Good evening, guys, ghouls, and girls, and welcome to Spook Central Station - the central place for all things spooky!I’m your host, Spook… or Belinda, whichever you prefer! 👻 And I’m here to bring you thrills, chills and hopefully a few sleepless nights with my content.So, what can you expect here at Spook Central Station?Scary stories, true crime and mysterious cases, creepy games and sometimes games that are not creepy at all! 🎮 You can also join me as I explore haunted locations investigating the unexplained, dissect horror movies, and dive into all sorts of strange, spooky, and downright unsettling content.There really is something for everyone here at Spook Central Station.You can connect with me across my other social media platforms. You’ll find all of those through my Linktree, which is linked in the description below.So, grab a cosy blanket, turn down the lights, and settle in…Because you never know what might be waiting for you around the corner.Thank you so much for watching, thank you for your support, and as always…Stay spooky. 👻

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We return to this surreal sci-fi horror landscape where countless eyes watch every move in the dark. In Chapter 8, we witness a disturbing environment filled with mysterious, swirling figures. A giant hand rises from the ground to interact with the survivors, adding to the intense atmosphere of this supernatural thriller. This entry pushes the limits of cosmic horror as the group faces forces they cannot comprehend. Our latest horror narration breaks down these strange anomalies and the feeling of being constantly observed. These scary stories continue to challenge our understanding of what is real. Subscribe to Spook Central Station for more weekly tales and let me know in the comments if you think they can survive this nightmare. Intro Song: https://www.youtube.com/@Jaxius   Find me and add me on everything over at my Linktree: https://linktr.ee/spookcentralstation If you have a story you&#39;d like to share or have me narrate, feel free to email me at:spookcentralstation@gmail.com

THEY NEVER LEFT Chapter Eight – The Keepers - Darkness. Not the comforting darkness of a moonless night. Not the darkness behind closed eyes. This was the absence of existence itself. Ethan couldn't feel the stone beneath his feet. He couldn't hear his own breathing. He couldn't even remember whether his eyes were open. Then... a voice. Soft. Female. "Ethan..." His mother's voice. He hadn't heard it since he was six years old. "Come home." Light exploded across the void.  He stood in a kitchen. Warm afternoon sunlight spilled through lace curtains, casting gentle patterns across an old wooden table. A kettle whistled softly on the stove. It smelled of fresh bread. Of cinnamon. Of childhood. His mother stood at the sink, humming as she washed dishes. She turned and smiled. "There you are." Ethan's heart broke. She looked exactly as he remembered. The same auburn hair. The same tired but loving eyes. The same faded blue cardigan she always wore on cold mornings. He took a trembling step toward her. "I've missed you." "So have I." She opened her arms. He was only a few steps away when he noticed something impossible. The kitchen clock. It read... 2:17. Its second hand wasn't moving.  A memory surfaced. Arthur's notebook. DON'T LOOK AT THEM WHEN THEY CLOSE THEIR EYES. His mother's smile never faltered. But slowly... very slowly... she closed her eyes. Every instinct in Ethan's body screamed. He turned away. Behind him, the kitchen dissolved into black ash. The smell of bread became the metallic scent of blood. The humming transformed into thousands of overlapping whispers. He heard his mother's voice one last time. "You remembered." Then she was gone.  The cavern returned. Sarah was shaking him violently. "Ethan!" He blinked. The impossible darkness had vanished. The monuments stood where they had before. The cracked black glass still stretched to the horizon. Only a few seconds had passed. Cross looked at him carefully. "What did it show you?" "My mother." She nodded. "It always begins with someone you trust."  Miguel frowned. "What begins?" Before Cross could answer... the singing stopped. Completely. The silence that followed was worse. The silent figures kneeling around the sea of eyes slowly lowered their heads. Not in worship. In respect. Something had arrived.  The darkness above the cavern rippled. Not like clouds. Like water disturbed by an invisible current. A shape emerged. At first, Ethan couldn't understand what he was seeing. His mind kept trying to make it human. Then an animal. Then a machine. Each interpretation collapsed immediately. The being possessed no fixed form. Its outline shifted continuously. Thousands of impossible angles folding into one another. Sometimes it resembled a towering figure wrapped in flowing black robes. Sometimes a cathedral suspended upside down. Sometimes an enormous tree whose branches reached into empty space. Every time Ethan blinked... it changed. Only one thing remained constant. Its eyes. Hundreds of them. Not arranged on a face. Scattered throughout its body like stars in a living constellation. Each one watched a different member of the group. Each one blinked independently.  Miguel instinctively raised his rifle. Cross slammed the barrel downward. "Don't." "It's one of them." "No." Her voice was barely audible. "It's one of us."  The words echoed through the impossible cavern. The entity drifted silently closer. It never walked. It never flew. Distance simply ceased to matter. One moment it was kilometres away. The next... it stood only thirty metres from the group. The air grew heavy. Ethan felt memories slipping away. His first day at university. His father's funeral. The smell of rain. Each memory blurred around the edges. Like old photographs left too long in the sun. Cross immediately reached into her pocket. She produced a small notebook. On every page were handwritten names. Dates. Places. She handed it to Ethan. "If it gets worse..." He looked at the notebook. "Read these aloud." "What are they?" "My memories."  The entity finally spoke. Its voice came from everywhere at once. From the air. From the stone. From inside Ethan's thoughts. It sounded ancient. Gentle. Tired. "You have come farther than any of your kind." No one answered. The being continued. "We hoped you never would." Sarah found her voice. "What are you?" The countless eyes focused on her. "We are the Keepers." Miguel tightened his grip on his rifle. "Keeping what?" Silence. Then... "A promise."  Cross slowly stepped forward. "You built the observatories." The being tilted slightly. A gesture Ethan somehow understood as agreement. "No." Another pause. "You did." Confusion spread through the group. "We built them?" Sarah whispered. "We've only had telescopes for—" "Not this civilization." The words struck like a hammer. Ethan stared. "What does that mean?" The Keepers' countless eyes dimmed. Almost sorrowfully. "You remember only your latest beginning."  Images filled the air around them. Not projections. Memories. Cities of impossible architecture stretching beneath unfamiliar constellations. Oceans glowing with blue fire. Towering black monoliths humming beneath crimson skies. Human beings... or something astonishingly close to them... walking among creatures of light. No fear. No war. No division. Only purpose. Then... darkness. The sky split open. Something vast descended between the stars. The cities vanished beneath impossible shadows. Mountains folded inward. Seas boiled. Continents cracked like glass. The vision disappeared.  Lisa staggered backward. "I saw..." She struggled to breathe. "I knew that place." Cross nodded grimly. "So did I."  The Keeper's voice filled the cavern again. "You called it Earth then as well." Ethan frowned. "No." "That's impossible." "You have forgotten before."  The ground trembled violently. A new crack raced across the black glass. The colossal hand beneath it emerged another metre. This time... an arm followed. Stars shimmered beneath skin that wasn't skin. Space bent around it. The very air seemed reluctant to exist nearby. The kneeling figures lowered themselves completely until their foreheads touched the stone. Even Arthur's double. The Keepers did not look toward the rising arm. They looked toward Ethan.  "It knows you." Cross stepped in front of him. "Stay away from him." The Keeper regarded her for several long moments. "We have." Another pause. "For thirty-four years."  Sarah slowly turned toward Cross. "You knew." Cross closed her eyes. "When we found Ethan..." She swallowed hard. "...he wasn't alone." The silence was deafening. "There was another child." Ethan stared at her. "What?" Cross's voice broke. "A little girl." "The same age." "The same blanket." "No records." "No parents." "No explanation." His mind reeled. "What happened to her?" Cross didn't answer. The Keeper did. "She opened another door."  A memory flashed through Ethan's mind. A little girl laughing as they ran through tall grass beneath a sky with two moons. He knew her. He loved her. He had never met her. His knees buckled.  The countdown on the monument suddenly accelerated. 03:14:08 07 06 The numbers were falling faster now. Lisa looked at them in horror. "It's speeding up."  The Keeper's countless eyes turned toward the monument. For the first time... they showed unmistakable fear. "The twelfth lock weakens." Miguel finally lost his patience. "Then help us stop it!" The Keeper looked at him. Its voice became unbearably soft. "We cannot touch the lock." "Why not?" "Because we built the prison." Another pause. "Only the prisoners may choose to keep it closed."  Ethan slowly understood. "The observatories..." "The keys..." "The signal..." None of it had been intended for humanity. It had been intended for the descendants of those who had built the prison. Humanity hadn't inherited Earth. Humanity was the inheritance. The last generation of jailers. Who had forgotten they were standing watch.  Suddenly... the pale figure from Black Ridge appeared beside the Keeper. Not walking. Simply existing. Unlike before, Ethan could finally see its face. There wasn't one. Where eyes, nose, and mouth should have been... there was only smooth grey skin. Featureless. Blank. Yet Ethan somehow knew it was looking directly at him. The Keeper inclined its shifting form toward the faceless being. Almost respectfully. "The Witness has completed its task." The faceless figure raised one long finger. Instead of pointing at Ethan... it pointed behind him.  Everyone turned. The glass had shattered. Completely. The sea of eyes was gone. In its place stretched an endless abyss. From its impossible depths... something began to rise. Not a hand. Not an arm. An entire silhouette. So vast that only fragments could be seen at once. A shoulder larger than mountains. A head disappearing into darkness. Thousands upon thousands of black spheres slowly opened across its body. Eyes. The same eyes that had appeared behind the Moon. They were not ships. They were not machines. They were merely the smallest visible parts... of something far, far larger. The heartbeat returned. Not every twenty-seven seconds. Every heartbeat on Earth... became one heartbeat. Ethan felt his own chest synchronise with it. Across the abyss... the colossal entity slowly opened one impossible eye. And smiled.

They Never Left (The Keepers) - Part Eight

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We continue our descent into this supernatural thriller, where lab coats and mysterious eyes watch our group&#39;s every move. In this seventh chapter, the tension intensifies as we follow the survivors navigating a cavernous space filled with strange, glowing imagery. We examine the unsettling appearance of a mysterious cylindrical device and the group&#39;s ongoing struggle to survive against forces they cannot fully comprehend. The reflective surface marked by eyes suggests that someone, or something, is observing every interaction within this dark environment. This series captures the escalating stakes of our sci-fi horror narrative. We break down the latest developments in this chilling story and analyze what the presence of these watchers means for those trapped inside. The atmosphere grows heavier as the group encounters further anomalies, leaving us to wonder if escape is even possible. Subscribe to Spook Central Station for more scary stories and let me know in the comments if you think they can survive this nightmare. 👻 Find me and add me on everything over at my Linktree: https://linktr.ee/spookcentralstation

