Shepherd mix, stayed with me every night.
He usually slept like a log right next to the bed.
Made me feel safer. Two weeks in, around eleven thirty
(13:05):
at night. I was sitting at my desk on my laptop.
I remember this clearly. I was watching YouTube and messaging
a mate on Discord. Rex was asleep under the desk,
snoring gently. I needed to take a piss, so I
got up, opened the shed door and stepped out. It
was quiet, too quiet, honestly. No insects, no wind, no
(13:27):
distant cars, just silence, the kind that presses in on you.
I looked up at the sky and it was packed
with stars, ridiculously clear. I stood there for a second, thinking, damn,
city skies don't look like this. Then bang, the shed
door slammed shut behind me hard. I spun around immediately,
(13:49):
thinking it was wind or maybe it didn't latch right.
But when I grabbed the handle, it wouldn't move, I mean,
wouldn't budge like someone was holding it from the inside.
Jiggled it, pushed, pulled, rammed it with my shoulder. Nothing.
Then I heard it Rex. First it was this low growl,
(14:10):
like a warning. Then it turned into barking, angry, defensive barking,
and then something changed. The bark turned into this scared yelping.
I'd never heard him make sounds like that. I'm not small.
I'm six feet five inches, solidly built, and I threw
my entire weight into that door. I rammed it again
(14:31):
and again, yelling Rex's name. Then suddenly, crack, the door
flew open and I stumbled inside. Everything was pitch black.
The light I left on wasn't just off, it was dead.
I flicked the switch over and over nothing.
Speaker 2 (14:48):
Rex. I called out nothing.
Speaker 1 (14:51):
My eyes were still adjusting, but I reached over to
where I kept my flashlight on the shelf, fumbled around,
found it, clicked it on, and that's when my stomach dropped.
Rex was in the farthest corner of the shed, like
he had tried to wedge himself into the wall. He
wasn't barking anymore. He was shaking. His eyes were closed tight,
(15:12):
and his body was curled so tight it looked painful. Mate,
it's okay, I said, taking a step. That's when the
air changed. I don't know how to describe it. It
felt like the air inside the shed got heavier, like
something was still in there with us. I couldn't see it,
but I could feel it. The way the hair stood
up on the back of my neck. I knew, I
(15:33):
knew we weren't alone. As soon as I stepped toward him,
Rex launched off the ground and practically flew into my chest,
forty kilos of trembling dog, clinging to me like he
was trying to crawl inside my skin. I didn't think,
I just ran. I didn't even close the door. I
ran full speed to the main house, nearly dropped Rex twice.
(15:53):
I burst through the front door and slammed it shut,
locking it behind me. My mom came out of her room,
asking what was going on, but I couldn't speak. I
just sat on the floor, heart racing, Rex still shaking
in my arms. He wouldn't let me put him down,
and after that night he refused, refused to go near
the shed, not even within twenty meters. If I tried
(16:15):
walking him past it, he'd dig his heels into the
dirt and wine. I moved back into the main house
that night, left all my stuff in the shed. Never
went back in, not even during the day. I still
don't know what was in there. I didn't see anything,
but something was waiting, watching, and Rex knew it before
(16:36):
I did. I'll never forget how terrified he looked in
that corner, like he'd seen something I wasn't supposed to,
and maybe I wasn't. Story four. I live in Burnaby,
just outside Vancouver. Nothing really exciting happens around here, unless
you count the occasional raccoon fight outside the dumpsters. I'm
twenty nine, work at a phone repair kiosk, and keep
(16:57):
to myself.
Speaker 2 (16:57):
Mostly.
Speaker 1 (16:58):
I'm not the type who believes in ghosts or any
of that supernatural crap, or at least I wasn't until
something happened that I can't stop thinking about, no matter
how much I try to explain it away. It was
a Thursday evening, just after six. I remember because I
always take the same skytrain from Metrotown to low Heed,
(17:18):
then catch the one thirty six bus home. I was
standing on the platform, scrolling through my phone, not really
paying attention to anything around me. That's when I noticed her,
This woman, maybe in her late thirties, messy hair, wearing
a cheap, oversized coat like she just rolled out of
a thrift store donation bin. She was wandering from person
(17:39):
to person asking for money. She had this weird, blank
look in her eyes, like she wasn't all there. I've
seen atticts around the stations before, but something about her
made me feel off. When she reached me, she stopped
dead in front of me and said, excuse me, could
you spare some money. My brother's in the hospital and
(17:59):
I want to buy him flowers. The way she said
it too calm, like she was reading from a script
she'd rehearsed a thousand times. No emotion, no urgency, just flat.
I almost rolled my eyes. Sure, I muttered, Reaching into
my wallet, I gave her a five dollars bill in
avoided eye contact. Honestly, I just wanted her to go away.
(18:22):
She took it without a word and moved on to
the next person. Then my train pulled in. I got on,
found a window seat, and looked out. As the train
started moving, she was still on the platform, talking to
some other guy, holding out her hand.
Speaker 2 (18:35):
There's no way she could have gotten on.
Speaker 1 (18:38):
I washed her fade into the distance as the train
picked up speed, crossing over the river and into the
industrial stretch before the next station. Fifteen minutes later, I
got off at low Heed and went down to the
bus loop. The one thirty six bus was already there.
I remember thinking I was lucky. Usually I have to
wait at least ten minutes. The driver was still in
(18:59):
the seat reading a newspaper, so I hopped on and
grabbed a seat near the middle. There weren't many people
on board. We pulled out and headed toward North Road.
I put in my earbuds, hit shuffle, and leaned back.
About ten minutes into the ride, the bus slowed down
and stopped at a regular pickup point.
Speaker 2 (19:16):
Doors opened.
Speaker 1 (19:17):
I didn't even look up until I felt it, this
weird shift in the air, like static or something brushing
against my skin.
Speaker 2 (19:25):
I looked up.
Speaker 1 (19:27):
She stepped onto the bus, same coat, same messy hair,
and in her arms a bouquet of roses, fresh red,
wrapped in clear plastic. She looked directly at me, eyes
sharp this time, not blank, not glazed over, like she
knew me. My stomach dropped. There's no way, no possible way.
(19:48):
She was still at the skytrain station when I left,
I saw her. She didn't get on the train, she
couldn't have, and this was the only bus heading this direction.
Speaker 2 (19:57):
But there she was.
Speaker 1 (19:59):
She walked past without a word, the scent of roses
hitting me like a punch in the face. It wasn't sweet,
it was overwhelming, almost rotting, like something left in water
too long. She sat down two rows behind me. I
couldn't breathe right, my mouth went dry. I turned around
to look at her again.
Speaker 2 (20:19):
She was just.
Speaker 1 (20:20):
Sitting there, staring straight ahead, clutching those flowers like they
were the last thing keeping her alive. I turned back
around and hit the stop button. I didn't care where
I was getting off. I wasn't staying on that bus.
When the doors opened at the next stop, I bolted,
didn't even glance back. I stood on the sidewalk, heart racing,
trying to process what just happened. I thought about going
(20:44):
back and confronting her, demanding to know how she got there,
but my legs wouldn't move.
Speaker 2 (20:49):
The bus pulled away.
Speaker 1 (20:50):
And through the window, I saw her still staring straight ahead,
still clutching those roses. I've told this story maybe twice,
and every time I do, people say the same thing.
You probably just didn't notice her get on the train,
or she caught a cab. You're overthinking it. But I
know what I saw. I watched her on that platform
(21:12):
as the train pulled away. I watched the tracks behind
us the whole ride. There was no shortcut, no stop between,
no chance in hell she could have beat me. There
let alone, found a flower shop, bought a bouquet, and
boarded the same bus. No one believes me. Honestly, I
wouldn't believe me either. Story five. I'm Colecchi. I live
(21:33):
in Port Harcourt, Nigeria, ellelen Woe. To be specific. This
happened when I was about eleven. It's burned into my
memory like it happened yesterday, and to this day none
of us can explain it. I don't tell this story
much anymore. People either laugh or try to come up
with some stupid scientific excuse. But I know what I heard.
We all heard it. It was during a long holiday weekend.
(21:56):
My aunt had planned a beach outing with her friends.
Two cars hours and the one carrying my aunt and
the rest of the adults. We had no idea where
this beach was. It was apparently some hidden spot one
of them had heard about. The idea was simple. We
follow their car they lead. We left mid morning. Our
car had me, my older cousin Nini, our driver, a quiet,
(22:20):
serious guy named Sunday, and two of my aunt's friends.
It was bright out, the kind of hot, sharp brightness
that makes everything look overexposed. About an hour into the drive,
we entered this huge industrial area outside the city, long
stretches of nothing but abandoned factories, twisted metal fences, storage containers,
(22:41):
and the occasional massive oil tank. I remember how dead
everything looked, not a single soul in sight, just us.
The buildings cast long shadows, even though the sun was high.
The whole place felt like it had been forgotten. We
were chatting lazily about nothing, me and Nana arguing over
some game, when the car ahead of us suddenly made
(23:03):
a sharp, unexpected turn down a narrow road. Sunday reacted fast.
He swerved to follow, tires screeching slightly. And then it happened,
right as we took the ben A voice loud, clear
inside the car, a man's voice, deep, with a strange
mocking tone.