THEY NEVER LEFT Chapter Seven – The Key The finger remained pointed at Ethan. Motionless. Patient. It was so large that his mind refused to comprehend it. The black-glass sea stretched for miles in every direction, yet that single finger rose above it like a mountain emerging from a starless ocean. And it was pointing at him. Not searching. Not guessing. Recognising. Ethan took a step backwards. The finger followed. Not physically. The entire world shifted so that it remained aimed at his chest. The monuments tilted. The horizon bent. The stars trapped beneath the glass rotated slowly around him like the inside of a gigantic eye. Sarah grabbed his arm. "Ethan, look at me." He couldn't. His gaze was trapped. Deep within the black surface of that impossible hand, he saw reflections. A hospital room. A newborn crying. A woman with no face holding him. Director Cross standing beside a cradle. Arthur watching from a doorway. And behind them all... the tall pale figure from the observatory. Watching. Always watching. The visions struck like blows. Ethan gasped and tore his eyes away. The cavern snapped back into place.  Cross was still holding the metal cylinder. Her knuckles had turned white. "Tell me the truth," Ethan said. His voice sounded distant, as though someone else were speaking through him. "All of it." Cross looked older than ever. "I don't know all of it." "You know enough." She nodded once. "Thirty-four years ago, a maintenance team entered Containment Vault One after an unexplained power failure." Her eyes never left his face. "They found a child sitting beside the doorway." "Me." "Yes." Ethan's throat tightened. "Where were my parents?" Cross hesitated. "There were no bodies." "No records of a pregnant woman at the facility." "No record of any child ever being brought there." "You simply... appeared." The words echoed through the cavern. Appeared. Like the doorway. Like the black sphere. Like the visitor in the archive.  Miguel shook his head violently. "No. That's impossible." Arthur's double spoke softly from among the silent crowd. "Impossible is a local law." Miguel swung his rifle toward him. "Shut up." The thing wearing Arthur's face smiled sadly. "You still think this place obeys your universe."  The glass cracked again. This time the sound resembled thunder beneath water. Dozens of new fractures spread outward from the colossal hand. Beneath the widening cracks, the countless eyes began closing faster. One after another. A retreat. A surrender. Something deeper was waking. And even the eyes feared it.  Lisa suddenly grabbed her head. "Make it stop." Sarah knelt beside her. "Lisa?" "The song." Blood trickled from Lisa's nose. "I can hear the words now." Cross's expression darkened. "Don't repeat them." Lisa looked up, eyes unfocused. "It's not a song." Her voice changed. Deeper. Layered with another voice beneath it. "It's a countdown." The glowing symbols on the nearest monument flared bright blue. Numbers appeared across the stone. 05 : 12 : 44 The numbers began decreasing. Seconds ticking away.  "Five hours," Sarah whispered. "Until what?" No one answered. Arthur's double did. "Until the twelfth lock opens." Cross went pale. "No..." He looked at her with almost human pity. "Black Ridge is not the first site to fail." The cavern seemed to shrink around them. "How many?" Ethan asked. The answer came quietly. "Eleven."  Silence. Ethan stared at him. "Eleven observatories are already gone?" "Not gone." Arthur's smile returned. "Opened."  Cross finally understood. "Acheron wasn't destroyed." "No..." "It's still active?" "Yes." "And the others?" Arthur's double slowly looked into the darkness. "They are singing."  The distant chorus swelled. Ethan heard it clearly now. Thousands of voices layered together, stretching across impossible distances. Different languages. Different centuries. Different species. All singing the same melody. He realised with horror that the sound was not coming from the cavern. It was coming through him. His chest vibrated with the harmony. Every heartbeat matched the rhythm. The signal wasn't outside anymore. It had moved inside him.  Miguel grabbed Ethan's shoulders. "Stay with us." Ethan blinked. For a moment, Miguel's face looked wrong. Older. Scarred. Dead. Then normal again. "I saw you," Ethan whispered. "What?" "You were dead." Miguel forced a laugh. "Not today." But fear had entered his eyes.  Cross activated the cylinder. A thin ring of blue light appeared around its center. The monuments immediately began humming in response. Arthur's double took a step backward for the first time. "You kept one?" "I swore I would never use it." "And yet you brought it." "Because I knew this day would come." Ethan looked at the device. "What is it?" Cross met his eyes. "A memory engine." "It doesn't destroy matter." "It destroys identity." Cold spread through Ethan's body. "You mean it kills people?" "Worse." Her voice broke. "It makes the universe forget they ever existed."  Sarah stared at her. "That's impossible." "So is this place.” she responded Cross looked toward the colossal hand beneath the cracking glass. "The original Keepers built twelve of these devices." "One for each lock." "If a site failed, the key was erased before the door could fully open." Ethan's stomach dropped. "And I'm the key." Cross didn't deny it.  The countdown continued. 05 : 08 : 13 12 11  A tremor rippled through the cavern. The glass split wide enough for black water to spill across the stone. It flowed uphill. Toward Ethan. Where it touched the ground, symbols bloomed like frost. They formed a path leading directly to him. The finger beneath the surface remained pointed. Waiting.  Lisa suddenly spoke again, still in that layered voice. "It remembers him." Cross tightened her grip on the cylinder. "Lisa, fight it." Lisa looked at Ethan. "You were left here for a reason." "You were never meant to grow old." "You were meant to open the last door." Miguel slapped her sharply. The layered voice vanished. Lisa collapsed, sobbing. "I heard them," she whispered. "They're all awake."  The silent figures in the distance began kneeling. One after another. Thousands of them lowering themselves toward the black glass. Arthur's double remained standing. "Why are they doing that?" Sarah asked. He answered softly. "The Keepers are coming."  Something moved above them. Not in the cavern. In the darkness that had no ceiling. A shape vast enough to eclipse the monuments drifted silently overhead. No details. Only scale. The air grew heavy. Every light dimmed. Ethan felt an unbearable pressure behind his eyes. The shape passed. And for a fraction of a second, he understood. The black sphere behind the Moon was not a ship. It was an eye. One eye among many. The thing above them had far more.  Cross suddenly shoved the cylinder into Ethan's hands. "If I tell you to run, you run." "I'm not leaving you." "You don't understand." She looked toward the darkness overhead. "I was at Acheron when the first Keeper appeared." "What happened?" Her voice became distant. "Everyone who looked at it remembered being someone else." "A few remembered being it."  The humming intensified. Cracks raced across the glass in every direction. The colossal hand pushed upward another metre. The sea of eyes closed completely. Darkness spread beneath the surface. Something enormous was rising from below them. Arthur's double whispered, "It's almost time."  Then Ethan heard a child's voice. Close. Very close. "Ethan." He turned. A little boy stood beside one of the monuments. Four years old. Dark hair. Bare feet. Holding a worn blanket covered in spiraling symbols. Ethan's breath caught. He knew that blanket. The boy looked up at him with terrified eyes. "Please don't let them take me again." The cavern shook violently. The child vanished. In his place stood the pale figure from the observatory. Tall. Motionless. Face hidden in shadow. It slowly raised one hand and pointed toward the darkness above. Toward the approaching shape. Then, for the first time, it spoke in a voice like wind through a graveyard. "He has found his name." Everything went dark. And somewhere in the infinite black above them... something vast opened its eyes.

They Never Left (The Key) - Part Seven

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The standoff escalates as glowing runes and a mysterious structure trap our group in this intense sci-fi confrontation.  In this sixth part of the series, tensions reach a breaking point when a woman holds a man at gunpoint before a colossal, glowing monument. We examine the strange devices found at the scene and the unsettling moment a woman clutches a cylindrical object while being watched by countless eyes in the darkness. This episode focuses on the military-style uniforms gathering at the site and the unsettling interactions with alien technology. We explore the implications of the glowing runes and what the presence of these watchers means for the survivors caught in this supernatural thriller. Subscribe to Spook Central Station for more scary stories and let me know in the comments if you think they can escape the structure. Find me and add me on everything over at my Linktree: https://linktr.ee/spookcentralstation If you have a story you&#39;d like to share or have me narrate, feel free to email me at:spookcentralstation@gmail.com Intro Song: https://www.youtube.com/@Jaxius

THEY NEVER LEFT Chapter Six – The Sea of Eyes No one breathed. Not because they had forgotten how. Because every instinct told them that making even the smallest sound would awaken whatever lay beneath the black glass. The mirror-like surface stretched beyond the reach of their lights, perfectly smooth except for the countless eyes suspended beneath it. Millions of them. Some no larger than marbles. Others... the size of cars. All open. All staring upward. None of them blinked again. Not after that first synchronized movement. Ethan slowly lowered his flashlight. The beam reflected back at him. Except... his reflection wasn't holding a flashlight. It was holding something long. Metallic. Like a spear. His reflection smiled. Ethan hadn't. He jerked the light away. The reflection disappeared.  "Don't look directly into it." Director Cross's voice was barely above a whisper. Miguel frowned. "What?" "The glass." She kept her own eyes fixed on the distant horizon. "Peripheral vision only." Lisa swallowed. "Why?" Cross took a slow breath. "Because eventually..." "...it starts looking back."  Sarah couldn't help herself. She stepped closer to the mirror. The eyes fascinated her. They weren't identical. Each was different. Different shapes. Different colors. Some resembled reptiles. Others insects. Others... nothing that should exist. One eye opened wider than the rest. It watched her specifically. The pupil slowly expanded. Inside it... she saw herself. Not standing beside the others. Standing alone. Older. Gray-haired. Crying. Behind that older version of Sarah stood the black sphere hanging above Earth. Except... it wasn't above Earth. It was opening. Like a flower. Or an enormous iris. Something inside it was trying to emerge. Sarah blinked. The vision vanished. She stumbled backward. "I..." Her voice trembled. "It showed me something." Cross immediately grabbed her shoulder. "What did you see?" Sarah hesitated. "I don't think..." She looked genuinely confused. "I don't remember."  The staircase behind them was gone. Miguel spun around. "What the hell?" Only smooth black stone remained. No opening. No corridor. No path back. Ethan ran his hands across the wall. Solid. Unbroken. "We've been sealed in." "No," Cross whispered. "It wants us to keep going."  The chamber widened into an enormous cavern. Above them... there was no ceiling. Only darkness. Not blackness. Absence. As though space itself had been carved away. Lisa checked the laser rangefinder again. The screen flickered wildly. DEPTH UNKNOWN Then... the numbers changed. DISTANCE TO SURFACE: NOT APPLICABLE  Miguel laughed nervously. "No." He shook the device. "It broke." Lisa quietly took it from him. "No..." She stared at the display. "It thinks..." She couldn't finish the sentence. "It thinks we're no longer inside the Earth."  They walked. No one knew for how long. Time had become meaningless. There was no sun. No moon. No watches. Only the steady rhythm of footsteps across perfectly smooth stone. Then Ethan noticed something strange. There were too many footsteps. He counted. Five people. Six sets of footsteps. He stopped. The extra footsteps continued for another three paces. Then stopped too. No one spoke. No one wanted to acknowledge what they had all heard.  Eventually they reached the first structure. It emerged slowly from the darkness. Not a building. A monument. Nearly two hundred metres tall. Carved from the same black material as the surrounding cavern. Its shape resembled two enormous hands pressed together in prayer. Thousands of symbols covered its surface. Unlike the ones upstairs... these didn't move. They pulsed. Slowly. Like veins beneath skin. Lisa approached carefully. "I've seen these." Cross nodded. "So have I." "When?" "In dreams."  Sarah raised her camera. "I'll photograph them." She pressed the shutter. Nothing happened. The camera screen displayed only static. She tried again. Still nothing. Then... a photograph appeared anyway. Not the monument. Her family. Standing in front of their house. Her younger brother smiled at the camera. The problem... her brother had died when she was twelve. Sarah's hands began shaking. "No..." She opened another image. Another impossible photograph. Another. Each one depicted memories that had never been recorded. Some... had never happened.  Miguel slowly backed away from the monument. "The place is inside our heads." Cross looked toward him. "No." Her voice was heavy. "Our heads are inside this place."  A low hum drifted through the cavern. Not mechanical. Musical. Voices. Singing. Far away. Thousands of them. No words. Only long, haunting notes that echoed endlessly through the impossible darkness. Lisa froze. "I know that melody." Everyone looked at her. "I've been humming it." Her face turned pale. "For weeks."  The song grew louder. Shapes appeared between the monuments ahead. People. Dozens of them. Standing silently. Watching. Arthur was among them. So was Daniel Rourke. The missing soldier. Others wore uniforms decades out of date. Some looked Victorian. Others impossibly ancient. Roman armor. Bronze helmets. Animal skins. Every era of human history. Every civilization. Standing together. Perfectly still. Miguel whispered, "They're dead." One figure slowly shook its head. "No." Its voice echoed strangely. "We're remembered."  None of them moved. Not until Arthur stepped forward. Or... the thing wearing Arthur's face. This time there was no smile. Only sadness. "You came farther than we expected." Ethan's pulse quickened. "What are you?" Arthur looked genuinely surprised. "You ask the wrong question." He pointed toward Ethan. "The better question is..." "What are you?"  Cross raised her pistol again. "Stay back." Arthur ignored it. "You believe humanity discovered this world." He looked around the endless cavern. "You didn't." "You inherited it."  Miguel tightened his grip on his rifle. "I'm done listening." He fired. The deafening shot echoed forever. The bullet struck Arthur squarely in the chest. Arthur looked down. Then back up. There was no wound. Instead... the bullet slowly emerged from his back. Moving backward. Returning to the rifle. The spent casing flew from the floor into the weapon. The rifle's bolt cycled in reverse. Everything the gun had done... undid itself. Time. Just for that single bullet. Had reversed. Arthur sighed. "You keep trying violence." "It never works."  Without warning... every figure in the distance turned toward the group. Hundreds. Then thousands. All at once. The song stopped. Silence returned. Arthur's expression changed. For the first time... he looked frightened. "They found you." Cross stepped forward. "Who?" Arthur whispered two words. "The Keepers."  The mirror beneath the sea of eyes cracked. A single line spread across the endless black surface. Then another. Then hundreds. The eyes below began closing. Not blinking. Closing permanently. One by one. As though hiding. Running. Afraid. The entire cavern trembled. Something unimaginably massive shifted beneath the glass. Not beneath the eyes. Beneath them. The eyes weren't looking upward. They had been looking downward. Watching something deeper still. Keeping watch. Keeping it asleep.  The crack widened. A hand emerged. Not gray. Not pale. Impossible. Its skin shimmered like liquid night filled with stars. Every movement bent the light around it. The fingers alone were taller than the monument. They reached slowly toward the surface. Toward Ethan. Toward all of them. Arthur looked at Cross. His voice broke. "You shouldn't have come this far."  The ground lurched violently. One of the black monuments collapsed into the sea of eyes. Instead of sinking... it fell upward. Vanishing into the darkness above. Gravity twisted. Sarah screamed as loose stones floated past her. Miguel grabbed her before she drifted after them. The cavern had stopped obeying physics. Distances stretched. Voices echoed before people spoke. Shadows moved in the wrong direction. Time itself felt unstable.  Cross pulled something from inside her coat. A small metal cylinder. Old. Covered in warning labels. Lisa stared. "Is that..." Cross nodded. "The failsafe." "You brought a nuclear device?" "No." Cross looked toward the enormous hand breaking through the glass. "This is much worse."  She held up the cylinder. The symbols carved across its surface glowed blue. Arthur's expression filled with horror. "Don't." Cross looked at him. "If we can't close the door..." She gripped the cylinder tightly. "...we erase the key." Ethan frowned. "What key?" Cross slowly turned toward him. Tears welled in her eyes. "You."  Silence. Every sound in the cavern ceased. Even the shifting stone. Even the singing. Even the heartbeat. Cross's voice was barely audible. "Ethan..." "You were never assigned to Black Ridge." His blood turned cold. "What?" "You were born there." "No." "You weren't." She shook her head. "You were found." The words hung in the impossible air. "Thirty-four years ago." "Outside Containment Vault One." "Alone." "No parents." "No records." "Only a blanket..." "...covered in those symbols." Ethan stared at her. Unable to breathe. Unable to think. But also unable to remember. Then... for the briefest instant... he did remember. A dark sky with no stars. Towering black figures kneeling around him. A voice whispering: "Return when the signal calls." The memory vanished. But the terror remained.  Far beneath the cracking glass... the colossal hand stopped reaching. Slowly... one enormous finger extended. Pointing. Not at the observatory. Not at Earth. At Ethan Thorne.