Speaker 2 (23:23):
Sharp.
Speaker 1 (23:23):
Ben hmm, it said, not from outside, inside our car,
like someone was sitting between us, laughing quietly to himself.
Sunday hit the brake so hard we all jerked forward.
For a split second. No one said a word. The
silence was wrong. I remember staring at Nanny. She looked frozen.
(23:44):
One of the women in the back whispered, what was
that in a voice so small it barely came out. Then,
like something out of a horror movie. We noticed the
car in front had stopped too, same abrupt stop. The
driver's side door swung open, hard and fast. My aunt
jumped out, her face pale, actually pale, which was strange
for a woman with skin darker than mine. She stood
(24:07):
there for a second, breathing heavy, like she couldn't believe
what she was about to say. Did you hear that
as well? She shouted across to us. Everyone in our
car answered at the same time.
Speaker 2 (24:20):
Yes.
Speaker 1 (24:21):
That was the first moment I felt real paralyzing fear,
because it wasn't just us. It wasn't something weird with
our car radio or one person hallucinating. They had heard
the exact same voice. Sharp ben hm, she repeated, like
she didn't want to believe her own memory. Her friends
stumbled out of their car next, crying, not sobbing, just
(24:44):
tears running straight down her face like she was too
afraid to blink. It was like he was in the
car with us, she mumbled.
Speaker 2 (24:52):
I thought it was you, she told my aunt. No
one knew what to say.
Speaker 1 (24:56):
We stood there, two cars full of people on an
empty crack road, surrounded by rusted out buildings, not even
a single bird sound, no cars behind us, no wind, nothing,
just that one horrible echo of laughter hanging in the
back of my head. Sunday finally said something, Let's leave,
Let's not go again. Everyone agreed, without argument. We turned around.
(25:20):
Nobody said a word the entire drive back. The air
inside the car felt thick. I kept checking behind my seat,
like someone might be sitting there, hiding, just watching us.
Back at my ant's house, we tried to talk about it,
but it didn't feel right. Every time we brought it up,
someone would get this look like they wanted to throw up.
(25:41):
The story just died, silenced itself, like it wanted to
be forgotten. But I never forgot. I know what I heard,
I know where I was. I remember the exact tone
of that voice, like someone mocking us, like they knew
something we didn't.
Speaker 2 (25:58):
And it wasn't just one, it was both.
Speaker 1 (26:02):
We weren't listening to the radio, the windows were up,
the area was deserted, no pedestrians, no construction workers, no
one else around for miles. So tell me how the
same voice, with the same words was heard by two
different cars at the exact same moment. I still don't
go near that area. Ever, I googled later and couldn't
(26:22):
find anything about accidents there, or ghosts or urban legends.
Story six. I'm Nathan. I'm from Spokane, Washington. I've never
really been into ghost stories or paranormal crap. I've always
been more of a facts and logic kind of guy.
But what happened that morning, God, I still don't have
a clue what to do with it. It was late
(26:43):
October twenty seventeen. I was twenty three. I'd moved back
in with my mom for a while after losing my job.
Her house is on the edge of town, sort of
surrounded by woods. Quiet area. You hear everything at night, owls, wind,
raccoons banging around. I had the room in the back
facing the trees. That night, I fell asleep around two
(27:05):
am after watching YouTube videos. I remember checking the time,
plugging in my phone, and tossing it on the nightstand.
Nothing felt off, no weird feelings or dreams or anything
like that. Then, just before dawn, maybe five point thirty
or so, I jolted awake, not like a gradual wake up.
Speaker 2 (27:25):
I snapped awake.
Speaker 1 (27:27):
I was lying on my back, heart pounding completely still.
Here's where it gets messed up. There was someone standing
at the foot of my bed, not moving, not breathing,
just standing.
Speaker 2 (27:39):
It was me, I'm not kidding. It was me, but
not me now.
Speaker 1 (27:44):
It looked exactly like me, same messy hair, same build,
But I swear to God, this thing looked dead. Its
skin was pale, gray, lips purple, eyes, wide open but glassy,
like it wasn't seeing anything. It was bare and wearing
the exact clothes I'd worn two days before, black hoodie,
faded jeans, even the tiny bleach stain on the sleeve.
(28:07):
I couldn't move, I couldn't scream. I just laid there,
staring at myself, dead, frozen, staring back at nothing, and
then slowly, so slowly it made me want to puke.
The thing tilted its head at me, not curious, not confused.
It was like watching a broken puppet try to move.
(28:29):
It whispered something, lips barely moved, but I heard it.
You're not supposed to be here. That voice was mine,
but layered with something off, like two versions of me
speaking over each other, slightly out of sync. I don't
know how long I was paralyzed. A minute five My
eyes burned from not blinking. Then suddenly, just as fast
(28:52):
as it appeared, it wasn't there, gone, just poof. I
sat up, sweating or eathing, like I'd run a marathon.
I reached for my phone to check the time. It
was two eight am. I blinked number. That wasn't right.
I'd already been asleep for hours. It had been near sunrise.
(29:13):
I remember the faint light outside the window. I looked
at my phone again, two eight, no notifications. My YouTube
app was still open, like I hadn't fallen asleep at all.
I jumped out of bed, turned on every damn light
in the room, and just stood there, staring at where
it had been. I didn't sleep for the rest of
the night. At seven, I heard my mom moving around
(29:34):
in the kitchen and went out like nothing happened. I
was not about to tell her I saw my dead
self standing in my room. But then it got worse.
That afternoon, I was checking the laundry basket in the hallway,
and at the bottom, buried under some towels was the
black hoodie and jeans, the same ones that thing had
been wearing, folded neatly.
Speaker 2 (29:54):
I hadn't touched those clothes in two days.
Speaker 1 (29:56):
I swear on everything I've got I didn't put them there,
and I haven't worn them since story seven. I wasn't
going to talk about this, Honestly, I've gone over it
a thousand times in my head, telling myself it was
just stress, just my brain misfiring or whatever. But no
explanation has ever really fit, And for some reason, I
(30:17):
woke up this morning feeling like I had to get
it off my chest. I live in Chicago, born and raised.
I've worked downtown for years. Same route, same office, same
coffee shop every morning, nothing fancy, just regular life.
Speaker 2 (30:31):
Anyway.
Speaker 1 (30:31):
This happened last November, cold but not snowing yet. I
remember because I had just grabbed my usual coffee from
the corner cafe on Adam's and was walking toward my building,
earbuds in, zoning out. Then out of nowhere, this voice
in my head, not even really a voice, just a pull,
told me to turn left down a narrow side street
I'd never noticed before. Here's the thing. I'm not the
(30:55):
kind of guy who takes detours. I'm a routine freak,
but this urge hit meme like I needed to go
that way. I figured, whatever, maybe there's a shortcut I
missed all these years, so.
Speaker 2 (31:07):
I went with it.
Speaker 1 (31:08):
It was this tight alley, walls real close together. The
air suddenly colder, almost like the sun didn't reach there.
I remember the sound changed too, you know that soft
city hum you get used to.
Speaker 2 (31:21):
It just cut.
Speaker 1 (31:22):
Out dead quiet, no wind, no cars, just my footsteps
about fifteen steps in. Everything just stopped. I don't mean
I stopped walking, I mean everything stopped. My vision blurred
like TV static, but not just in front of me,
all around. My whole body went numb, like I didn't
(31:45):
have a body. It's hard to explain, but I didn't
feel like I was standing anymore. I was just there,
floating in this weird black space, filled with shifting colors,
deep reds, sick greens, and these disgusting, oily grays. Then
I saw them. I swear to god, I wasn't dreaming.
These figures, humanish but off started to appear through the noise,
(32:08):
like static, people in business suits. Their faces were stretched
like someone tried to paint a human but didn't understand proportions.
No eyes, just black hollows. They all looked at me
at once, every single one, and they froze like they
were caught off guard.
Speaker 2 (32:26):
One of them pointed at me, and the.
Speaker 1 (32:27):
Others all twitched sharp, jerky, unnatural movements. Then the space
started collapsing, like the whole place was caving in on itself.
One of them moved toward me real fast, but not walking,
more like sliding. That's when everything snapped. I didn't wake
up or anything. I was just suddenly standing at the
corner of Adams and Franklin again, my regular route, same
(32:50):
coffee in my hand, only now it was cold. Hours
had passed. My phone was dead, not low battery, dead,
like it had never been charged. I felt nauseous, like
I'd just gotten off a spinning ride. My vision was swimming,
and I had this pounding in my head that didn't
stop for days. But worse than all that was this
(33:11):
feeling I still can't shake, like I was never supposed
to see that, like something went wrong. The worst part
that alley doesn't exist. I went back the next day.
It was just a solid brick wall. I checked maps,
nothing there. Asked the barista at the cafe if there
was ever an alley or construction or something. She looked
(33:31):
at me like I was nuts. I even checked old
photos of the street online, no alley. Ever, I didn't
tell anyone who would believe me. Hey, I stepped into
a glitch in the world and saw some creepy things
watching me from behind. Reality cool, right, I sound insane
even typing this, but that's what happened. Story eight. I
(33:51):
don't believe in ghosts. Let's get that out of the
way first. My name's Derek. I live in Mobile, Alabama.