They Never Left (The Sea of Eyes) - Part Six

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The footsteps stopped instantly. Join Ethan Thorne in this horror story as we uncover what waits behind the blast door at Black Ridge. This episode brings us to the centre of the mystery beneath the facility. Thousands of unseen entities have finally ceased their movement, leaving only silence in the corridor. For listeners following this paranormal investigation, the stakes have shifted from a simple signal to a direct encounter. We explore the disturbing nature of the chamber beneath and the terrifying reality of what the team has awakened. This supernatural thriller continues the narrative of Ethan Mercer as he realizes the warnings were not just stories, but a desperate plea to keep the door sealed at Black Ridge Observatory. Subscribe to Spook Central Station for more scary stories and let me know in the comments if you think they should have opened the door. Find me and add me on everything over at my Linktree: https://linktr.ee/spookcentralstation If you have a story you&#39;d like to share or have me narrate, feel free to email me at:spookcentralstation@gmail.com Intro / Background Song: https://www.youtube.com/@Jaxius

THEY NEVER LEFT Chapter Five – The Chamber Beneath The footsteps stopped. Not gradually. Instantly. Thousands of them. One moment, they echoed through the corridor beyond the blast door. The next... absolute silence. No breathing. No shifting stone. No movement. Nothing. The kind of silence that made every heartbeat sound deafening. Except... the heartbeat from below the platform had also stopped. For the first time in nearly two weeks, Black Ridge Observatory was completely quiet. It should have been a relief. Instead, every instinct Ethan possessed screamed that something had gone terribly wrong.  Miguel was the first to move. He crossed to the blast door and slammed his fist against the emergency release. Nothing. He tried again. Still nothing. "The hydraulics are dead." Sarah checked the control panel. "No..." She looked confused. "They're responding." "What do you mean?" "The system thinks the door is open." Everyone stared at the thick slab of steel sealing the chamber. "It knows we're outside," she whispered.  Director Cross walked slowly to the center of the platform. She looked older than Ethan had ever seen her. Not tired but worn down. Like someone who had spent decades trying to outrun a nightmare she knew would eventually catch her. "We've reached the point where Acheron failed." Ethan stepped beside her. "Then tell us everything." Cross remained silent for several seconds. Finally... she nodded.  Acheron STATION – ANTARCTICA January 1989 "I wasn't the director," Cross began. "I was only a junior analyst." "Our job wasn't astronomy." "It was containment." She looked toward the endless pit. "Acheron was built over another doorway." "Just like Black Ridge." "We didn't know they were connected." Lisa frowned. "Connected how?" Cross swallowed. "We believed each site was isolated." She gave a bitter laugh. "They aren't." She pointed toward the glowing symbols surrounding the chamber. "There are twelve." "Twelve observatories." "Twelve doorways." "Twelve locks." The realization settled over the group like ice. "Twelve..." Ethan whispered. "The radio dishes." Cross nodded. "Twelve observatories were constructed after the Second World War." "Officially, they were astronomical research facilities." "Unofficially..." "They were prisons."  Miguel stared at the pit. "For what?" Cross didn't answer immediately. Instead... she reached into her jacket and unfolded a yellowed sheet of paper. Its edges were brittle with age. Across the top, faded government lettering read: PROJECT SHEPHERD Below it... a single sentence. UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES SHOULD THE TWELVE SITES COMMUNICATE. Lisa felt her stomach turn. "The signal..." Cross nodded. "We weren't supposed to receive it."  Sarah frowned. "But nobody pointed the dishes." "No." Cross looked toward the ceiling. "They pointed themselves."  A loud metallic creak echoed somewhere beneath the platform. Everyone instinctively looked into the darkness. Something moved. Far below. Too large to identify. Not climbing. Walking. Slowly. Methodically. Circling. The beam from Miguel's flashlight disappeared long before reaching it. Whatever was moving remained hidden. Only its footsteps reached them. One... every twenty-seven seconds.  Ethan suddenly remembered Arthur's words. "The universe goes quiet to listen." His pulse quickened. "What if..." Everyone turned toward him. "What if the heartbeat isn't coming from space?" No one spoke. He looked into the abyss. "What if space is answering it?"  Lisa hurried back to the reel-to-reel recorder. "There has to be more." She searched beneath the machine. Hidden inside a rusted drawer were three additional tapes. Each labeled only with dates. 1962 1989 UNKNOWN She inserted the oldest tape. The recorder clicked. Static. Then another voice. Female. Older. Calm despite obvious exhaustion. "Containment Log 218." The tape hissed. "We have determined that the entities are incapable of opening the doors." Sarah exhaled softly. "So we're safe." The recording continued. "However..." Everyone froze. "...they do not need to." Silence. "Eventually..." The woman's voice cracked. "...someone always opens them."  The tape skipped ahead. Gunfire echoed faintly in the background. People shouting. Metal scraping against stone. Then... "Destroy every telescope." Another burst of static. "Never let the sites synchronise." The recording ended abruptly.  Miguel looked slowly around the chamber. "Twelve observatories..." Lisa finished the thought. "Twelve radio arrays." Sarah whispered, "They're not listening." Ethan completed the sentence. "They're talking."  The realization struck all of them simultaneously. The dishes weren't receiving an alien transmission. They were building one. Each observatory... one piece of a message. Together... they formed something unimaginably larger.  The emergency lights dimmed. Just slightly. Then dimmed again. Sarah checked her watch. 2:16 a.m. "No..." Every clock she'd seen since the previous night remained frozen. Yet somehow... her wristwatch had started moving again. The second hand ticked forward. 2:16:48 49 50 The heartbeat hadn't come. Not yet. Cross looked horrified. "It changed."  At exactly 2:17... nothing happened. No pulse. No vibration. No sound. Instead... every light in the chamber went out. Darkness. Complete darkness. Ethan couldn't see his own hand. Then... someone struck a match. A tiny flame appeared only a few metres away. Arthur Hayes stood holding it. Perfectly calm. Perfectly clean. As though he'd never disappeared. Miguel gasped. "Arthur!" The old astronomer smiled warmly. "You've taken your time." Ethan stepped forward. "Where have you been?" Arthur looked genuinely puzzled. "Right here." His answer came too quickly. Too smoothly. Like someone repeating a rehearsed line. Lisa noticed something first. His eyes. Arthur's eyes had always been a faded blue. Now... they were completely black.  Cross raised her pistol. "Don't move." Arthur sighed. "You always do this." He sounded disappointed. "You ask questions." "You discover the truth." "And then..." He smiled wider. "...you panic." Miguel's voice shook. "Arthur..." The old man tilted his head. "No." "I only look like Arthur."  The match went out. Darkness swallowed the chamber once more. Something rushed past Ethan. Cold air. Fast. Impossible. Sarah screamed. Flashlights clicked on simultaneously. Arthur was gone. The soldier accompanying them lay on the floor. His helmet remained attached. His body remained inside his uniform. Everything beneath the neck... was empty. The skin had collapsed inward like discarded clothing. No blood. No bones. Nothing. Just... absence.  No one spoke for nearly a minute. Finally Lisa whispered, "It took everything." Cross nodded. "That's what happened at Acheron."  A deep mechanical alarm suddenly echoed through the chamber. Not from the old ruins. From the observatory above. Sarah grabbed her radio. Static. Then... a voice broke through. "...Control... to Director Cross..." The signal crackled. "...they're everywhere..." There was Gunfire. And Screaming in the background. "...they came out of the desert..." The transmission dissolved into static. Miguel looked at Cross. "The surface." She nodded once. "They're inside."  The blast door behind them shuddered violently. A tremendous impact rang through the steel. Another. Another. Something was trying to get in. Or... trying to get out. None of them knew which possibility was worse.  Lisa hurried toward the far side of the chamber. "There!" A narrow stone staircase spiraled downward around the outside of the pit. No one had noticed it before. It hadn't been there. Ethan was certain of it. Cross stared at the staircase. "It only appears..." "When the chamber wakes."  Miguel looked toward the pounding blast door. Then toward the staircase disappearing into endless darkness. "We have two choices." "No." Cross became very quiet. "We only have one." She looked into the abyss. "We need to find out what they're protecting."  One by one... they stepped onto the ancient staircase. The air grew colder with every level they descended. The walls changed. Natural stone slowly gave way to something impossibly smooth. Black. Featureless. Like polished volcanic glass. After several minutes... Ethan noticed something disturbing. They had descended far deeper than the observatory should physically allow. Hundreds of metres. Then perhaps kilometres. His ears never popped. Gravity never changed. The staircase simply... continued. Lisa checked the laser rangefinder clipped to her belt. Its display flashed an error. Then another. Finally it displayed only two words. DEPTH UNKNOWN  Behind them... the light from the chamber disappeared. Ahead... the darkness slowly began to glow. Not with lamps. With stars. Tiny points of light filled the cavern below. Thousands. Millions. Like a night sky buried beneath the Earth. Ethan frowned. "That's impossible." Cross whispered, "No..." Tears formed in her eyes. "I've seen this before."  They reached the bottom. There was no floor. Only an enormous black mirror stretching to the horizon. The stars they had seen were not above them. They were beneath the glass. Moving. Slowly. Like living things. Sarah stepped closer. "What are they?" Cross closed her eyes. "They aren't stars." The lights shifted. Hundreds of them turned simultaneously. Looking upward. Looking at the humans standing above them. They were eyes. Countless black eyes opening beneath the transparent surface. Watching. Waiting. Then every single one blinked... at exactly the same moment.

They Never Left (The Chamber Beneath) - Part Five

https://s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/pod-public-media-files/2026/9/3/14/6bd980a5-5661-4a5e-9651-361879f67eb6_redcircle.mp3

&#34;Some buildings are designed to keep people out.Others are designed to keep something in.The worst kind are built to make you forget they&#39;re even there.&#34; The door was never meant to be opened. After the terrifying discoveries beneath Black Ridge Observatory, Ethan and the remaining members of the team are beginning to understand that the strange signal they detected wasn&#39;t simply a message from somewhere in deep space. It was a warning. As the investigation leads them deeper into the facility, they uncover references to a classified Antarctic installation known as Acheron Station—a place supposedly abandoned decades ago after an unexplained incident. But the records tell a different story. Something happened at Acheron Station. Something the government buried. And whatever happened there appears to be connected to the strange circular doorway discovered beneath Black Ridge. Then the team finds an old photograph. In the background stands a doorway that should not exist. The same doorway. The same symbols. The same impossible architecture. And written on the back of the photograph are four words: “We should never have opened it.” As Ethan begins experiencing memories that don&#39;t belong to him, the boundary between the past and present starts to disappear. And somewhere beneath the frozen darkness of Antarctica... something is still waiting... Good evening Guys, Ghouls and Girls! Thank you for watching the latest narrated story. Please make sure to like, comment and subscribe! Thanks for watching and stay spooky! 👻 Find me and add me on everything over at my Linktree: https://linktr.ee/spookcentralstation If you have a story you&#39;d like to share or have me narrate, feel free to email me at:spookcentralstation@gmail.com Intro / Background Song: https://www.youtube.com/@Jaxius