Grew up in a pretty average single story house. Cheap
wood floors, creaky doors, peeling pain on the porch, nothing fancy,
Just me, my mom and my older brother, Eric, who
was about five years older and a certified little thief.
Speaker 2 (34:15):
If something disappeared.
Speaker 1 (34:16):
Around the house, money snacks, even my walkman once, you
could bet Eric had it tucked away in his room
or traded it for god knows what. Anyway, this happened
when I was about ten. It was summer, I remember
that because school was out and I had all the
time in the world to obsess over this little spy
kit I got from my birthday. You know, the type,
(34:38):
cheap plastic gadgets, fingerprint powder, invisible ink that's sort of junk.
One of the items was this intruder alert thing, a
spring loaded trip wire with a clock timer. You'd pull
the pin, stretch the wire across a doorway or something,
and if someone crossed it, it'd snap and stop the clock,
(34:58):
giving you the exact time of the breach. So here's
what happened. I'd been losing stuff from my room, small
things like a flashlight, a few bucks, one of my
game Boy cartridges. Eric denied it all, but I wasn't stupid.
I figured he was sneaking in while I was asleep
and helping himself. So one night, after everyone went to bed,
(35:18):
I set up the trip wire at my bedroom door,
stretched the wire low enough so someone wouldn't see it,
clicked the timer to midnight, and climbed into bed. I
even stayed awake for a bit, trying to listen for footsteps.
Eventually I must have dozed off. Then out of nowhere,
I was jolted awake. Snap. It wasn't just the wire.
It was loud, like it had been yanked, not tripped.
(35:41):
It actually startled me upright. My room was completely dark
except for the tiny red led on the clock, now
frozen at three twelve am. My heart was hammering in
my chest. I turned my head slowly toward the door.
No one was there. I sat frozen for a second, confused.
I remember whispering Eric, but the hallway beyond the open
(36:03):
door was pitch black. No sound, no footsteps, nothing. And
then slam my door shut hard, like the kind of
slam that shakes the walls. I jumped so bad I
nearly fell out of bed. I swear to you. The
air in the room changed instantly. It was heavy, oppressive,
(36:24):
like walking into a room that hasn't been opened in years.
It wasn't the wind. I knew it wasn't the wind.
I don't even think the window was open. And here's
the thing that still makes my skin crawl. The trip wire.
It had been pulled into the room. The wire was
snapped and the tension was yanked inward toward me, like
(36:45):
something had entered, not exited. I just sat there. My
mouth was dry. I couldn't move, I couldn't even blink.
The door didn't open again. There were no more sounds.
But something was wrong, something felt wrong. Eventually, after maybe
ten minutes, though it felt like an hour, I got up,
(37:05):
legs shaking, and opened the door. The hallway was empty.
The entire house was dark, no TV on in the
living room, no lights in the kitchen. I checked Eric's
door closed, I pushed it open quietly. He was out cold,
snoring like a chainsaw. Same with Mom. Everyone had been
asleep the whole time. I should have felt relief, but
(37:27):
I didn't. I went back to my room, turned on
the lamp, and just sat there with the light on
until the sun came up. I didn't say a word
to anyone, didn't touch the spy kid again, left the
broken wire on my desk for weeks before finally throwing
it away. You know what's messed up. I stayed in
that room for another eight years. Nothing else ever happened,
(37:49):
not one weird thing after that story nine. I'm Jake,
and I grew up in a small, quiet town in Arkansas,
one of those towns where everyone knows everyone and nothing
much ever happens. Our house sat on a decent patch
of land, and out back there was this old wooden barn.
It wasn't in use anymore, hadn't been for years. It
(38:12):
leaned a little to the side, smelled like wet earth
and rot, and creaked even when there wasn't wind. We
mostly kept yard tools in there, lawnmower, shovels, stuff like that.
My dad used to say he'd tear it down someday,
but he never did. It was a Saturday afternoon. I
remember that because my mom had just finished vacuuming and
my little brother Chris was inside watching cartoons. I was
(38:35):
about ten, bored out of my mind and figured I'd
go out to the barn to grab the weed whacker.
Not that I had any plans to use it. I
just liked pretending I was helping out. I didn't tell
anyone I was going out there, just slipped my sneakers
on and walked across the backyard, grass crunching under my feet.
The barn was about one hundred feet from the house,
(38:56):
kind of tucked behind some trees. Once I stepped in
sid the light changed it always did. There was this thick,
heavy feeling like the air inside didn't move. Dust floated
around in the narrow shafts of sunlight that poked through
the cracks in the wood. I remember the smell hit
me right away, mildew old gas metal. I walked in
(39:19):
and closed the door halfway behind me. Out of habit
I was moving toward the corner where we kept the
tools when I heard it, Jake. It was a voice, low, male, raspy,
the kind of voice that sounds like it's been smoked
through a thousand cigarettes. It didn't sound like my dad
or my neighbor, and it definitely wasn't my little brother.
(39:42):
I stopped, just froze, didn't turn around, didn't breathe. For
a second, I thought, I imagined it, maybe the wind
moved something, but I wasn't facing the direction the voice
came from. It wasn't behind me. It was to the right,
in the shadows near the back of the barn. Jake again, louder,
this time, not yelling, not whispering, just steady, like someone
(40:08):
saying it because they already knew i'd hear them. I
whip my head around and I don't know what. I
expected to see someone, maybe a shadow, but there was nothing,
just the outline of the shelves, some hanging tools, and
that empty open space that somehow looked darker than the
rest of the barn.
Speaker 2 (40:27):
I wanted to speak.
Speaker 1 (40:28):
I opened my mouth to say something like who's there,
but nothing came out. I turned toward the door, ready
to bolt, but the second I took a step, I
felt it. I swear on everything. I felt someone watching me,
not in the usual way. This was direct piercing, like
whoever it was could see inside my head.
Speaker 2 (40:49):
I didn't run.
Speaker 1 (40:51):
I walked slowly, carefully, like if I moved too fast,
whatever was in there might react. As I reached for
the door, or I heard it again right behind me,
this time closer. Don't go. I didn't scream, I didn't cry.
I just opened the door and walked straight out of
the barn, still not looking back. I made it to
(41:13):
the house and stepped inside like nothing happened. But my
heart was pounding so hard I thought it might explode.
My mom was in the kitchen. I walked up to
her and said, as calmly as I could, did you
call me? She gave me this weird look and said no,
why I shrugged. I just thought I heard you. She
(41:34):
stared at me for a second, then asked where i'd been.
I told her I went to the barn. Her face
changed immediately. I can still see it in my mind.
All the color drained out, her lips parted slightly, like
she was about to say something, but didn't. She didn't
ask what I heard. She didn't even ask if I
was okay. She turned around and called out, Chris, my
(41:57):
little brother came running in from the living room, and
she pulled us both close right there in the middle
of the kitchen. She started praying, hands on our shoulders,
voice shaky, She kept saying, God, cover this house, cover
my boys. Whatever it is, don't let it in. When
she finished, I asked, Mom, why are you scared? She
didn't answer it. First, she looked over at Chris, then
(42:20):
at me, then sat down hard in one of the
kitchen chairs. Chris just came to me, she said, not
five minutes before you did. He said, someone called his
name from outside, a man. We both just stood there.
I didn't know what to say, neither did Chris. That night,
my dad nailed the barn door shut. He didn't even
(42:40):
ask why Mom told him, and he just did it,
no questions, no arguments.
Speaker 2 (42:46):
We never went in there again, not once.
Speaker 1 (42:49):
Sometimes I think maybe it was just in our heads,
maybe we imagined it, or maybe it was some weird
acoustics or a neighbor messing around. But then I remember
how it. I felt that voice, the way it knew
my name. Whatever it was, it wasn't a person, and
I don't think it was something that belonged in our world.
I haven't been back to that house in years. I
(43:12):
don't want to be and that barn, if it's still standing,
I hope no one ever opens it again.
Speaker 2 (43:19):
Story ten.
Speaker 1 (43:20):
I live alone in a quiet two bedroom flat just
outside Sheffield. It's nothing fancy, plain walls, creaky floors, the
kind of place where you can hear your neighbors sneeze
through the walls.
Speaker 2 (43:30):
But I like it.
Speaker 1 (43:32):
It's mine. I've always been a tidy person. Everything has
its place, especially money. So what happened last January still
messes with my head. I haven't talked much about it, honestly,
but maybe putting it down will help. It was the
first week of January, maybe the fifth or sixth. I
remember because the Christmas lights were still half hanging in
(43:52):
the living room and I was already annoyed at myself
for not packing them away. That afternoon, I decided to
clean my desk. Not a deep clean, just a post
holiday reset. The desk is l shaped, sits in the
corner of my small second bedroom that I use as
a home office. Nothing weird about it. I'd left it
a mess after Christmas. Papers, empty boxes, a half used
(44:16):
roll of wrapping paper. While I was going through the mess,
something occurred to me. My mom had given me some
Christmas money, five CRISP twenty pound notes. I remember her
handing them over on Christmas Day, in a card with
a cartoon Santa on the front. I'd shoved them onto
my desk at some point during the holidays, telling myself
i'd deposit them later. But now, as I pulled papers
(44:38):
aside and tossed old receipts into a bin, the money
wasn't there.