They Never Left - Chapter 4 (The Forgotten Level)  The footsteps continued until sunrise. Not louder. Not closer. Just... constant. Every few seconds, another heavy step echoed up through the foundations of Black Ridge Observatory. No vibration. No measurable seismic activity. Just the unmistakable sound of something enormous walking beneath solid rock. No one slept. By morning, every member of the observatory looked exhausted. Coffee went untouched. Conversations were whispered. Even the military personnel stationed around the facility had abandoned their usual confidence. Several stood outside with their rifles trained toward the ground instead of the horizon. No one questioned why.  Ethan spent the early hours reviewing the original construction blueprints. Or at least... what the government had allowed them to keep. The observatory had officially opened in 1983. Three underground levels. Equipment storage. Archives. Power generation. Nothing unusual. Yet something kept bothering him. The elevator controls. Every elevator had buttons labeled B1, B2, and B3. But when he compared the mechanical schematics with the architectural plans... something didn't fit. The elevator shaft continued another twenty-three meters below B3. Ending... nowhere. No room. No corridor. Just an empty shaft extending into solid bedrock. Miguel leaned over Ethan's shoulder. "Someone erased a floor."  Director Cross was already waiting for them when they reached the elevator. She didn't seem surprised. "I wondered how long it would take." "You knew?" Ethan demanded. "I suspected." "You suspected there's an entire level missing from the blueprints?" Cross looked at the elevator doors. "No." "I suspected you'd eventually notice." Sarah folded her arms. "You've been lying to us since you arrived." "I've been delaying the inevitable." She reached into her pocket and produced a small brass key. It was old. Far older than the observatory itself. Dark with age, engraved with an unfamiliar spiral pattern that seemed to shift whenever Ethan looked away. Cross inserted the key into a tiny slot hidden beneath the elevator panel. There was a loud metallic click. A button illuminated. B4 None of them had ever seen it before.  The elevator descended. B1. B2. B3. Then... continued downward. The familiar hum of machinery faded. The temperature dropped sharply. Condensation formed on the steel walls. No one spoke. The digital floor indicator began displaying symbols instead of numbers. Ancient-looking geometric shapes. Lisa quietly whispered, "...Those are the same symbols from the binary map." The elevator stopped. The doors refused to open. Instead... something knocked. Three slow knocks. From the other side. No one moved. Miguel tightened his grip on his flashlight. Another knock. Then another. Finally... the doors slid open. The corridor beyond was empty.  Level B4 looked nothing like the rest of the observatory. The walls weren't concrete. They were carved directly into black stone. Smooth. Almost polished. No construction marks. No reinforcement beams. No wiring. It wasn't built. It had been uncovered. Emergency lights glowed faintly overhead, though none of them could identify a power source. The air felt unnaturally still. Every sound seemed muted. Even breathing. Sarah checked her radio. Dead. Miguel tried his. Nothing. Cross nodded. "They don't work here." "Why?" She didn't answer.  The first room they entered had once been a laboratory. At least... that was obvious from the rusting equipment. Desks had collapsed. Glass cabinets lay shattered. Dust covered everything. Except... the chairs. Each chair sat perfectly upright. As though someone had stood up moments before. Ethan noticed something written across one wall. Not painted. Scratched. Thousands of tiny marks. Repeated over and over. DON'T LOOK AT THEM WHEN THEY CLOSE THEIR EYES Lisa frowned. "What does that mean?" No one knew.  Farther down the corridor they found photographs. Dozens of them. Black-and-white. Yellowed with age. Scientists standing beside excavation equipment. Military officers shaking hands. Construction crews smiling proudly. The earliest photograph bore a handwritten date. October 3rd, 1958. Arthur had been right. Black Ridge hadn't been built in the eighties. It had existed decades earlier. Hidden. Classified. One photograph caught Ethan's attention. The workers stood around a massive circular hole in the ground. Behind them... a doorway. Perfectly round. Exactly like the one the soldier had entered in Archive B. On the back of the photograph someone had written: "We should never have opened it."  The corridor ended at a thick blast door. Unlike everything else below, this door was unmistakably man-made. Steel. Thirty centimeters thick. Painted with faded yellow warning stripes. Above it, embossed into the metal: CONTAINMENT VAULT ONE Miguel slowly looked toward Cross. "What exactly were they containing?" Cross closed her eyes. "I was hoping we'd never find out."  The door opened with a long, groaning hiss. Beyond lay a circular chamber nearly fifty meters across. The ceiling disappeared into darkness. Ancient stone surrounded a modern steel platform suspended above a vast pit. The pit had no visible bottom. Their flashlight beams simply... ended. As though swallowed. Around the platform stood twelve enormous stone pillars. Each carved with the same spiraling symbols Lisa had decoded from the signal. At the center of the platform rested a recording device. An old reel-to-reel tape recorder. It was already running. No power cable. No batteries. Yet the reels slowly turned. Waiting.  Sarah pressed PLAY. Static filled the chamber. Then... a man's voice. Calm. Professional. The recording crackled with age. "Log Entry One. Dr. Benjamin Hall. July 14th, 1959. We've confirmed the structure predates every known human civilization. Carbon dating is impossible. The stone appears older than the surrounding rock itself." The tape hissed. "Several workers claim they've begun hearing footsteps below the excavation. There is no lower chamber. We have dismissed these reports as stress." The recording skipped. "Log Entry Six." Three workers are missing. No signs of struggle. No exits from the chamber. Another skip. "Log Entry Eleven." The doorway opens by itself now. It only remains open for twenty-seven seconds. Ethan felt every muscle tense. Twenty-seven. Always twenty-seven. The tape continued. "Log Entry Fourteen." We've begun noticing an additional member during headcounts. Every morning there are twenty-three people. Every evening... there are twenty-four." Silence. The recorder clicked. Another voice began. Not Dr. Hall. Someone else. Terrified. Breathing hard. "If anyone finds this... don't trust the photographs." The man sobbed. "They change." A loud metallic bang echoed through the recording. People screaming. Running. Then... one final sentence. Whispered. "It's learning our faces." The tape stopped.  No one spoke. The silence felt heavier than the darkness. Finally Miguel broke it. "How many people worked here?" Cross answered quietly. "Twenty-three." Sarah slowly looked at the recorder. The blood drained from her face. "There were twenty-four voices on that tape."  Something moved. Not in the chamber. Behind them. Every flashlight swung toward the doorway. Nothing. The corridor remained empty. Then Ethan noticed it. The group's shadows. There were six of them. Ethan. Lisa. Sarah. Miguel. Cross. The soldier accompanying them. Six shadows. He counted again. Seven. One extra shadow stretched across the stone floor. But no seventh person stood there. The extra silhouette slowly lifted its arm. No one else moved. It pointed toward the pit. Then... it stepped forward. Its owner... did not exist. The shadow disappeared over the edge. Seconds later... something impossibly deep below answered with a heartbeat. THUMP The entire chamber trembled. Dust drifted from the unseen ceiling. Then another sound followed. Not a heartbeat. A breath. Long. Ancient. Patient. As though something beneath the platform had just awakened after sleeping for millions of years.  Miguel backed away from the edge. His flashlight slipped from his hand. It fell into the pit. Everyone watched the beam descend. Five seconds. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. Thirty. Still falling. Then... the light stopped. Not because it hit the bottom. Because something caught it. Far below, beyond any reasonable depth... a pale hand emerged from the darkness. Too large to belong to any human. Its fingers wrapped gently around the flashlight. For a moment... the beam illuminated a face. Gray skin. Featureless except for two enormous black eyes. It smiled. Then the light went out.  The chamber's emergency lights flickered violently. Every symbol carved into the twelve pillars began glowing with a faint blue light. Lisa stared at them in horror. "They're changing." The symbols weren't glowing. They were moving. Like thousands of tiny insects crawling beneath translucent stone. The spiral patterns slowly rearranged themselves into new shapes. Letters. English. One pillar. Then another. Then another. Until every pillar displayed the same sentence. THE DOOR REMEMBERS WHO OPENED IT Cross whispered a single word. "No..." Ethan looked at her. "What?" She stared at the pit. Voice trembling for the first time. "Acheron..." No one understood. Then she finished the sentence. "It wasn't the first observatory."  A deafening metallic groan echoed through the chamber. The massive blast door behind them began sliding shut. On its own. Miguel lunged toward it. Too late. The door slammed closed with earth-shaking force. The locking bolts engaged. One by one. Six enormous steel pins. Each striking home like the firing of a cannon. They were trapped. Then... from somewhere beyond the sealed door... came footsteps. Not below them this time. Outside. Walking slowly down the corridor. Toward the chamber. One step. Then another. Then another. And there were far more than before. Not hundreds. Thousands.

They Never Left (The Forgotten Level) - Part Four

https://s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/pod-public-media-files/2026/8/28/14/3939e372-832d-4ddd-a2c1-b11b956b841e_redcircle.mp3

Good evening Guys, Ghouls and Girls! Thank you for watching the latest narrated story. &#34;Every predator has a way of announcing itself. The most dangerous ones don&#39;t. They simply let you notice them...&#34; The investigation deepens as we return to the facility beneath the satellite dishes. A man is held in a stark interrogation room, while cryptic warnings like REMEMBER YOU appear scrawled on the walls. This installment of our creepy mystery follows the team as they confront the unsettling truth about what has been watching them from the shadows all along. If you enjoy a supernatural thriller, this story will keep you guessing until the very end. We explore the tension between the guards and the disheveled man, piecing together the code and the secrets left behind in this dark facility. These scary stories are designed to keep you on the edge of your seat. Please make sure to like, comment and subscribe for weekly content! Thanks for watching and stay spooky! 👻 Find me and add me on everything over at my Linktree: https://linktr.ee/spookcentralstation If you have a story you&#39;d like to share or have me narrate, feel free to email me at:spookcentralstation@gmail.com Intro Song/Background Music: https://www.youtube.com/@Jaxius

They Never Left - Chapter Three - The Visitor   The second heartbeat didn't echo through the observatory. It echoed through the people inside it. Ethan staggered backward, clutching the edge of the operations console as an intense pressure spread through his chest. For an instant, he was certain his own heart had stopped. Across the room, Sarah doubled over, gasping. Miguel dropped to one knee. Even Director Evelyn Cross whose calm had seemed almost inhuman since arriving closed her eyes and steadied herself against the wall. Then the sensation disappeared. Every monitor flickered back to life. Power had returned. Yet none of the backup systems showed signs of restarting. According to every diagnostic screen, the observatory had never lost electricity at all. Sarah stared at the readings. "...That's impossible." "It happened," Miguel muttered. "The computers disagree."  Outside... the rainwater covering the desert had vanished. Not evaporated. Just gone. The ground was bone dry. Every puddle. Every creek. Every muddy tire track left by the military convoy... had disappeared as though the storm had never happened. Ethan walked outside just after dawn. The air smelled different. Metallic. Like fresh blood and ozone before lightning. Hundreds of flies circled something near Dish Number Seven. Miguel reached it first. He immediately stopped walking. There should have been footprints surrounding the dish. Instead... the earth was perfectly smooth. Not a single mark. No tire tracks. No animal prints. Not even the footprints they'd left only hours earlier. The red dirt looked untouched. Except for one thing. A circle. Nearly thirty meters across. The soil inside it had turned black. Not burned but changed. Every blade of grass within the boundary had become brittle, gray, and lifeless. Arthur crouched beside it. His weathered fingers brushed the strange earth. He frowned. "This isn't ash." Lisa knelt beside him. "It's glass." Everyone looked at her. "The sand..." she whispered. "It melted."  By mid-morning, samples had been sent to the laboratory. The results made no sense. The ground had been exposed to temperatures exceeding three thousand degrees Celsius. Yet nothing had burned. No smoke. No scorch marks. No heat damage. The sand had simply... become something else.  At 11:42 a.m., Sarah found the first discrepancy. She was reviewing archived security footage from the previous week, trying to determine exactly when the strange events had begun. She froze. "Ethan." He walked over. "What is it?" She rewound the footage. A perfectly ordinary recording. The cafeteria. Scientists eating lunch. Miguel laughing at one of Arthur's terrible jokes. Nothing unusual. Then Sarah pointed toward the corner of the screen. A reflection. In the cafeteria window. Someone stood outside. Watching. Tall. Motionless. Almost impossible to notice. "What day was this?" Sarah swallowed. "Nine days before the signal." The room became silent. Ethan slowly looked at Director Cross. "You said this started last week." Cross didn't answer. Sarah clicked through older recordings. Ten days. Two weeks. Three weeks. Every single recording contained the same figure. Always in the background. Always watching. No one had noticed before. The figure had been there... long before the heartbeat arrived.  That afternoon, Arthur disappeared. No alarms sounded. No doors opened. He simply... failed to arrive for lunch. Miguel searched the observatory. Nothing. Sarah checked security footage. Arthur entered the library at 12:07. He never came back out. The library had only one entrance. No windows. No hidden passages. The footage never cut. He simply... never exited. The search team forced the door. The room was empty. Arthur's reading glasses rested on an open book. His coffee remained warm. His notebook lay open on the table. The final sentence stopped halfway across the page. "The stars are not..." Nothing else.  That night... someone knocked on Ethan's door. Three slow knocks. He checked his watch. 2:17 a.m.  He opened the door. The hallway was empty. He looked left. Nothing. Right. Nothing. As he closed the door... he heard another knock. Behind him. Inside his room. Ethan spun around. No one. His laptop screen had switched itself on. Words appeared one letter at a time. LOOK OUTSIDE His blood ran cold. The curtains moved gently in the wind. He approached the window. The floodlights illuminated the empty desert. Nothing. Then... he noticed the radio dishes. Every one of them faced the observatory. Not the sky. Not space. The building. As though twelve enormous mechanical eyes were staring directly at him. A shape stood between them. The same impossibly tall figure. Closer than ever before. Its face remained hidden. It slowly raised one arm. Not waving. Pointing. Toward Ethan's room. The lights went out.  The emergency generator kicked in after only two seconds. When the lights returned... the figure had vanished. But something else hadn't. Condensation covered the inside of Ethan's window. Someone had written three words across the glass. WE REMEMBER YOU Not from outside. But from inside the room.  The next morning, Ethan didn't tell anyone. Not because he thought they'd dismiss him. Because he believed they'd experienced something similar. He was right. Lisa hadn't slept. She claimed she'd spent the night listening to someone humming outside her bedroom door. The melody never changed. Whenever she looked through the peephole... the hallway was empty. Miguel confessed he'd seen Arthur standing in the machine workshop. Alive. Smiling. He'd followed him inside. The room had been empty. Sarah quietly admitted that every computer she touched now displayed files she'd never created. Each file contained a single photograph. The same black sphere behind the Moon. Each image had been taken from a different angle. As if someone... or something... was photographing it from nearby.  Director Cross finally spoke. "They've begun observing individually." Silence. Ethan looked at her. "'They?'" Cross took a long breath. "When I was twenty-six years old, I worked at another facility." No one interrupted. "It wasn't called Black Ridge." "It was called Acheron Station." "Western Antarctica." Arthur had mentioned it once. Official records claimed Acheron had been abandoned after structural damage. Cross looked down. "That's the cover story." The room remained still. "We received the same signal." Every face turned toward her. "It lasted thirteen days." "And then?" Cross's expression hardened. "Nobody survived."  Miguel leaned forward. "Except you." Cross nodded once. "I wasn't inside." "What happened?" She was silent for several moments. Finally... "The people inside Acheron stopped recognising one another." Lisa frowned. "What does that mean?" "They remembered different lives." Different childhoods. Different parents. Different histories. One scientist insisted he'd been born in ancient Rome. Another claimed Earth had two moons. Another screamed for six hours because everyone else's faces were wrong. Cross's voice had become almost mechanical. "They weren't hallucinating." "They were remembering." "Remembering what?" Ethan whispered. She looked directly at him. "I don't know."  That afternoon, military satellites confirmed the impossible. The black sphere had moved. Not across space. Closer. No propulsion. No measurable speed. It was simply... closer than before. Astronomers argued endlessly over the calculations. One estimate placed it nearly fifty thousand kilometers nearer than the previous day. Another insisted it had never moved at all. Neither explanation fit. The only certainty... was that everyone measuring it arrived at a different answer. As if distance itself had become unreliable.  Just after sunset... the observatory received a visitor. Not the tall figure. A man. Middle-aged. Dirty. Barefoot. He emerged from the desert carrying no supplies. No vehicle. No water. Nothing. Security stopped him at the gate. He smiled politely. "I've been walking." "For how long?" Miguel asked. The man looked confused. "A few hours." The nearest road was over two hundred kilometers away. He should have been dead. Instead... he appeared perfectly healthy. Cross immediately ordered him detained. The man never resisted. He only asked one question. "Has the heartbeat started yet?" No one answered. He smiled wider. "I thought so."  The interrogation lasted nearly four hours. His name was Daniel Rourke. Or at least... that's what he claimed. Government databases contained no record of him. No birth certificate. No driver's licence. No fingerprints. Nothing. It was as though he had never existed. Ethan watched through the observation glass. Daniel seemed oddly relaxed. Almost relieved. Finally, he looked directly toward the mirror. Toward Ethan. Though he shouldn't have been able to see through it. He smiled. Then he said quietly, "You still think they're arriving." Ethan felt a chill spread through him. Daniel's smile widened. "They're not." He leaned closer to the glass. "They've been here much longer than we have." The lights flickered. Just once. When they returned... Daniel Rourke was gone. Not escaped. Gone. His handcuffs remained locked to the chair. The steel table was untouched. The room had no windows. No hidden exits. Only an empty chair... slowly rocking back and forth.  At exactly 2:17 that night... every clock inside Black Ridge Observatory stopped. Not failed. Stopped. All displaying the same time. 2:17. Every digital clock. Every wristwatch. Every analogue wall clock. Even the antique grandfather clock in Arthur's office. Time itself seemed to hesitate. Then, from somewhere deep below the observatory... came the sound of heavy footsteps. Not one pair. Hundreds. Slow. Measured. Moving upward. Toward them. Though everyone knew... there was nothing beneath Black Ridge Observatory except solid Australian bedrock. Or at least... that was what the blueprints claimed.

They Never Left (The Visitor) - Part Three

https://s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/pod-public-media-files/2026/8/19/12/a5eacf1f-346f-4757-9bbd-a4860c63046a_chapter_2.mp3

Good evening Guys, Ghouls and Girls! Thank you for listening to the latest narrated story. &#34;Every civilisation believes it will be the first to understand the stars.None of them realise the stars have been watching back.&#34; The signal has been found. But Ethan Thorne is beginning to realise that finding it may have been the worst mistake of his life. After the terrifying discovery beneath Black Ridge Observatory, the team begins uncovering evidence that something has been watching the facility for far longer than anyone could have imagined. Strange voices appear over the radio. Security footage captures things that shouldn&#39;t be there. And members of the team begin experiencing disturbing visions of places they&#39;ve never visited... and people they&#39;ve never met. But when Ethan discovers that the mysterious transmission contains a message hidden beneath the signal, one terrifying question emerges: Who was the message actually meant for? As the night deepens, the observatory begins behaving in ways that defy every law of science. Doors open by themselves. Lights flicker in rooms no one has entered. And somewhere beneath the facility... something begins to move. Put on your headphones, turn down the lights, and whatever you do... don&#39;t answer the signal. Please make sure to like, comment and subscribe! Thanks for watching and stay spooky! 👻 Find me and add me on everything over at my Linktree: https://linktr.ee/spookcentralstation If you have a story you&#39;d like to share or have me narrate, feel free to email me at:spookcentralstation@gmail.com Intro Song / Background music: https://www.youtube.com/@Jaxius

THEY NEVER LEFT  Chapter Two – The Black Sphere  Nobody moved. Not immediately. The security monitor continued displaying the impossible image. The pale figure clung effortlessly to the ceiling of the underground archive, limbs bent at angles that seemed to ignore anatomy. Its elongated fingers were spread wide against the concrete like the legs of an enormous spider. The fluorescent light buzzed above it, flickering in a rhythm disturbingly close to the twenty-seven-second pulse that had haunted the observatory for days. Then... the feed went black. Not with static. Not with interference. Simply black. Sarah's hands flew across her keyboard. "I've lost Camera C-12." "What about the others?" Ethan asked. She clicked through every camera in the underground level. One by one... each screen faded into darkness. The hallway. The archive. The storage rooms. The emergency stairwell. Nothing. It was as if the cameras were still recording... but light itself had vanished. Miguel was already pulling a heavy flashlight from the emergency cabinet. "I'm going down." Director Evelyn Cross stepped in front of him. "No." Miguel frowned. "If someone's inside—" "If something is inside," Cross corrected quietly, "you are not equipped to deal with it." Arthur looked up sharply. "You've seen this before." Cross didn't answer. Instead, she pressed a finger to the earpiece hidden beneath her hair. Within seconds, the unmistakable sound of helicopter rotors echoed outside. More personnel. More soldiers. All carrying equipment that looked nothing like conventional weapons.  Thirty minutes later, the underground archive was filled with armed security teams. Ethan watched from the control room as helmet cameras streamed live footage back to the monitors. Concrete walls. Steel shelving. Dust. Nothing unusual. The first team reached Camera C-12. Its housing had been ripped clean off the ceiling. Not smashed. Not cut. Removed. The mounting bolts remained perfectly intact. Only the camera itself was gone. "Where is it?" Sarah whispered. No one answered. The team advanced deeper. Every camera along the corridor had vanished in exactly the same way. Not broken. Missing. One soldier swept his flashlight across the ceiling. Empty. Another examined the floor. No footprints. No drag marks. No sign that anyone.. or anything.. had ever been there. The squad leader's voice crackled over the radio. "Archive appears secure." Cross nodded once. "Continue." The soldiers reached the final door. ARCHIVE B. Unused since the observatory expanded decades earlier. The electronic lock refused to respond. Miguel frowned. "It shouldn't have power." One of the soldiers forced the handle. The heavy steel door groaned open. Their lights swept across the room. Thousands of old paper files filled rusting shelves. Dust drifted lazily through the air. Everything looked untouched. Then one soldier stopped walking. His breathing became audible through the microphone. "Sir..." "What is it?" "My footsteps." Everyone listened. His boots echoed across the concrete. But there was another sound. A second set of footsteps. Perfectly synchronised. Always one step behind. No matter where he walked. The room was empty. Yet something... was following him.  The audio abruptly filled with a deafening low-frequency hum. Every helmet camera glitched simultaneously. Frames skipped. Images smeared. The soldiers shouted over one another. "What is that?" "My compass is spinning!" "I've lost GPS!" One camera briefly stabilized. The viewers in the control room collectively held their breath. At the far end of Archive B stood a doorway. None of the observatory blueprints showed a doorway. It hadn't existed twenty seconds earlier. It was perfectly round. Matte black. No hinges. No frame. Simply... an opening. Inside... there was no light. No darkness either. Just an absence that hurt to look at. One soldier took a cautious step forward. Cross stood abruptly. "No!" Too late. The man crossed the threshold. His camera feed froze. His heartbeat monitor flatlined instantly. No scream. No gunfire. Nothing. He had simply... ceased. The doorway vanished. Leaving only a blank concrete wall. The remaining soldiers ran. None of them spoke until they reached the surface. One helmet camera was missing. No one remembered losing it.  That evening, the heartbeat changed. Twenty-seven seconds. Then twenty-six. Then twenty-seven again. Lisa stared at the waveform for hours. Finally she whispered, "It's adapting."  Outside... the rain finally stopped. For the first time in days, the sky cleared. Millions of stars filled the heavens. Arthur carried an old brass telescope onto the observation deck. "I want visual confirmation." Ethan joined him. "You don't trust the radio telescopes anymore?" Arthur laughed softly. "I don't trust anything anymore." He adjusted the telescope toward the coordinates of the mysterious signal. Then froze. His face drained of color. "Ethan." "What?" "Come here." Ethan leaned toward the eyepiece. At first... he saw nothing. Then... something moved. Not across space. Across the stars themselves. Imagine standing beneath clouds. Now imagine those clouds were perfectly invisible except where they blocked the stars behind them. An enormous circular shadow drifted silently across the sky. No lights. No engines. No reflection. Only absence. Its edge eclipsed dozens of stars at once. Then hundreds. Then thousands. Ethan slowly stepped away from the telescope. "How..." Arthur whispered. "It wasn't there yesterday."  Within hours, observatories around the world began reporting impossible observations. The object had no orbit. No measurable velocity. No infrared signature. Astronomers couldn't calculate its size because every attempt produced different answers. Some estimated fifty kilometers. Others... over five hundred. It was as though distance itself refused to apply. Governments publicly dismissed the reports. The internet filled with blurry images. Most were fake. One wasn't. The photograph spread across social media before authorities removed it. A perfect black sphere. Suspended behind the Moon. No shadows. No reflected sunlight. Simply... black. People called it a camera glitch. An eclipse. A classified satellite. Conspiracy forums exploded overnight. Then the image disappeared from every major website. Except... someone had already downloaded it. Sarah stared at the file on her private laptop. Its timestamp changed every few minutes. Not the creation date. The future date. According to the metadata... the photograph wouldn't be taken for another eleven days.  At 2:17 a.m., the observatory lost power. Emergency lights illuminated the corridors in dim crimson. Backup generators failed. Battery systems shut down. Every electrical device died. Except one. The old analogue radio in Arthur's office. A relic from the 1970s. It crackled to life by itself. Static. Then... a voice. Not English. Not any language Ethan recognized. Dozens of voices layered together. Speaking simultaneously. Forward. Backward. Whispering. Crying. Laughing. Sarah began recording. Lisa covered her ears. Arthur leaned closer. The voices stopped. One clear sentence emerged. Soft. Almost gentle. "We found you." The radio exploded. Glass filled the room. Silence returned. Outside... every radio dish slowly began rotating again. No motors. No power. Yet twelve structures weighing hundreds of tons turned in perfect unison. Facing upward. Not toward deep space. Toward the black sphere behind the Moon. The heartbeat came again. THUMP The entire observatory shook. Dust fell from the ceiling. A hairline crack appeared across the concrete floor of the control room. Miguel knelt beside it. "What the..." The crack wasn't random. It curved. Perfectly. Slowly completing itself. A circle. Exactly three meters across. The same diameter as the impossible doorway that had appeared underground. No one spoke. No one moved. Then, from somewhere deep beneath the observatory... something answered. Not with a sound. With another heartbeat. Slower. Far louder. And ancient. As though something unimaginably vast had been sleeping beneath Black Ridge long before the first human ever walked the Australian desert. And now... it knew they were there.

They Never Left (The Black Sphere) - Part Two

https://s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/pod-public-media-files/2026/8/13/13/3820d3b1-e6e6-4eb7-a1d5-f42dfa7ac637_podcast.mp3

Good evening Guys, Ghouls and Girls! Thank you for listening to the latest narrated story - this is the first part of ten, all of which had me hooked so I do hope you tune into them all if you can. &#34;&#34;There are sounds in the universe that humanity was never meant to hear. This is one of them.&#34; When astronomer Ethan Thorne detects a strange signal coming from deep space, he expects to find evidence of distant life. Instead, he discovers a transmission that appears to be responding directly to him. As strange occurrences begin spreading throughout Black Ridge Observatory, Ethan and his colleagues uncover disturbing evidence that the signal may not have come from space at all. Something has been buried beneath the observatory for decades. Something that was never supposed to be found. As the mystery deepens, unexplained disappearances, impossible recordings, strange symbols, and terrifying encounters begin to reveal a horrifying possibility... The aliens aren&#39;t coming. They&#39;ve already been here. Please make sure to like, comment and subscribe! Thanks for watching and stay spooky! 👻 Find me and add me on everything over at my Linktree: https://linktr.ee/spookcentralstation If you have a story you&#39;d like to share or have me narrate, feel free to email me at:spookcentralstation@gmail.com Intro and background music: https://www.youtube.com/@Jaxius