Speaker 2 (44:42):
I wasn't worried.
Speaker 1 (44:43):
I assumed I'd moved it without thinking, maybe stuffed it
in a drawer or put it in my jacket. So
I didn't obsess. I just kept tidying. Twenty minutes later,
the desk was clear, totally bare. Wiped it down with
one of those scented wipes. No money, no card. I
shrugged it off. Then I turned in my chair to
sort a box of old USB cables i'd pulled out
(45:06):
from the wardrobe. It took me maybe two minutes max
I was facing away from the desk, No sounds, no movement,
just me crouched down, untangling a mess of wires and
cursing myself for hoarding junk. When I spun back around,
I froze on the desk, my completely cleared off desk.
There they were five twenty pound notes, fanned out neatly,
(45:29):
like something out of a stock photo, perfectly space, like
they'd been laid down with intent. They hadn't been there
moments ago. I know that, like I know my own name.
I just cleaned that exact spot, wiped it, looked at it.
Nothing was there. I didn't move. I sat there in
my swivel chair, staring. My first thought was that I'd
(45:51):
missed them somehow, but no, that wasn't possible. They were
in the middle of the desk, not under a folder,
not tuck behind something center displayed. I said out loud,
what the hell, and the sound of my own voice
felt out of place, like I'd broken something. In the silence,
I got up, slowly circled the desk. I even looked
(46:15):
under it, like some idiot, expecting to find strings or
a trapdoor. I don't know why. The window was closed locked.
The door to the room was open, but no one
else was in the flat. I knew that I live alone.
My front door was locked from the inside with the
chain still latched. It had to be locked, no one
could have come in. I didn't touch the money. I
(46:37):
just stared at it. My hands were actually shaking. I
walked out of the room and paced the hallway for
a few minutes, trying to make sense of it. I
even checked the front door again, chains still on. Nothing
looked disturbed. I went back into the room and the
money was still there, sitting exactly the same way. Here's
where it gets worse. When I finally picked them up,
(47:00):
because what else could I do. They were warm, not
like room temperature, warm, body warm, like someone had just
been holding them. And I swear to God, this is
the part I haven't told anyone because I know how
it sounds. But for a moment, just to split second,
I smelled my mum's perfume, that cheap floral stuff she
always wears, like a burst of it. Then gone, she's alive,
(47:23):
she's fine. That's not the creepy part. The creepy part
is she never came to my flat during Christmas. She
gave me the card at her house. I never brought
it home. I left it in my glove compartment because
I told myself i'd take the money to the bank
straight from work. So if the money was never even
in the flat, how did it end up on the desk.
(47:44):
I asked my mom the next day if she'd come
over during the holidays without telling me. She laughed, why
would I do that? Besides, you'd know You've got cameras
I do. I check them. Nothing, no movement, no one
in or out of the flot for the entire day.
The only person here that day was me. I ended
(48:04):
up spending the notes. I didn't know what else to do,
but I swear every time I held them it felt off,
like they weren't really mine. And when I handed the
last one over at the petrol station two weeks later,
I remember feeling oddly relieved, like I'd pass something on
something I didn't want attached to me anymore. I've never
(48:25):
seen anything like that since. But I moved the desk
into the living room a month later. Couldn't stand looking
at that corner anymore. I still don't understand what happened.
I've replayed it in my head a hundred times. I
even considered getting a priest to bless the flat. I didn't,
but I sleep with my bedroom door shut now, and
I never leave cash lying around anymore
Story one.
Speaker 1 (00:01):
I lived in a cramped flat in Malasana, Madrid, sharing
a small kitchen with two roommates. I barely knew my
name is Anna, and at twenty three, I had moved
here from California to study art at a local academy.
I'd felt a fierce excitement when I arrived, convinced the
city's pulse would ignite my creativity. A few weeks in,
(00:21):
the novelty had worn off, and the endless crowds now
made me feel like a tiny cog. That Tuesday, I
left my apartment around two o'clock, determined to grab milk
and bread from the panaderia a few blocks away. Feeling restless,
I wore a light denim jacket and my favorite sneakers,
though they were scuffed and sore from constant walking, and
(00:42):
the sun was generous, hanging at an angle that lit
the terra cotta rooftops and sent golden light across the sidewalks.
I never understood how Madriders tolerated heat until I moved
here in California. I could control my temperature, crank the
ac shade the windows. Here, I wore a single tank
top and still felt the city's breath on my skin.
(01:04):
My tote bag had seen better days, it seems, fraying
and straps stretching dangerously thin. That morning, I'd rolled out
of bed to the shrill beap of my alarm, stretching
and hesitating, before dragging myself to the bathroom mirror and
staring into my own eyes. Already dull with exhaustion, I'd
glanced at the piled up dishes in the sink, then
thrown on clothes without thought, my hair in a careless bun. Lately,
(01:29):
I'd been feeling more homesick than usual. I'd spoken to
my brother Jim on a grainy video chat the night before,
watching him joke with Mom from his dorm room. He'd
waved at the camera, his smile wide as ever, promising
he'd visit next semester. I'd laughed and said I'd save
all the good tapist spots for him. But when I
closed my laptop, the apartment felt emptier than usual. My
(01:52):
roommates were asleep after a late shift, and I'd spent
the night sketching empty streets that never looked the same
twice in my drawings. I wondered if I was starting
to lose myself in my own imagination. Madrid, in theory,
was mine to explore, but I often found myself lost
in familiar routines, grocery runs, art classes, late night cups
of cafe con leche, paid with a grin from the
(02:14):
barista who never learned my name. I liked the anonymity
at first, no one cared if I slipped into the
flat without speaking, but solitude sank in too deep. Sometimes
I missed hearing my brother's voice in the hallway and
the way he'd grown when he saw my budget friendly
serial choices. My phone vibrated with a text from my dad,
Hope classes are going well, give me a call later
(02:37):
that morning. As I glanced at the time on my phone,
it struck me that I was running late. My class
in the afternoon was canceled, so I'd given myself extra
time to wander. I wondered if I should swing by
my favorite gallery on Kalide La Montera, where a new
exhibit promised bold prints, but I shook my head, deciding
to stick to my plan straight to the panadarea. Back home,
(02:59):
sketch without distractions. Discipline felt necessary, a lifeline to keep
me grounded when the city threatened to swallow me. My
route to the Panaderia took me past an art supply store,
its window cluttered with tubes of paint and half finished canvases.
I stepped inside to scan markers and brushes, thinking I
might pick up a new tube of cadmium red, but
(03:21):
the stall was empty, lucky for my budget, but unlucky
for my creativity. I stepped back into the sun and
continued down Kayadela Palma, where a florist arranged crimson roses
and bosses, teasing out petals with glove fingers. The intersection
of Khalia dela Palma and Fuenkoral was a familiar crossroads,
defined by neon pedestrian lights and the metallic screech of trams.
(03:45):
I pressed the pedestrian button and heard the distant click
of the signal. The countdown began twenty seconds nineteen. I
shifted from one foot to the other, listening to my heartbeat,
thumb thumb, each rattling my rib cage.
Speaker 2 (04:01):
Then I saw him.
Speaker 1 (04:03):
He appeared from behind a parked motorcycle, walking toward me
on the sidewalk. At first I thought it might be
a friend or one of my roommates. Catching up faster
than expected. His body moved with an easy, familiar grace,
and I thought he looks like Jim. The second his
face came into view, my blood turned to ice. He
wore a dark green hoodie and faded jeans, the same
(04:24):
exact outfit my brother Jim favored when he visited six
months ago. His hair was the same shade of brown,
cut in the same off center part. Those soft waves
falling in familiar strands across his forehead. He stopped a
few feet away, folding his arms and looking at me directly.
The timer on the crosswalk signal ticked down to eight
(04:44):
seconds and then paused. Everything felt poised, suspended. The man's
brown eyes locked onto mine, and a vertigo of recognition
twisted through my chest. I knew my brother was back
in Oregon, halfway across an ocean. He was in class
at that that moment, doing calculus or complaining about dorm food.
There was no possible way he could be here, standing
(05:07):
across from me in Madrid, less than twenty feet away,
Aras Americana Verdan. He asked, his voice soft, with a
hint of curiosity, not impatience. The words spilled out smooth,
and practiced as though he'd been expecting me to speak English.
My mouth felt dry, my tongue thick. I blinked again,
(05:27):
which sent a wave of dizziness rushing through me. My
heart pounded so loudly I thought the man might hear it.
I realized I didn't speak enough Spanish to respond quickly.
My brain felt like it was wrapped in cotton. I
forced out, you look exactly like my brother. The words
came out flat in English. If he noticed, he didn't
show it. Instead, his lips curved into a slow smile
(05:50):
that echoed my brother's grin to Hermano deviser mui wappo
in tonses, he said, with a light laugh. I heard
the ghost of my brother's chuckle in his voice, fun
familiar and utterly horrifying. Your brother must be very handsome.
The crosswalk signal changed to green. He stepped forward, as
though crossing the street mattered more than what was happening.
(06:12):
I clutched my bag strap, the canvas biting into my fingers.
With every step he took. The bloody fear in my
gut churned. He matched my pace at the curb, eyes
never leaving mine, He took one step then another, entering
the crosswalk with deliberate slow strides. Each step echoed in
my ears, punctuating the roar of the city. The pavement
(06:34):
beneath him seemed to hum. He reached the other side,
glanced back, and our eyes met for a final moment.
Speaker 2 (06:41):
My legs buckled.
Speaker 1 (06:42):
I stumbled onto the pavement and nearly fell, pressing my
palms into the cold stone to steady myself. I stared
at the space where he'd vanished into the flow of strangers.
I never saw him again. Story two. I don't usually
get rattled on the job, but this one night still
haunts me. I worked nights as a security attendant at
(07:02):
this old apartment building downtown, twenty four stories, pretty much
one of the oldest in the city, the kind of
place where the wiring buzzes in the walls and the
elevators creak like they're about to fall apart. I've been
doing this gig for over a year, so I'm used
to odd noises in the occasional weird vibe, but nothing
prepared me for what happened that night. It was around
(07:22):
three am, dead quiet except for the hum of the
fluorescent lights at the front desk. Then the phone rings.
I pick it up and say, Hello, this is Dravin
at the front desk. How can I help you. The
voice on the other end was female, but it was
all static and garbled. I couldn't make out most of
what she said. The only thing I caught was the
(07:42):
twenty third floor. I asked her to repeat it, trying
to get more info, like what apartment she was in,
but it was just the same garbled mess and twenty
third floor again. After a few minutes of this, I
told her I couldn't understand and that i'd come upstairs
to meet her. I figured maybe her phone was bad
or something. I grabbed the key for the service elevator.
(08:03):
The regular elevators were both already on the twenty third floor,
which I thought was weird, but shrugged off. The service
elevator was older and usually stuck on the lower floors.
I called it down from the seventh floor. When it arrived,
I stepped in and pressed the button for the twenty
third floor. The elevator didn't move and the inner door
wouldn't close. That's when I opened the reset panel, and
(08:25):
suddenly it jolted upward with the doors still open, shaking
like crazy. I was tense, staying toward the back of
the elevator, heart pounding. It shot up fast, and I
swear the creaks and rattles sounded louder than usual. Then
it stopped at twenty three. I stepped out, and the
doors shut behind me. Normally, the hallway was empty, dead, silent.
(08:47):
I walked slowly, checking every doorway, listening for any sound,
a voice, footsteps, anything.
Speaker 2 (08:55):
Nothing.
Speaker 1 (08:56):
It felt like the whole floor was abandoned. I headed
toward the main elevators, which still stood there with their
doors wide open, like they were waiting. I was pretty spooked,
but figured the elevators might just be glitching again, so
I stepped inside, intending to go down and reset them.
Then I heard it, the back stairwell door slamming shut
somewhere behind me. I jumped out and rushed to the stairwell.
(09:20):
No one there. The only thing out of place was
the maintenance door to the machine room slightly open. That
room's at the very top, noisy as hell during the day,
but eerie at night. Nobody ever goes up there except me,
and I'm the only one with a key. I didn't
want to go in, but curiosity and a rising sense
of dread pushed me forward. The fluorescent lights flickered, barely
(09:43):
lighting the cramped space full of clanking machinery. I called
out hello, no answer. At the end of the room
was the roof access door cracked open just a bit.
I hesitated, but moved toward it. I stepped out onto
the roof and looked around. It was It's dark except
for the dim city glow. Nothing there. I left the
(10:04):
door ajar behind me, and as soon as I took
a step forward, the door slams shut hard.
Speaker 2 (10:09):
I froze.
Speaker 1 (10:10):
That door isn't light, It's heavy metal, and it takes
real force to close it. No way the wind could
do that. I grabbed the handle and pulled, but it
stayed shut. I yanked it open, slammed it behind me,
and sprinted back inside. The maintenance door slamed shut behind
me and locked automatically. I didn't stop running until I
(10:31):
got back to the twenty third floor hallway. I shoved
my way into the elevator with the door still open,
hit the button for the first floor, and watched the
numbers tick down as the elevator shook and rattled again.
When I hit the lobby, I plopped into my chair,
trying to calm down. Then the phone rang. I didn't
even want to pick it up, but the ringing was relentless.
(10:52):
I grabbed the receiver without saying a word. The same
garbled female voice whispered twenty third floor, no other words.
I hung up, immediately turned off the ringer, and spent
the rest of the night watching the security cameras of
the parking garage anywhere but upstairs. I never found out
who called. There was no sign anyone had been on
(11:13):
the twenty third floor or the roof. No one was
supposed to be there except me. I don't know if
it was some glitch in the building, a prank, or
something else, but it still creeps me out. That heavy
door slamming shut, the garbled voice repeating twenty third floor,
the elevators stuck with open doors. It was like the
(11:35):
building itself was trying to tell me something. I quit
going up there alone after that night. Story three. I
don't usually tell this story because people tend to brush
it off, like I'm making it up or exaggerating. But
I swear on everything I love this happened exactly how
I'm about to tell it. My name's Dylan, I was
twenty two at the time, and I had just moved
(11:56):
out of Brisbane with my folks after they sold our place.
Speaker 2 (12:00):
He bought this weird old property a few.
Speaker 1 (12:01):
Hours out in the countryside New South Wales, middle of nowhere,
lots of land, barely any neighbors, just bush and silence,
the kind of place you think is peaceful until you're
actually living in it. Anyway, there was this big detached
shed on the property, probably used for tools or machinery
back in the day. I thought it'd be a good
(12:22):
idea to turn it into my own little pad. Gave
me space, some independence and a break from my parents.
I fixed it up, put my bed, a desk, some
shelves in there. It wasn't fancy, but it was good enough.
From day one, though, it felt off. You know that
feeling when you walk into a room and immediately want
(12:42):
to walk back out. It was like that, but constant
even during the day. Still, I figured I was just
being soft. It's an old place, it creaks whatever. My dog, Rex,
a big brown Shepherd mix, stayed with me every night.
He usually slept like a log right next to the bed.
Made me feel safer. Two weeks in, around eleven thirty
(13:05):
at night. I was sitting at my desk on my laptop.
I remember this clearly. I was watching YouTube and messaging
a mate on Discord. Rex was asleep under the desk,
snoring gently. I needed to take a piss, so I
got up, opened the shed door and stepped out. It
was quiet, too quiet, honestly. No insects, no wind, no
(13:27):
distant cars, just silence, the kind that presses in on you.
I looked up at the sky and it was packed
with stars, ridiculously clear. I stood there for a second, thinking, damn,
city skies don't look like this. Then bang, the shed
door slammed shut behind me hard. I spun around immediately,
(13:49):
thinking it was wind or maybe it didn't latch right.
But when I grabbed the handle, it wouldn't move, I mean,
wouldn't budge like someone was holding it from the inside.
Jiggled it, pushed, pulled, rammed it with my shoulder. Nothing.
Then I heard it Rex. First it was this low growl,
(14:10):
like a warning. Then it turned into barking, angry, defensive barking,
and then something changed. The bark turned into this scared yelping.
I'd never heard him make sounds like that. I'm not small.
I'm six feet five inches, solidly built, and I threw
my entire weight into that door. I rammed it again
(14:31):
and again, yelling Rex's name. Then suddenly, crack, the door
flew open and I stumbled inside. Everything was pitch black.
The light I left on wasn't just off, it was dead.
I flicked the switch over and over nothing.
Speaker 2 (14:48):
Rex. I called out nothing.
Speaker 1 (14:51):
My eyes were still adjusting, but I reached over to
where I kept my flashlight on the shelf, fumbled around,
found it, clicked it on, and that's when my stomach dropped.
Rex was in the farthest corner of the shed, like
he had tried to wedge himself into the wall. He
wasn't barking anymore. He was shaking. His eyes were closed tight,
(15:12):
and his body was curled so tight it looked painful. Mate,
it's okay, I said, taking a step. That's when the
air changed. I don't know how to describe it. It
felt like the air inside the shed got heavier, like
something was still in there with us. I couldn't see it,
but I could feel it. The way the hair stood
up on the back of my neck. I knew, I
(15:33):
knew we weren't alone. As soon as I stepped toward him,
Rex launched off the ground and practically flew into my chest,
forty kilos of trembling dog, clinging to me like he
was trying to crawl inside my skin. I didn't think,
I just ran. I didn't even close the door. I
ran full speed to the main house, nearly dropped Rex twice.
(15:53):
I burst through the front door and slammed it shut,
locking it behind me. My mom came out of her room,
asking what was going on, but I couldn't speak. I
just sat on the floor, heart racing, Rex still shaking
in my arms. He wouldn't let me put him down,
and after that night he refused, refused to go near
the shed, not even within twenty meters. If I tried
(16:15):
walking him past it, he'd dig his heels into the
dirt and wine. I moved back into the main house
that night, left all my stuff in the shed. Never
went back in, not even during the day. I still
don't know what was in there. I didn't see anything,
but something was waiting, watching, and Rex knew it before
(16:36):
I did. I'll never forget how terrified he looked in
that corner, like he'd seen something I wasn't supposed to,
and maybe I wasn't. Story four. I live in Burnaby,
just outside Vancouver. Nothing really exciting happens around here, unless
you count the occasional raccoon fight outside the dumpsters. I'm
twenty nine, work at a phone repair kiosk, and keep
(16:57):
to myself.