THEY NEVER LEFT CHAPTER ONE THE SIGNAL  Rain wasn't supposed to fall in the Australian heartland. Yet it had rained for three straight days. The desert surrounding Black Ridge Observatory had transformed into a landscape of cracked earth and shallow pools that reflected a sky the color of bruised steel. Lightning flickered silently beyond the distant hills, illuminating the enormous radio dishes that crowned the ridge like giant white skeletons staring into infinity. The locals had a saying. "When the desert drinks, something wakes." Dr. Ethan Thorne had always dismissed stories like that. He believed in measurable things. Numbers. Physics. Radio frequencies. The universe obeyed laws, and if something appeared impossible, it simply meant humanity hadn't understood the mathematics yet. That certainty was why he had accepted the transfer to Black Ridge. It was one of the most isolated astronomical research facilities on Earth, hidden deep in the outback, more than two hundred kilometers from the nearest township. No city lights polluted the sky. No commercial radio signals interfered with the telescopes. Out here, the silence of space arrived unfiltered. For Ethan, it was paradise. At least... it had been.  The observatory housed twelve scientists and engineers, each an expert in their field. Dr. Lisa Chen specialized in signal analysis. Quiet and brilliant, she had a habit of solving impossible mathematical puzzles while absentmindedly humming classical music. Miguel Alvarez maintained the massive dish arrays. Former Royal Australian Air Force, he trusted machinery more than people. Sarah Holloway oversaw the satellite uplinks and communications. She could fix almost any system with a roll of electrical tape and enough coffee. Then there was Professor Arthur Hayes. Arthur had spent forty years searching for intelligent life beyond Earth. He was the sort of scientist who had stopped caring whether colleagues laughed at him. "We're not alone," he'd often say. "The universe is far too old for that." Everyone else agreed. But agreeing something probably existed somewhere... was very different from expecting it to call.  At precisely 2:17 a.m., the observatory's silence shattered. Every monitor in the control room flashed red. UNAUTHORIZED DISH MOVEMENT DETECTED Miguel looked up from his maintenance log. "What the hell?" The massive motors outside groaned. One after another, every radio telescope rotated simultaneously. No one had issued a command. Sarah frowned. "I'm locked out." "Locked out of what?" "Everything." Her fingers flew across the keyboard. Nothing responded. The dishes continued turning. Slowly. Deliberately. Until all twelve pointed toward exactly the same patch of empty sky. Then they stopped. Every alarm ceased. Silence returned. For several seconds, no one spoke. Arthur finally broke it. "...Record everything."  Lisa routed the incoming data to the central servers. At first... nothing appeared unusual. Background cosmic radiation. Hydrogen emissions. The familiar static hum of deep space. Then the speakers crackled. One sharp burst. Another. A low vibration rolled through the room—not loud, but impossibly deep, as though it had traveled an unimaginable distance before arriving. The waveform appeared on every monitor. Perfect. Symmetrical. Nothing in nature looked like it. "...That's artificial," Lisa whispered. "No," Arthur replied. His voice had become strangely quiet. "It's intentional." The room listened. Twenty-seven seconds passed. Then... THUMP Not through the speakers. Through the building. Coffee rippled in mugs. Computer screens vibrated. The windows trembled. Everyone looked around. "What was that?" Sarah asked. No one answered. Twenty-seven more seconds passed. Again. THUMP This time Ethan felt it in his chest. Not heard. Not seen. Felt. Like standing too close to an enormous engine buried miles underground. Miguel checked the seismic monitors. Nothing. No earthquakes. No heavy vehicles. No weather disturbances. Yet something... had shaken the entire observatory.  By sunrise, they had ruled out every obvious explanation. Solar interference. Satellite reflections. Equipment malfunction. Military transmissions. Nothing matched. The signal continued. Exactly every twenty-seven seconds. Never changing. Never drifting. As though the universe itself possessed a heartbeat.  Three days later... the government arrived. No warning. Three black helicopters settled onto the landing pad just after dawn. Men and women stepped out wearing plain gray uniforms with no insignias, no ranks, and no names. Their leader introduced herself simply as Director Evelyn Cross. She smiled politely. It never reached her eyes. "From this point forward," she announced, "Black Ridge Observatory is under federal authority." Sarah frowned. "Federal authority for what?" Cross ignored the question. Mobile phones were collected. Internet access disappeared. The satellite uplink was disconnected. Every road leading to the observatory was closed. Officially, they remained free to continue their research. Unofficially... they had become prisoners.  That night Ethan couldn't sleep. The heartbeat continued. Twenty-seven seconds. Always twenty-seven. He wandered into the observation dome. Arthur was already there. The old astronomer hadn't shaved in days. Dark circles framed bloodshot eyes. "You hear it too?" Arthur asked without turning around. "Hear what?" "The silence between the beats." Ethan frowned. "What do you mean?" Arthur slowly looked toward him. "I've spent forty years listening to space." He gestured toward the stars. "Space is noisy." Pulsars. Quasars. Gamma bursts. Everything makes noise. But every time that signal pulses... everything else goes quiet. As if the universe itself stops... to listen." A chill crept down Ethan's spine. Arthur wasn't joking. He genuinely looked frightened.  The following afternoon, Lisa burst into the control room carrying pages of handwritten calculations. "I've got something." Everyone gathered around. "The interval isn't constant." "It is," Miguel replied. "I measured it." "No." Lisa spread her pages across the table. "The heartbeat stays constant." "The silence doesn't." Tiny differences. Milliseconds, even. Almost impossible to detect. She had converted the pauses into binary. Rows of zeros and ones filled the page. Sarah stared. "...That's impossible." "It gets worse." Lisa typed several commands. The binary transformed into numbers. Prime numbers. Thousands of them. Perfectly ordered. Arthur slowly removed his glasses. "It's mathematics." "No," Lisa whispered. "It's a map." She overlaid the numbers onto a three-dimensional star chart. Gasps filled the room. A pathway emerged. Crossing interstellar space. Passing ancient pulsars. Weaving through black holes. Ending... here. Not Earth. Not the Solar System. Black Ridge Observatory.  Nobody noticed Director Cross standing in the doorway until she spoke. "Shut it down." Silence. Arthur folded his arms. "You can't seriously expect us to ignore this." "I don't expect anything." Her voice remained calm. "I am ordering it." Lisa looked horrified. "You already knew." Cross didn't answer. She simply stared at the star map. For just a fraction of a second... her expression changed. Fear. Real fear. Then it was gone. "You've all been working under the assumption that this signal is trying to communicate." She looked around the room. "It isn't." Nobody breathed. "It's searching."  That night... every security camera at Black Ridge Observatory failed simultaneously. For exactly twenty-seven seconds. When the feeds returned... someone was standing outside Dish Number Seven. No vehicle had entered. No gates had opened. No footprints appeared in the mud. Just... a figure. Nearly seven feet tall. Perfectly still. Watching the observatory. Its body looked vaguely human beneath the rain. Long arms. Narrow shoulders. An unnaturally elongated neck. Its face was hidden by darkness despite the floodlights aimed directly at it. Miguel zoomed the camera. The image distorted. Pixels tore across the screen. The figure never moved. Sarah switched to thermal imaging. Nothing. No heat signature. No cold signature. It was as though the rain itself refused to touch whatever stood outside. Then... every monitor inside the control room flickered. Once. Twice. Three times. When the picture stabilized... the figure was gone. The dish remained empty. The rain continued falling. No tracks. No evidence. Nothing. Miguel swallowed hard. "...Did anyone open the doors?" Everyone looked at one another. Nobody had. Then the observatory's motion detector chimed. ACCESS DETECTED Not outside. Inside. Sector C. The underground archive. The oldest part of the facility. A place no one had entered in nearly twenty years. The security camera connected. The corridor was empty. Dust drifted lazily through the beam of a flickering fluorescent light. Everything seemed normal. Until the camera slowly... tilted. Not by command. Not by malfunction. As though someone had reached out... and gently turned it upward. There, standing impossibly close to the ceiling, clinging upside down like an enormous pale insect, was the same impossibly tall figure. Its head rotated one hundred and eighty degrees. And for the first time... it smiled.

They Never Left (The Signal) - Part One

https://s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/pod-public-media-files/2026/8/6/15/2c05232c-6fba-4cbe-a834-aaa9ca9a7dad_spook_chatter_episode_6-_carroll_eddie_cole.mp3

Intro Song: https://www.youtube.com/@JaxiusGood evening Guys, Ghouls and Girls! Thank you for watching the latest Spook Chatter where we discussed the strangling serial killer, Carroll &#34;Eddie&#34; Cole. Please share your thoughts in the comments, I&#39;m very interested to know what you think. Please make sure to like, comment and subscribe! Thanks for watching and stay spooky! 👻Find me and add me on everything over at my Linktree: https://linktr.ee/spookcentralstationIf you have a story you&#39;d like to share or have me narrate, feel free to email me at:spookcentralstation@gmail.com Reference links used for research:https://www.orlandosentinel.com/2019/01/19/please-kill-me-now-serial-slayer-says-hes-pure-evil-shuns-all-appeals-gets-his-wish/ https://www.ipl.org/essay/Carroll-Edward-Cole-Lust-Serial-Killer-E52ABDDEC396614F https://www.reddit.com/r/HistoryPorn/comments/1rabg3q/serial_killer_carroll_cole_47_prepares_to_light_a/ https://murderpedia.org/male.C/c1/cole-carroll-edward.htm https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carroll_Cole https://www.nytimes.com/1985/12/07/us/confessed-murderer-of-13-is-executed-in-nevada.html https://maamodt.asp.radford.edu/Psyc%20405/serial%20killers/Cole,%20Carroll%20-%202005.pdf https://grokipedia.com/page/Carroll_Cole https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LWJg6nVGDSk&amp;t=13s

Spook Chatter Episode 6: Carroll "Eddie" Cole

https://s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/pod-public-media-files/2026/7/29/14/51ef860d-b8a7-43a0-8ca0-7211530e73a2_red_circle.mp3

Intro Song: https://www.youtube.com/@Jaxius Good evening Guys, Ghouls and Girls! Thank you for watching the latest narrated story. This is the second and final part of this story.Did you enjoy this story? Would you like more stories similar to this? Please let me know by reaching out via any of my social media links. *DISCLAIMER* Some if not all of this story was written with the help of AI. Please make sure to like, comment and subscribe! Thanks for watching and stay spooky! 👻 Find me and add me on everything over at my Linktree: https://linktr.ee/spookcentralstation If you have a story you&#39;d like to share or have me narrate, feel free to email me at:spookcentralstation@gmail.com

The Hollow Choir – Part 2: The Borrowed I made one mistake. I answered the knocking. Not by opening the door. By speaking. Three knocks echoed through my apartment wall. Slow. Measured. Patient. I don't know why I did it. Maybe exhaustion. Maybe fear had hollowed me out enough that curiosity slipped in. I whispered one word. "Who?" The knocking stopped immediately. Silence settled over the apartment so completely that I could hear the hum of my refrigerator from two rooms away. Then a voice answered from inside my bedroom. "You already know." I didn't think. I grabbed the baseball bat leaning beside the couch and charged toward the room. It was empty. The window remained locked. The closet stood open exactly as I'd left it. Nothing. Until I noticed the bed. Someone had been sitting there. The mattress still carried the imprint of a body. And pine needles covered my pillow.  I fled before sunset. I packed whatever fit into my camera bag, withdrew every dollar I had, switched off my phone, and drove. No destination. Just away. By midnight I had crossed into another state. The knocking followed. Not at my apartment. Not in my car. It came from beneath highway overpasses as I drove beneath them. Three hollow taps. Three more from somewhere in the darkness. Service stations. Rest stops. Motel rooms. Always the same rhythm. Knock. Knock. Knock. Like something walking just outside reality, keeping pace with me.  On the third day I met another survivor. He found me first. I was eating alone at a roadside diner when an old man slid into the booth opposite mine. He looked like he'd slept in the woods for twenty years. Long gray beard. Sunken eyes. Hands covered in pale scars. Without introducing himself, he reached across the table and turned my coffee mug. Etched into the bottom with a fingertip was the same symbol from the staircase. I dropped the cup. It shattered across the floor. He never flinched. "They've started marking your belongings." My throat tightened. "You know them." "I escaped." "You escaped?" "No." He looked out the rain-streaked window. "I delayed them."  His name was Ellis. Thirty-eight years earlier he had vanished during a camping trip. Officially, he'd been missing for twelve days. He claimed he'd spent twelve years inside Black Briar. Time, he said, didn't obey clocks there. The forest breathed. When it inhaled, days disappeared. When it exhaled, decades passed outside. I laughed. Not because I thought he was lying. Because I remembered the missing ribbons. The impossible staircase. The altar that vanished by morning. Deep down... I believed him immediately.  Ellis refused to speak inside buildings. He led me into an abandoned quarry miles outside town. Only there did he finally explain. "The Choir isn't a cult." "What?" "It's older than that." "I saw them kill someone." "No." His expression darkened. "You saw them feed." He picked up a stone and drew a circle in the dust. Inside it he sketched a crude tree. "The forest is alive." I stared. "It isn't made of trees." He tapped the drawing. "The trees are growing on it."  According to Ellis, centuries ago settlers discovered something buried beneath Black Briar. Not bones. Not ruins. Something alive. Something enormous. They never found its beginning or end. Only roots thicker than houses disappearing into impossible darkness. Animals refused to cross over it. Water flowed away from it. Compasses spun wildly. The settlers tried to burn it. The fire lasted eleven days. When the smoke cleared... the forest had doubled in size. That winter every person involved disappeared. Their families found only neatly folded clothing arranged around fresh pine saplings. Years later the first Choir formed. Not to worship. To bargain. Blood kept the thing sleeping. Witnesses kept the bargain alive. Every person who escaped the forest became part of the agreement. Borrowed. Never truly released.  Ellis rolled up his sleeve. Across his forearm stretched rows of tiny scars. Perfectly straight. Hundreds of them. "They count the years." "Who does?" "The Borrowers." Before I could ask another question, his expression changed. He wasn't looking at me anymore. He was staring behind me. My skin turned cold. Very slowly... I turned. Someone stood at the edge of the quarry. A little girl. Maybe eight years old. White dress. Bare feet. Her face hidden by long black hair. For a moment, I thought she was the girl from the ring. She raised one hand. Not waving. Pointing. Behind us. Ellis whispered one word. "Run."  The quarry exploded with sound. Hundreds of voices began singing somewhere underground. Not human singing. The notes were too deep. Too many. As though an entire cathedral choir had learned to breathe underwater. The earth cracked beneath our feet. Hands emerged. Gray hands. Thin as roots. Dozens. Then hundreds. Pulling themselves from the stone itself. Their fingers were impossibly long, each ending in polished black nails. No bodies followed. Only arms. They clawed toward us, dragging themselves over rock without shoulders or torsos. Ellis fired a flare into the air. Brilliant red light flooded the quarry. The singing faltered. The hands recoiled. "They hate fire!" We sprinted uphill. The child never moved. She simply watched us pass. As I ran by... her hair lifted slightly. She had no face. Only smooth white skin. Like wet paper stretched across a skull.  Ellis's truck waited beside the road. We were twenty feet away when something struck him. Not from behind. From below. The asphalt bulged. A root thicker than my waist erupted upward. It pierced his chest clean through. He never screamed. He only looked at me. "They..." Blood filled his mouth. "...know..." The root pulled downward. Ellis vanished into the road as though the earth had become liquid. The asphalt sealed behind him. Gone. No hole. No blood. Nothing. Only silence.  I drove until dawn. The truck wasn't mine. Yet the keys fit. Inside the glove compartment I found a leather journal. Ellis had written in it for decades. Every page described the Choir. The symbols. The sacrifices. The things that wandered between the trees. Then the entries changed. His handwriting grew frantic. Messier. As if someone else had been moving his hand. One sentence appeared over and over. Don't let them count you. Hundreds of times. Near the end... only one page remained. It wasn't written in ink. It was scratched into the paper so deeply it nearly tore through. If you hear your own voice calling from the woods... ...you've already been replaced.  I pulled onto the shoulder to clear my head. The sun had finally risen. For the first time in days, I felt safe. Then my phone buzzed. No signal. No service. Yet somehow... a voicemail had arrived. It showed no number. No timestamp. Just one minute and forty-two seconds of audio. I pressed play. At first I heard only wind. Then footsteps through leaves. Someone breathing heavily. A camera shutter clicking. Then a familiar voice. Mine. Calm. Smiling. "If you're hearing this..." A pause. "...don't come back for me." Another pause. "It's already too late." More footsteps. Then dozens of voices joined together behind me—my voice repeated over and over by a crowd of unseen mouths. "We're bringing you home." The recording ended. I lowered the phone slowly. Its screen had turned black. Not switched off. Changed. The glass reflected my face. Only... it wasn't following my movements. My reflection kept smiling long after I had stopped. Then it leaned closer to the inside of the screen and whispered words I never spoke. "You escaped the forest." It smiled wider. "We didn't." The screen shattered outward. And from somewhere deep inside the broken phone... came three slow knocks. Knock. Knock. Knock.

The Hollow Choir (The Borrowed) - Part Two

https://s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/pod-public-media-files/2026/7/22/5/cde0c227-49eb-4a6f-b64e-2036d64d4767_the_hollow_choir.mp3

Good evening Guys, Ghouls and Girls! Thank you for watching the latest narrated story. There is a part two to this one so make you stay tuned for that!Intro Song: https://www.youtube.com/@Jaxius*DISCLAIMER* Some if not all of this story was written with the help of AI. Please make sure to like, comment and subscribe! Thanks for watching and stay spooky! 👻Find me and add me on everything over at my Linktree: https://linktr.ee/spookcentralstation If you have a story you&#39;d like to share or have me narrate, feel free to email me at:spookcentralstation@gmail.com

The Hollow Choir  People in Ashmoor spoke about Black Briar Forest the same way sailors spoke about the sea. With respect. With fear. And with the understanding that if it wanted you badly enough, it would keep you. Most of the stories were harmless enough. Hunters who wandered too far and lost an afternoon. Strange lights drifting between the pines. Voices that sounded exactly like loved ones calling from impossible places. The older locals would simply shrug. "The woods borrow people," they'd say. "Sometimes they give them back." No one ever explained what happened to those who returned.  I arrived in Ashmoor in late October. As a freelance photographer, I chased abandoned places for magazines and online publications. Forgotten churches. Derelict hospitals. Mining towns reclaimed by nature. Black Briar Forest had become something of a fascination online after hikers posted photos of enormous stone circles deep inside the reserve. No one seemed able to locate them again. The GPS coordinates never matched. That alone was enough to get my attention. The locals, however, were less enthusiastic. The waitress at the diner froze when I mentioned Black Briar. "You stay on the marked paths." "I've been through worse." She leaned closer. "I'm serious." "What happens?" Her eyes drifted toward the rain streaking across the windows. "They hear you before you hear them."  The forest welcomed me with silence. No birds. No insects. Even the wind seemed reluctant to enter. Towering pines blocked the afternoon light until everything existed in perpetual dusk. My GPS lost signal within twenty minutes. I wasn't worried. That happens all the time.. right? I'd marked my route with bright orange ribbons tied around branches every hundred feet. Simple. Reliable. Impossible to lose. Or so I thought. When I looked behind me an hour later... Every single ribbon was gone.  I searched for one. Nothing. Not one remained. As if someone had quietly followed me... collecting them. The realisation sent chills down my spine. Someone else was here. I called out. No answer. Only a dull knocking somewhere in the trees. Knock. Knock. Knock. Not woodpeckers. Too rhythmic. Three knocks. Pause. Three knocks again. It continued for several minutes before stopping abruptly. Then came another answer. Far away. Three more knocks. Then another. Soon the forest seemed alive with them. Signals. Passing through the trees. Someone was communicating.  I should have left. Instead, curiosity won. It always had. The knocking drew me deeper until I found something impossible. A staircase. Not attached to any building. Just old granite steps rising fifteen feet into empty air. Weathered. Covered in moss. Perfectly level. The top ended... at nothing. Someone had carved symbols into every step. Not letters. More like twisting veins surrounding staring eyes. I photographed them. The shutter clicked. Immediately... every knock in the forest stopped. Silence. Utter silence. Then... footsteps. Not one pair. Many. Moving quickly. Toward me. I ran. Branches whipped across my face as dozens of unseen people crashed through the undergrowth. I never saw them. Only glimpses of red robes slipping behind trees. Always just beyond clear vision. They never called out. Never shouted. They simply kept pace. Waiting.  I stumbled into a clearing. The stone circle from the photographs. Only much larger. Thirty-foot monoliths surrounded an altar carved from black rock. Hundreds of candles burned despite the steady rain. Around the altar knelt perhaps sixty figures. Every one wore identical red robes stained dark around the sleeves. Their masks were made from deer skulls. Antlers reached toward the sky like dead branches. At the centre stood a woman in a deep crimson robe. Her mask wasn't a deer. It resembled something almost human. Almost. She raised both hands. The kneeling figures began humming. The sound vibrated through my ribs. Low. Wrong. Like machinery pretending to sing. I ducked behind a fallen log. My breathing sounded deafening. On the altar lay a man. Still alive. His wrists were tied with braided vines. His mouth had been sewn shut with black thread. His eyes pleaded. The crimson-robed woman lifted a knife. Not metal. Bone. Long. Yellowed. Covered in carvings. She pressed its tip against the man's chest. The humming intensified. The forest itself seemed to lean closer. Then... she smiled beneath the mask. I couldn't see it. I somehow knew. The knife plunged downward. The scream never escaped. Blood spilled into grooves carved across the altar. The channels carried it outward until the crimson liquid filled symbols surrounding every standing stone. The earth trembled. Not violently. Like something underneath... had shifted. The cultists bowed as one. Then all sixty heads turned toward me. Every single one. At exactly the same moment.  No one had pointed. No one had spoken. Yet they all knew precisely where I hid. The crimson-robed woman tilted her head. Slowly. Curiously. Like examining an unfamiliar animal. Then she whispered. "Another witness." Everyone stood. Together. I ran.  They didn't chase immediately. That terrified me more. They walked. Slowly. Confidently. Because they knew something I didn't. The trees began changing. Paths vanished. Ravines appeared where none existed. Every direction somehow curved back toward the clearing. Three times I crossed my own footprints. Once... I found fresh footprints walking beside mine. Bare feet. Huge. Each print filled with blood.  Night arrived impossibly fast. My flashlight flickered. Something moved between the trunks. Tall. Too tall. At least eight feet. Wrapped entirely in bark. Its limbs bent backward. Its face... had no features. Only smooth pale skin stretched tight across a human-shaped skull. It stood motionless while the cultists approached. None acknowledged it. The thing simply watched. Then turned. And silently walked deeper into the forest. The cultists followed. Except one. One remained. Watching me. Waiting.  I hid beneath an uprooted tree until dawn. Or what I assumed was dawn. The forest never truly brightened. Hours passed. Nothing moved. Finally, I crawled out. The clearing had disappeared. No stone circle. No altar. Only untouched woodland. I almost convinced myself none of it had happened. Then I found blood. Fresh. Still warm.  I followed a stream downhill. Water always led somewhere. Eventually I reached an old dirt road. Relief flooded through me. Then I saw the truck. My truck. Parked exactly where I'd left it. Except... someone had washed it. Mud gone. Windows were spotless. On the windshield rested a folded piece of paper. It contained only one sentence. Thank you for attending tonight's offering. Beneath it... a photograph. One I hadn't taken. It showed me hiding behind the fallen log. Taken from only a few feet away.  I drove without stopping. Never looked back. Never returned. Months passed. Nightmares faded. Life resumed. Then the emails started. Anonymous. Blank subject lines. Each contained a single photograph. Me buying groceries. Me asleep through my apartment window. Me sitting in traffic. Always taken from nearby. Always impossible to notice. There was no text. Only images. They arrived every full moon. One each month. Without fail. Police traced nothing. No sender. No location. Nothing. After nearly a year they stopped. I believed it was finally over. Until last week. A package arrived. No return address. And inside lay a red robe. Freshly cleaned. Folded neatly. Along with a deer skull mask. And beneath it... another note. The Choir remembers every witness. The next offering requires your voice.  I haven't slept since. Someone knocks on my apartment wall every night. Three times. Always three. No matter which room I'm in... the knocking comes from the other side. When I open the door... no one is there. This morning I found pine needles scattered across my bedroom floor. I live on the twelfth floor. The windows were locked. The smell of damp earth filled the apartment. When I looked in the bathroom mirror... there was dried mud on the back of my neck. Not much. Just enough to write a single symbol. The same one carved into the impossible staircase. I've scrubbed until my skin bled. It won't come off. Tonight is the full moon. The knocking has already started. And just a few minutes ago, I looked out over the city. Hundreds of people were walking the sidewalks below. Most never looked up. But sixty of them did. All at once. Every one wore a red hood. Every one stood perfectly still in the middle of the crowd. Waiting. Watching. Patient. As though they already know something I don't. The forest borrowed me once. I think it's finally come to collect what it forgot.

The Hollow Choir - Part One

https://s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/pod-public-media-files/2026/7/11/13/a1fa73cf-332b-4181-b8c8-e13e4f3a204f_the_doctors_descent.mp3

Intro Song: https://www.youtube.com/@Jaxius*DISCLAIMER* Some if not all of this story was written with the help of AI. Good evening Guys, Ghouls and Girls! Thank you for watching the latest narrated story.I am working on a Spook Chatter but I thought in the meantime, this will hold you all over.Please make sure to like, comment and subscribe! Thanks for watching and stay spooky! 👻 Find me and add me on everything over at my Linktree: https://linktr.ee/spookcentralstation If you have a story you&#39;d like to share or have me narrate, feel free to email me at:spookcentralstation@gmail.com

Dr. Marcus Forsythe had always been fascinated by the mysteries of the human mind. His career had been built upon exploring the intricacies of mental illnesses, pushing the boundaries of conventional medicine to find new treatments for those who suffered. But as he stood at the imposing gates of St. Agnes Asylum, a chill ran down his spine. This was no ordinary institution; it was whispered about in hushed tones, its halls rumored to be haunted by the tormented souls of the patients who had once called it home. Undeterred by the ominous atmosphere, Dr. Forsythe entered the asylum, his mind filled with visions of groundbreaking experiments and revolutionary treatments. The director, a stern man by the name of Dr. Edmunds, greeted him with a cold smile, his eyes betraying a hint of mistrust. "Welcome, Dr. Forsythe," Dr. Edmunds said, his voice echoing in the empty corridor. "We're honored to have someone of your caliber join us." Dr. Forsythe nodded, eager to begin his work. But as he delved deeper into the asylum's grim corridors, he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. The patients, gaunt and hollow-eyed, shuffled past him in silence, their vacant stares sending shivers down his spine. Determined to make a difference, Dr. Forsythe threw himself into his research, spending long hours in the asylum's dimly lit laboratories. He experimented with new drugs and therapies, pushing the boundaries of medical ethics in his quest to unlock the secrets of the human mind. But as the weeks turned into months, Dr. Forsythe began to notice strange occurrences within the asylum. Equipment would malfunction inexplicably, and patients would speak of hearing disembodied whispers in the dead of night. Despite his rational mind, he couldn't shake the feeling that something dark and sinister lurked within the asylum's walls. Desperate for answers, Dr. Forsythe delved into the asylum's dark history, uncovering tales of cruelty and madness that sent chills down his spine. He learned of Dr. Edmunds' predecessor, a brilliant but deranged psychiatrist who had conducted horrifying experiments on the asylum's patients in the name of science. As Dr. Forsythe pieced together the puzzle of the asylum's past, he found himself consumed by an obsession to uncover the truth. But the more he dug, the more his own sanity began to unravel. He started seeing things—shadowy figures lurking in the corners of his vision, whispers that seemed to emanate from the very walls themselves. Despite his growing paranoia, Dr. Forsythe pressed on, determined to confront the darkness that lurked within the asylum. But as he researched deeper into the abyss, he realized too late that he had become ensnared in its grasp. One fateful night, as a violent storm raged outside, Dr. Forsythe made a shocking discovery that would shatter his fragile grip on reality. Hidden deep within the bowels of the asylum, he stumbled upon a hidden chamber filled with grotesque instruments of torture—remnants of the asylum's dark past. But before he could process the horror of his discovery, Dr. Forsythe was overcome by a wave of madness that consumed him entirely. In his delirium, he became convinced that the asylum itself was alive, a malevolent force that fed upon the suffering of its inhabitants. Driven to the brink of insanity, Dr. Forsythe descended into madness, his mind a swirling maelstrom of terror and despair. He wandered the asylum's corridors like a ghost, his once-brilliant intellect now twisted and distorted by the horrors he had witnessed. In the end, Dr. Marcus Forsythe became just another lost soul within the asylum's walls, a cautionary tale of the dangers of delving too deep into the darkness of the human mind. And as the years passed and the asylum fell into disrepair, his ghostly whispers could still be heard echoing through its haunted halls, a chilling reminder of the madness that had consumed him.