Speaker 2 (16:57):
Mostly.
Speaker 1 (16:58):
I'm not the type who believes in ghosts or any
of that supernatural crap, or at least I wasn't until
something happened that I can't stop thinking about, no matter
how much I try to explain it away. It was
a Thursday evening, just after six. I remember because I
always take the same skytrain from Metrotown to low Heed,
(17:18):
then catch the one thirty six bus home. I was
standing on the platform, scrolling through my phone, not really
paying attention to anything around me. That's when I noticed her,
This woman, maybe in her late thirties, messy hair, wearing
a cheap, oversized coat like she just rolled out of
a thrift store donation bin. She was wandering from person
(17:39):
to person asking for money. She had this weird, blank
look in her eyes, like she wasn't all there. I've
seen atticts around the stations before, but something about her
made me feel off. When she reached me, she stopped
dead in front of me and said, excuse me, could
you spare some money. My brother's in the hospital and
(17:59):
I want to buy him flowers. The way she said
it too calm, like she was reading from a script
she'd rehearsed a thousand times. No emotion, no urgency, just flat.
I almost rolled my eyes. Sure, I muttered, Reaching into
my wallet, I gave her a five dollars bill in
avoided eye contact. Honestly, I just wanted her to go away.
(18:22):
She took it without a word and moved on to
the next person. Then my train pulled in. I got on,
found a window seat, and looked out. As the train
started moving, she was still on the platform, talking to
some other guy, holding out her hand.
Speaker 2 (18:35):
There's no way she could have gotten on.
Speaker 1 (18:38):
I washed her fade into the distance as the train
picked up speed, crossing over the river and into the
industrial stretch before the next station. Fifteen minutes later, I
got off at low Heed and went down to the
bus loop. The one thirty six bus was already there.
I remember thinking I was lucky. Usually I have to
wait at least ten minutes. The driver was still in
(18:59):
the seat reading a newspaper, so I hopped on and
grabbed a seat near the middle. There weren't many people
on board. We pulled out and headed toward North Road.
I put in my earbuds, hit shuffle, and leaned back.
About ten minutes into the ride, the bus slowed down
and stopped at a regular pickup point.
Speaker 2 (19:16):
Doors opened.
Speaker 1 (19:17):
I didn't even look up until I felt it, this
weird shift in the air, like static or something brushing
against my skin.
Speaker 2 (19:25):
I looked up.
Speaker 1 (19:27):
She stepped onto the bus, same coat, same messy hair,
and in her arms a bouquet of roses, fresh red,
wrapped in clear plastic. She looked directly at me, eyes
sharp this time, not blank, not glazed over, like she
knew me. My stomach dropped. There's no way, no possible way.
(19:48):
She was still at the skytrain station when I left,
I saw her. She didn't get on the train, she
couldn't have, and this was the only bus heading this direction.
Speaker 2 (19:57):
But there she was.
Speaker 1 (19:59):
She walked past without a word, the scent of roses
hitting me like a punch in the face. It wasn't sweet,
it was overwhelming, almost rotting, like something left in water
too long. She sat down two rows behind me. I
couldn't breathe right, my mouth went dry. I turned around
to look at her again.
Speaker 2 (20:19):
She was just.
Speaker 1 (20:20):
Sitting there, staring straight ahead, clutching those flowers like they
were the last thing keeping her alive. I turned back
around and hit the stop button. I didn't care where
I was getting off. I wasn't staying on that bus.
When the doors opened at the next stop, I bolted,
didn't even glance back. I stood on the sidewalk, heart racing,
trying to process what just happened. I thought about going
(20:44):
back and confronting her, demanding to know how she got there,
but my legs wouldn't move.
Speaker 2 (20:49):
The bus pulled away.
Speaker 1 (20:50):
And through the window, I saw her still staring straight ahead,
still clutching those roses. I've told this story maybe twice,
and every time I do, people say the same thing.
You probably just didn't notice her get on the train,
or she caught a cab. You're overthinking it. But I
know what I saw. I watched her on that platform
(21:12):
as the train pulled away. I watched the tracks behind
us the whole ride. There was no shortcut, no stop between,
no chance in hell she could have beat me. There
let alone, found a flower shop, bought a bouquet, and
boarded the same bus. No one believes me. Honestly, I
wouldn't believe me either. Story five. I'm Colecchi. I live
(21:33):
in Port Harcourt, Nigeria, ellelen Woe. To be specific. This
happened when I was about eleven. It's burned into my
memory like it happened yesterday, and to this day none
of us can explain it. I don't tell this story
much anymore. People either laugh or try to come up
with some stupid scientific excuse. But I know what I heard.
We all heard it. It was during a long holiday weekend.
(21:56):
My aunt had planned a beach outing with her friends.
Two cars hours and the one carrying my aunt and
the rest of the adults. We had no idea where
this beach was. It was apparently some hidden spot one
of them had heard about. The idea was simple. We
follow their car they lead. We left mid morning. Our
car had me, my older cousin Nini, our driver, a quiet,
(22:20):
serious guy named Sunday, and two of my aunt's friends.
It was bright out, the kind of hot, sharp brightness
that makes everything look overexposed. About an hour into the drive,
we entered this huge industrial area outside the city, long
stretches of nothing but abandoned factories, twisted metal fences, storage containers,
(22:41):
and the occasional massive oil tank. I remember how dead
everything looked, not a single soul in sight, just us.
The buildings cast long shadows, even though the sun was high.
The whole place felt like it had been forgotten. We
were chatting lazily about nothing, me and Nana arguing over
some game, when the car ahead of us suddenly made
(23:03):
a sharp, unexpected turn down a narrow road. Sunday reacted fast.
He swerved to follow, tires screeching slightly. And then it happened,
right as we took the ben A voice loud, clear
inside the car, a man's voice, deep, with a strange
mocking tone.
Speaker 2 (23:23):
Sharp.
Speaker 1 (23:23):
Ben hmm, it said, not from outside, inside our car,
like someone was sitting between us, laughing quietly to himself.
Sunday hit the brake so hard we all jerked forward.
For a split second. No one said a word. The
silence was wrong. I remember staring at Nanny. She looked frozen.
(23:44):
One of the women in the back whispered, what was
that in a voice so small it barely came out. Then,
like something out of a horror movie. We noticed the
car in front had stopped too, same abrupt stop. The
driver's side door swung open, hard and fast. My aunt
jumped out, her face pale, actually pale, which was strange
for a woman with skin darker than mine. She stood
(24:07):
there for a second, breathing heavy, like she couldn't believe
what she was about to say. Did you hear that
as well? She shouted across to us. Everyone in our
car answered at the same time.
Speaker 2 (24:20):
Yes.
Speaker 1 (24:21):
That was the first moment I felt real paralyzing fear,
because it wasn't just us. It wasn't something weird with
our car radio or one person hallucinating. They had heard
the exact same voice. Sharp ben hm, she repeated, like
she didn't want to believe her own memory. Her friends
stumbled out of their car next, crying, not sobbing, just
(24:44):
tears running straight down her face like she was too
afraid to blink. It was like he was in the
car with us, she mumbled.
Speaker 2 (24:52):
I thought it was you, she told my aunt. No
one knew what to say.
Speaker 1 (24:56):
We stood there, two cars full of people on an
empty crack road, surrounded by rusted out buildings, not even
a single bird sound, no cars behind us, no wind, nothing,
just that one horrible echo of laughter hanging in the
back of my head. Sunday finally said something, Let's leave,
Let's not go again. Everyone agreed, without argument. We turned around.
(25:20):
Nobody said a word the entire drive back. The air
inside the car felt thick. I kept checking behind my seat,
like someone might be sitting there, hiding, just watching us.
Back at my ant's house, we tried to talk about it,
but it didn't feel right. Every time we brought it up,
someone would get this look like they wanted to throw up.
(25:41):
The story just died, silenced itself, like it wanted to
be forgotten. But I never forgot. I know what I heard,
I know where I was. I remember the exact tone
of that voice, like someone mocking us, like they knew
something we didn't.
Speaker 2 (25:58):
And it wasn't just one, it was both.
Speaker 1 (26:02):
We weren't listening to the radio, the windows were up,
the area was deserted, no pedestrians, no construction workers, no
one else around for miles. So tell me how the
same voice, with the same words was heard by two
different cars at the exact same moment. I still don't
go near that area. Ever, I googled later and couldn't
(26:22):
find anything about accidents there, or ghosts or urban legends.
Story six. I'm Nathan. I'm from Spokane, Washington. I've never
really been into ghost stories or paranormal crap. I've always
been more of a facts and logic kind of guy.
But what happened that morning, God, I still don't have
a clue what to do with it. It was late
(26:43):
October twenty seventeen. I was twenty three. I'd moved back
in with my mom for a while after losing my job.
Her house is on the edge of town, sort of
surrounded by woods. Quiet area. You hear everything at night, owls, wind,
raccoons banging around. I had the room in the back
facing the trees. That night, I fell asleep around two
(27:05):
am after watching YouTube videos. I remember checking the time,
plugging in my phone, and tossing it on the nightstand.
Nothing felt off, no weird feelings or dreams or anything
like that. Then, just before dawn, maybe five point thirty
or so, I jolted awake, not like a gradual wake up.
Speaker 2 (27:25):
I snapped awake.
Speaker 1 (27:27):
I was lying on my back, heart pounding completely still.
Here's where it gets messed up. There was someone standing
at the foot of my bed, not moving, not breathing,
just standing.
Speaker 2 (27:39):
It was me, I'm not kidding. It was me, but
not me now.
Speaker 1 (27:44):
It looked exactly like me, same messy hair, same build,
But I swear to God, this thing looked dead. Its
skin was pale, gray, lips purple, eyes, wide open but glassy,
like it wasn't seeing anything. It was bare and wearing
the exact clothes I'd worn two days before, black hoodie,
faded jeans, even the tiny bleach stain on the sleeve.
(28:07):
I couldn't move, I couldn't scream. I just laid there,
staring at myself, dead, frozen, staring back at nothing, and
then slowly, so slowly it made me want to puke.
The thing tilted its head at me, not curious, not confused.
It was like watching a broken puppet try to move.
(28:29):
It whispered something, lips barely moved, but I heard it.
You're not supposed to be here. That voice was mine,
but layered with something off, like two versions of me
speaking over each other, slightly out of sync. I don't
know how long I was paralyzed. A minute five My
eyes burned from not blinking. Then suddenly, just as fast
(28:52):
as it appeared, it wasn't there, gone, just poof. I
sat up, sweating or eathing, like I'd run a marathon.
I reached for my phone to check the time. It
was two eight am. I blinked number. That wasn't right.
I'd already been asleep for hours. It had been near sunrise.
(29:13):
I remember the faint light outside the window. I looked
at my phone again, two eight, no notifications. My YouTube
app was still open, like I hadn't fallen asleep at all.
I jumped out of bed, turned on every damn light
in the room, and just stood there, staring at where
it had been. I didn't sleep for the rest of
the night. At seven, I heard my mom moving around
(29:34):
in the kitchen and went out like nothing happened. I
was not about to tell her I saw my dead
self standing in my room. But then it got worse.
That afternoon, I was checking the laundry basket in the hallway,
and at the bottom, buried under some towels was the
black hoodie and jeans, the same ones that thing had
been wearing, folded neatly.
Speaker 2 (29:54):
I hadn't touched those clothes in two days.
Speaker 1 (29:56):
I swear on everything I've got I didn't put them there,
and I haven't worn them since story seven. I wasn't
going to talk about this, Honestly, I've gone over it
a thousand times in my head, telling myself it was
just stress, just my brain misfiring or whatever. But no
explanation has ever really fit, And for some reason, I
(30:17):
woke up this morning feeling like I had to get
it off my chest. I live in Chicago, born and raised.
I've worked downtown for years. Same route, same office, same
coffee shop every morning, nothing fancy, just regular life.
Speaker 2 (30:31):
Anyway.
Speaker 1 (30:31):
This happened last November, cold but not snowing yet. I
remember because I had just grabbed my usual coffee from
the corner cafe on Adam's and was walking toward my building,
earbuds in, zoning out. Then out of nowhere, this voice
in my head, not even really a voice, just a pull,
told me to turn left down a narrow side street
I'd never noticed before. Here's the thing. I'm not the
(30:55):
kind of guy who takes detours. I'm a routine freak,
but this urge hit meme like I needed to go
that way. I figured, whatever, maybe there's a shortcut I
missed all these years, so.
Speaker 2 (31:07):
I went with it.
Speaker 1 (31:08):
It was this tight alley, walls real close together. The
air suddenly colder, almost like the sun didn't reach there.
I remember the sound changed too, you know that soft
city hum you get used to.
Speaker 2 (31:21):
It just cut.
Speaker 1 (31:22):
Out dead quiet, no wind, no cars, just my footsteps
about fifteen steps in. Everything just stopped. I don't mean
I stopped walking, I mean everything stopped. My vision blurred
like TV static, but not just in front of me,
all around. My whole body went numb, like I didn't
(31:45):
have a body. It's hard to explain, but I didn't
feel like I was standing anymore. I was just there,
floating in this weird black space, filled with shifting colors,
deep reds, sick greens, and these disgusting, oily grays. Then
I saw them. I swear to god, I wasn't dreaming.
These figures, humanish but off started to appear through the noise,
(32:08):
like static, people in business suits. Their faces were stretched
like someone tried to paint a human but didn't understand proportions.
No eyes, just black hollows. They all looked at me
at once, every single one, and they froze like they
were caught off guard.
Speaker 2 (32:26):
One of them pointed at me, and the.
Speaker 1 (32:27):
Others all twitched sharp, jerky, unnatural movements. Then the space
started collapsing, like the whole place was caving in on itself.
One of them moved toward me real fast, but not walking,
more like sliding. That's when everything snapped. I didn't wake
up or anything. I was just suddenly standing at the
corner of Adams and Franklin again, my regular route, same
(32:50):
coffee in my hand, only now it was cold. Hours
had passed. My phone was dead, not low battery, dead,
like it had never been charged. I felt nauseous, like
I'd just gotten off a spinning ride. My vision was swimming,
and I had this pounding in my head that didn't
stop for days. But worse than all that was this
(33:11):
feeling I still can't shake, like I was never supposed
to see that, like something went wrong. The worst part
that alley doesn't exist. I went back the next day.
It was just a solid brick wall. I checked maps,
nothing there. Asked the barista at the cafe if there
was ever an alley or construction or something. She looked
(33:31):
at me like I was nuts. I even checked old
photos of the street online, no alley. Ever, I didn't
tell anyone who would believe me. Hey, I stepped into
a glitch in the world and saw some creepy things
watching me from behind. Reality cool, right, I sound insane
even typing this, but that's what happened. Story eight. I
(33:51):
don't believe in ghosts. Let's get that out of the
way first. My name's Derek. I live in Mobile, Alabama.
Grew up in a pretty average single story house. Cheap
wood floors, creaky doors, peeling pain on the porch, nothing fancy,
Just me, my mom and my older brother, Eric, who
was about five years older and a certified little thief.
Speaker 2 (34:15):
If something disappeared.
Speaker 1 (34:16):
Around the house, money snacks, even my walkman once, you
could bet Eric had it tucked away in his room
or traded it for god knows what. Anyway, this happened
when I was about ten. It was summer, I remember
that because school was out and I had all the
time in the world to obsess over this little spy
kit I got from my birthday. You know, the type,
(34:38):
cheap plastic gadgets, fingerprint powder, invisible ink that's sort of junk.
One of the items was this intruder alert thing, a
spring loaded trip wire with a clock timer. You'd pull
the pin, stretch the wire across a doorway or something,
and if someone crossed it, it'd snap and stop the clock,
(34:58):
giving you the exact time of the breach. So here's
what happened. I'd been losing stuff from my room, small
things like a flashlight, a few bucks, one of my
game Boy cartridges. Eric denied it all, but I wasn't stupid.
I figured he was sneaking in while I was asleep
and helping himself. So one night, after everyone went to bed,
(35:18):
I set up the trip wire at my bedroom door,
stretched the wire low enough so someone wouldn't see it,
clicked the timer to midnight, and climbed into bed. I
even stayed awake for a bit, trying to listen for footsteps.
Eventually I must have dozed off. Then out of nowhere,
I was jolted awake. Snap. It wasn't just the wire.
It was loud, like it had been yanked, not tripped.
(35:41):
It actually startled me upright. My room was completely dark
except for the tiny red led on the clock, now
frozen at three twelve am. My heart was hammering in
my chest. I turned my head slowly toward the door.
No one was there. I sat frozen for a second, confused.
I remember whispering Eric, but the hallway beyond the open
(36:03):
door was pitch black. No sound, no footsteps, nothing. And
then slam my door shut hard, like the kind of
slam that shakes the walls. I jumped so bad I
nearly fell out of bed. I swear to you. The
air in the room changed instantly. It was heavy, oppressive,
(36:24):
like walking into a room that hasn't been opened in years.
It wasn't the wind. I knew it wasn't the wind.
I don't even think the window was open. And here's
the thing that still makes my skin crawl. The trip wire.
It had been pulled into the room. The wire was
snapped and the tension was yanked inward toward me, like
(36:45):
something had entered, not exited. I just sat there. My
mouth was dry. I couldn't move, I couldn't even blink.
The door didn't open again. There were no more sounds.
But something was wrong, something felt wrong. Eventually, after maybe
ten minutes, though it felt like an hour, I got up,
(37:05):
legs shaking, and opened the door. The hallway was empty.
The entire house was dark, no TV on in the
living room, no lights in the kitchen. I checked Eric's
door closed, I pushed it open quietly. He was out cold,
snoring like a chainsaw. Same with Mom. Everyone had been
asleep the whole time. I should have felt relief, but
(37:27):
I didn't. I went back to my room, turned on
the lamp, and just sat there with the light on
until the sun came up. I didn't say a word
to anyone, didn't touch the spy kid again, left the
broken wire on my desk for weeks before finally throwing
it away. You know what's messed up. I stayed in
that room for another eight years. Nothing else ever happened,
(37:49):
not one weird thing after that story nine. I'm Jake,
and I grew up in a small, quiet town in Arkansas,
one of those towns where everyone knows everyone and nothing
much ever happens. Our house sat on a decent patch
of land, and out back there was this old wooden barn.
It wasn't in use anymore, hadn't been for years. It
(38:12):
leaned a little to the side, smelled like wet earth
and rot, and creaked even when there wasn't wind. We
mostly kept yard tools in there, lawnmower, shovels, stuff like that.
My dad used to say he'd tear it down someday,
but he never did. It was a Saturday afternoon. I
remember that because my mom had just finished vacuuming and
my little brother Chris was inside watching cartoons. I was
(38:35):
about ten, bored out of my mind and figured I'd
go out to the barn to grab the weed whacker.
Not that I had any plans to use it. I
just liked pretending I was helping out. I didn't tell
anyone I was going out there, just slipped my sneakers
on and walked across the backyard, grass crunching under my feet.
The barn was about one hundred feet from the house,
(38:56):
kind of tucked behind some trees. Once I stepped in
sid the light changed it always did. There was this thick,
heavy feeling like the air inside didn't move. Dust floated
around in the narrow shafts of sunlight that poked through
the cracks in the wood. I remember the smell hit
me right away, mildew old gas metal. I walked in
(39:19):
and closed the door halfway behind me. Out of habit
I was moving toward the corner where we kept the
tools when I heard it, Jake. It was a voice, low, male, raspy,
the kind of voice that sounds like it's been smoked
through a thousand cigarettes. It didn't sound like my dad
or my neighbor, and it definitely wasn't my little brother.
(39:42):
I stopped, just froze, didn't turn around, didn't breathe. For
a second, I thought, I imagined it, maybe the wind
moved something, but I wasn't facing the direction the voice
came from. It wasn't behind me. It was to the right,
in the shadows near the back of the barn. Jake again, louder,
this time, not yelling, not whispering, just steady, like someone
(40:08):
saying it because they already knew i'd hear them. I
whip my head around and I don't know what. I
expected to see someone, maybe a shadow, but there was nothing,
just the outline of the shelves, some hanging tools, and
that empty open space that somehow looked darker than the
rest of the barn.
Speaker 2 (40:27):
I wanted to speak.
Speaker 1 (40:28):
I opened my mouth to say something like who's there,
but nothing came out. I turned toward the door, ready
to bolt, but the second I took a step, I
felt it. I swear on everything. I felt someone watching me,
not in the usual way. This was direct piercing, like
whoever it was could see inside my head.
Speaker 2 (40:49):
I didn't run.
Speaker 1 (40:51):
I walked slowly, carefully, like if I moved too fast,
whatever was in there might react. As I reached for
the door, or I heard it again right behind me,
this time closer. Don't go. I didn't scream, I didn't cry.
I just opened the door and walked straight out of
the barn, still not looking back. I made it to
(41:13):
the house and stepped inside like nothing happened. But my
heart was pounding so hard I thought it might explode.
My mom was in the kitchen. I walked up to
her and said, as calmly as I could, did you
call me? She gave me this weird look and said no,
why I shrugged. I just thought I heard you. She
(41:34):
stared at me for a second, then asked where i'd been.
I told her I went to the barn. Her face
changed immediately. I can still see it in my mind.
All the color drained out, her lips parted slightly, like
she was about to say something, but didn't. She didn't
ask what I heard. She didn't even ask if I
was okay. She turned around and called out, Chris, my
(41:57):
little brother came running in from the living room, and
she pulled us both close right there in the middle
of the kitchen. She started praying, hands on our shoulders,
voice shaky, She kept saying, God, cover this house, cover
my boys. Whatever it is, don't let it in. When
she finished, I asked, Mom, why are you scared? She
didn't answer it. First, she looked over at Chris, then
(42:20):
at me, then sat down hard in one of the
kitchen chairs. Chris just came to me, she said, not
five minutes before you did. He said, someone called his
name from outside, a man. We both just stood there.
I didn't know what to say, neither did Chris. That night,
my dad nailed the barn door shut. He didn't even
(42:40):
ask why Mom told him, and he just did it,
no questions, no arguments.
Speaker 2 (42:46):
We never went in there again, not once.
Speaker 1 (42:49):
Sometimes I think maybe it was just in our heads,
maybe we imagined it, or maybe it was some weird
acoustics or a neighbor messing around. But then I remember
how it. I felt that voice, the way it knew
my name. Whatever it was, it wasn't a person, and
I don't think it was something that belonged in our world.
I haven't been back to that house in years. I
(43:12):
don't want to be and that barn, if it's still standing,
I hope no one ever opens it again.
Speaker 2 (43:19):
Story ten.
Speaker 1 (43:20):
I live alone in a quiet two bedroom flat just
outside Sheffield. It's nothing fancy, plain walls, creaky floors, the
kind of place where you can hear your neighbors sneeze
through the walls.
Speaker 2 (43:30):
But I like it.
Speaker 1 (43:32):
It's mine. I've always been a tidy person. Everything has
its place, especially money. So what happened last January still
messes with my head. I haven't talked much about it, honestly,
but maybe putting it down will help. It was the
first week of January, maybe the fifth or sixth. I
remember because the Christmas lights were still half hanging in
(43:52):
the living room and I was already annoyed at myself
for not packing them away. That afternoon, I decided to
clean my desk. Not a deep clean, just a post
holiday reset. The desk is l shaped, sits in the
corner of my small second bedroom that I use as
a home office. Nothing weird about it. I'd left it
a mess after Christmas. Papers, empty boxes, a half used
(44:16):
roll of wrapping paper. While I was going through the mess,
something occurred to me. My mom had given me some
Christmas money, five CRISP twenty pound notes. I remember her
handing them over on Christmas Day, in a card with
a cartoon Santa on the front. I'd shoved them onto
my desk at some point during the holidays, telling myself
i'd deposit them later. But now, as I pulled papers
(44:38):
aside and tossed old receipts into a bin, the money
wasn't there.
Speaker 2 (44:42):
I wasn't worried.
Speaker 1 (44:43):
I assumed I'd moved it without thinking, maybe stuffed it
in a drawer or put it in my jacket. So
I didn't obsess. I just kept tidying. Twenty minutes later,
the desk was clear, totally bare. Wiped it down with
one of those scented wipes. No money, no card. I
shrugged it off. Then I turned in my chair to
sort a box of old USB cables i'd pulled out
(45:06):
from the wardrobe. It took me maybe two minutes max
I was facing away from the desk, No sounds, no movement,
just me crouched down, untangling a mess of wires and
cursing myself for hoarding junk. When I spun back around,
I froze on the desk, my completely cleared off desk.
There they were five twenty pound notes, fanned out neatly,
(45:29):
like something out of a stock photo, perfectly space, like
they'd been laid down with intent. They hadn't been there
moments ago. I know that, like I know my own name.
I just cleaned that exact spot, wiped it, looked at it.
Nothing was there. I didn't move. I sat there in
my swivel chair, staring. My first thought was that I'd
(45:51):
missed them somehow, but no, that wasn't possible. They were
in the middle of the desk, not under a folder,
not tuck behind something center displayed. I said out loud,
what the hell, and the sound of my own voice
felt out of place, like I'd broken something. In the silence,
I got up, slowly circled the desk. I even looked
(46:15):
under it, like some idiot, expecting to find strings or
a trapdoor. I don't know why. The window was closed locked.
The door to the room was open, but no one
else was in the flat. I knew that I live alone.
My front door was locked from the inside with the
chain still latched. It had to be locked, no one
could have come in. I didn't touch the money. I
(46:37):
just stared at it. My hands were actually shaking. I
walked out of the room and paced the hallway for
a few minutes, trying to make sense of it. I
even checked the front door again, chains still on. Nothing
looked disturbed. I went back into the room and the
money was still there, sitting exactly the same way. Here's
where it gets worse. When I finally picked them up,
(47:00):
because what else could I do. They were warm, not
like room temperature, warm, body warm, like someone had just
been holding them. And I swear to God, this is
the part I haven't told anyone because I know how
it sounds. But for a moment, just to split second,
I smelled my mum's perfume, that cheap floral stuff she
always wears, like a burst of it. Then gone, she's alive,
(47:23):
she's fine. That's not the creepy part. The creepy part
is she never came to my flat during Christmas. She
gave me the card at her house. I never brought
it home. I left it in my glove compartment because
I told myself i'd take the money to the bank
straight from work. So if the money was never even
in the flat, how did it end up on the desk.
(47:44):
I asked my mom the next day if she'd come
over during the holidays without telling me. She laughed, why
would I do that? Besides, you'd know You've got cameras
I do. I check them. Nothing, no movement, no one
in or out of the flot for the entire day.
The only person here that day was me. I ended
(48:04):
up spending the notes. I didn't know what else to do,
but I swear every time I held them it felt off,
like they weren't really mine. And when I handed the
last one over at the petrol station two weeks later,
I remember feeling oddly relieved, like I'd pass something on
something I didn't want attached to me anymore. I've never
(48:25):
seen anything like that since. But I moved the desk
into the living room a month later. Couldn't stand looking
at that corner anymore. I still don't understand what happened.
I've replayed it in my head a hundred times. I
even considered getting a priest to bless the flat. I didn't,
but I sleep with my bedroom door shut now, and
I never leave cash lying around anymore
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