The Doctors Descent

https://s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/pod-public-media-files/2023/8/2/12/5b95f840-7cd2-44ab-a00f-0d6b7bd4d287_redcircle.mp3

Reddit Story: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/zykew1/dont_let_the_moon_grant_your_wishes/?utm_source=share&amp;utm_medium=ios_app&amp;utm_name=iossmfReddit User: https://www.reddit.com/user/Theeaglestrikes/Intro Song: https://www.youtube.com/@Jaxius   Good evening Guys, Ghouls and Girls! Thank you for watching the latest narrated story.This story was a wild ride, but really makes you think. At what cost would YOU want infinity health or wealth? Really makes you appreciate what you have right now. Please make sure to like, comment and subscribe! Thanks for watching and stay spooky! 👻 Find me and add me on everything over at my Linktree: https://linktr.ee/spookcentralstation If you have a story you&#39;d like to share or have me narrate, feel free to email me at:spookcentralstation@gmail.com

The year was 2002. I was a young man who had become detached from a tour group in the midst of the Australian Outback. After a few hours, I started to succumb to dehydration. I was envisioning a plodding, laboured death in the heart of nowhere, but that didn’t happen. It seemed like a mirage, but the Moon spoke to me. Looking upon me with far-flung craters, which felt like remote eyes, the talking rock said it could save me. I followed a misty, moonlit trail across the arid landscape, and I eventually stumbled onto the town I’d been trying to find.  Later that night, in my hotel bed, the Moon called to me. It offered three wishes. I rushed to the window, confused as to how my replenished body, now fed and watered, could still be hallucinating. And yet, I somehow knew that it was real. I knew the Moon had saved me from the desert. What do I have to lose by making some wishes to find out?  So, I wished for three things:  Money  Safety  Health  The creature had many conditions, but I heeded the warnings from ever story I’d ever been told about both genial and ghoulish genies. The Moon made the parameters of its wish-granting quite clear.  No wishing for more wishes.  No wishing for more wish-granters.  No wishing for things to give to other people.  No wishing for anything that would contradict the laws of your natural realm.  The ideal wishes seemed obvious.  Money.  More money than anyone could ever need. Obviously, I couldn’t shower loved ones with wealth. I kept my job to support my family, but I used the riches to support my own needs.  There’s always a catch with wishing. Becoming the wealthiest man on earth will make me a target. When I realised that, I had the idea for my second wish.  Safety.  I was not asking for security beyond the laws of nature. I simply wanted assurance that my financial safety net, if it were ever discovered, would be protected.  But what about security against the passage of time? I can’t wish for immortality… I can employ the world’s greatest doctors, of course, but that’s not enough.  Health.  I specified to the Moon that I was simply talking about safeguards which would abide by the laws of nature. For example, if I had a genetic proclivity towards developing certain diseases, either physical or mental, perhaps the wish-granter could provide a cure. Perhaps the Moon could simply conjure a cure for every ailment that could ever face a human being.  The rock conceded that, even if there were no current cure for certain illnesses, it could provide a solution for every health problem that might befall a human being. The Moon couldn’t make me live forever, but it could ensure that I live for an absurdly long time.  I thought I’d covered all of the bases. I truly believed I’d outsmarted some sort of deity. I was a fool. I never should’ve made any wishes, but I certainly shouldn’t have made the third wish.  Twenty years after my Australian encounter, my wealthy and healthy life took a sour turn. The Moon ensured that there would always be a cure in place for any ailment I would face. It had abolished my mental illness, thanks to a wondrous pill that I wasn’t permitted to share with others. So, this November, I wasn’t phased when my doctor gave a harrowing diagnosis.  “Congestive heart failure,” The woman tentatively said.  Not to worry, I thought. The wish-granter will fix it. It gave me a pill for my mental well-being, and I’m sure it’ll give me a new heart, too. Perhaps it’ll simply grow one for me.  I waited.  Like a werewolf in a kennel, I howled at the unresponsive moon for attention.  Nothing.  After weeks without solution, I started to feel consumed by dread. Has it forgotten about me? The wishes were supposed to apply for the rest of my life.  Then, one night, the Moon arrived. It didn’t speak from the sky, this time. It spoke from the darkness of my house. A floorboard groaned in the far corner of the living room. Heart thumping rhythmically against my ribcage, I found myself staring into the depths of my lounge’s darkened corner. Something was watching me. The direful creature I hadn’t seen for twenty years. It had no eyes or discernible shape, but it had awful white lips, which glowed like a deformed moon in the night sky.  Fear gripped me.  “It’s you,” I croaked.  “I am sorry,” The creature wheezed. “You do not have much time.”  “There’s a waiting list for heart transplants, but I thought you’d have some means of speeding things up,” I replied, trembling at the hidden thing in the corner of my room.  “Yes. I must grant your desire. It is my only purpose,” The Moon mouth maliciously whispered. “A wish is a contract. I will find a heart for you.”  Before the creature evaporated, its white, lifeless lips curled upwards into a malevolent grin. The almost-human expression filled me with a feeling of terror which cannot sufficiently translate to words.  Suddenly, I realised the dread in my heart was more than dread. Oh, fuck, I thought, as I clutched my chest. It’s happening. An invisible blade twisted into my heart, and I felt my body seize. Blackness swallowed my surroundings. My vision faded. Just one more time, I remember thinking. Let me see Wendy and Maisie one more time.  When I woke, I was in a hospital room. My chest felt light. It was the healthiest I’d felt in weeks. Wendy was sitting at my bedside, tears flooding her vacant eyes, and a smile was forcefully painted on her pale face.  “You’re awake,” My wife whispered.  I smiled. “Hello, sweetheart. I must’ve given you a scare. I feel much better now, though.”  She sobbed and squeezed my hand with tremendous strength. There was love in that squeeze, but there was also rage. Inconsolable rage.  “They did it, honey. They gave you… They… You…” She moaned like a wounded animal. “You have a new heart.”  That explained the lightness in my chest, but it didn’t explain the fear on my wife’s face. Her agonised expression haunted me. Why is she so distraught? I wondered, shuddering.  “Wendy…” I whispered. “What’s-“  “- Maisie,” My wife interrupted, now bawling. “This evening, she was in an accident. She… She… She didn’t…”  Wendy didn’t need to finish any of her sentences. I knew what had happened to our daughter. I knew whose heart was in my chest.  I knew what the Moon had done to grant my wish.

Don't Let The Moon Grant Your Wishes - (Reddit Story by u/Theeaglestrikes)

https://s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/pod-public-media-files/2023/7/4/12/e5ed5b1a-cdf3-4436-b91f-789a22a09d44_redcircle.mp3

Reddit Story: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/13rvn56/my_entire_world_is_undone/Reddit User: https://www.reddit.com/user/Schizothymia/Intro Song: https://www.youtube.com/@Jaxius   Good evening Guys, Ghouls and Girls! Thank you for watching the latest narrated story.What a crazy story am I right? Imagine getting to that point of scared that your mind completely shuts down. Please go and send some support and love to the author of this story, let them know that Spook sent ya. Please make sure to like, comment and subscribe! Thanks for watching and stay spooky! 👻 Find me and add me on everything over at my Linktree: https://linktr.ee/spookcentralstation If you have a story you&#39;d like to share or have me narrate, feel free to email me at:spookcentralstation@gmail.com

My entire world is undone. Any semblance of a normal life is out the window. The human mind is a complete fucking mystery. I think there is a reason that we only use 10% of our brains, there are just too many doors that should remain locked, rooms with dark corners and secret passageways. Mazes that will forever have you running in circles, each and every door locking behind you upon entering. It's like falling into a well that extends so far into the earth that there is no hope for rescue. In other words, needless to say, I'm irretrievably lost. I am Tom hanks talking to a volley ball, only my island is on barren planet, and Wilson is a figment of my imagination.  A little background. I lived with my dad at the time. The first thing you should know about my dad is that he was a prick, I was essentially his caregiver. My childhood was tragic at best, my dad was an abusive alcoholic/gambling addict, and gave his all to making the lives of everyone around him a living hell, a hell which only grew hotter after he was injured on the job and subsequently stuck in a wheelchair. My mom was mentally ill to begin with, and the level of torment he dished out drove her to an early grave. Her suicide note only read one sentence. "I'm sorry son". This was about three years ago, and as much as I wanted to leave the old man to fend for himself, he was all I had left. My sister left as soon as I turned 18 and I hadn't seen her since, so I chose to hang on to the single shred of family I had left and endure the daily misery. It only got worse with time.  The shitstorm started on a Tuesday morning. I woke up from a nightmare, nearly hyperventilating, although I couldn't remember the details. All I could definitively recall is the sound of glass shattering and screaming. I was drenched in a cold sweat. I struggled to remember the dream but it just wouldn't click. After gathering myself I looked at my phone, realizing I was late for work. I decided to skip showering and got dressed as quickly as possible.  When I reached the living room I stopped dead in my tracks. What i saw was gut wrenching, my skin turned cold. Sitting in his wheelchair in front of the tv was the mutilated corpse of my father. His head was tilted back, nearly completely severed with his lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. I stumbled backwards falling to the floor, dry heaving on my hands and knees.  "You ok son? What's the matter?" I heard my dad's voice say. I damn near shat myself. I scrambled to my feet, almost scared to look. I slowly turned towards him. There he sat, looking at me with an expression of concern. I approached him to take a closer look. He was fine, completely normal. He lifted his eyebrows, waiting for an answer.  "Im... I'm fine." I said, my voice shaking. He studied me for a moment, and then smiled. "Ok have a good day son." He said and continued watching tv. I said nothing as I made my way out the door.  I was distracted at work, my thoughts were all over the place. I started to worry that I was going crazy. Hallucinating your dad with his head nearly severed wasn't something you could chalk up to just an overactive imagination. On my way home I was paranoid to say the least, worried i would hallucinate the same scene, or worse. When I arrived home I hesitantly opened the front door. To my relief my dad was sitting casually in his chair, completely unharmed.  I sighed and walked toward the kitchen for a drink. "How was your day son?" He asked. The question caught me off guard . He never asks that. "Um... Ok I guess, kinda slow." He nodded at me with a smile, still watching me as I made my way to my room. I laid in bed, pondering the events of the day, and the oddity of it all. Exhausted I finally drifted off to sleep.  I was jolted awake again. The screaming and shattering of glass plagued my dreams just like the night before. No matter how hard I tried I still couldn't remember any other details of the nightmare. I felt exhausted, like I had only slept a short time. I did my best to shake off the residual angst of the dream and got dressed for work.  "Hey son?" My dad yelled. "You got a minute?" I hesitated before answering . This was out of character for him. He would usually demand things rather than request them. "One sec." I responded. I couldn't even begin to imagine what he wanted to talk about. I walked out of the room down the hallway. "In here." I heard him call from the kitchen. I was still fastening my belt as I entered, and when I lifted my eyes in his direction I was once again floored.  His head was rested on his left shoulder, and I could see the bone and tendons from within his carved open neck. His face was nearly blue, his eyes bulged and blood covered his body. His eyes were fixated on me. I screamed. I ran from the kitchen and into the bathroom. As I splashed my face with water I heard him call out for me again. "Son what's going on?" I looked in the mirror shaking my head violently. "Son please!" He called once more.  I rubbed my eyes, taking a few deep breaths. Once I composed myself I made my way back to the kitchen, cautiously I rounded the corner. He sat there, looking as he always had, looking even more concerned than the morning before. I blinked a few times, running my hands anxiously over my face again before sitting down.  My dad sighed, seemingly trying to find the words to say. "I know I haven't been the greatest father." I looked at him incredulously.  He continued "I have no excuses for the way I've treated you and...." He trailed off. "And your mother." His voice was quivering now. "Before she... Passed away, I know she was sick, her mental illness wasn't her fault, but I know I am to blame for her taking her own life. And there is nothing I can do to take that back. She loved you, and though I may not have shown it, I love you son. And I'm sorry."  After a few moments of silence, tears started streaming down his face. Despite the shock that I was in, I got up and wrapped him in a hug, saying nothing.  That night I laid in bed thinking about what he had said, pondering what may have pushed him to this point, thinking maybe the guilt of everything just caught up with him. When I woke up, the first thing I realized was that I'd slept through the night dreamless, although I still felt exhausted. The hallucinations I'd experienced still weighed heavy on my mind. It made me sick to my stomach to think about it.  I was terrified that I would find him the same way this morning, or maybe even worse. I clenched my jaw and opened the door. As I walked down the hall toward the living room I imagined the possibilities of what I might see. Finally I reached the end of the hallway and peeked around the corner. To my relief I saw my dad sitting casually, drinking his coffee, watching the morning news.  He flashed me a warm smile. "Morning son." He said. I realized I'd been holding my breath and sighed loudly. It seemed like the only shocker was that he seemed to be more compassionate than ever before.  Things continued on this way for several weeks, my quality of life began to actually improve. There were no nightmares, nor hallucinations, and my fear of inheriting my mother's sickness faded. My father and I were on better terms than ever before, I was finally able to let my guard down a little, even so much as to meet a girl whom I gradually started to grow close to. We went out on a few dates and began talking every day.  Then it happened. Everything shattered. Before the newfound peace my father and I shared, I'd never considered bringing anyone to my house for fear of scaring her away. I finally felt comfortable enough to do so. After a dinner and movie date she agreed to come back to my place for the night. It was all going smoothly, until I opened the door.  She was talking about her job as we entered, then she stopped mid-sentence, her face went pale. Then she screamed. The most terrified scream I'd ever heard. When I followed her gaze, and I saw what she saw, I knew... The decomposed, rotting corpse of my father sat in his wheelchair in the living room, his mouth was wide open, his eyes bulging from a head that hung backwards loosely from his neck. The smell. How had I not smelled it before.  She bolted, screaming in terror. I was too shocked to care. I left the front door wide open, walking like a zombie towards his rotting corpse. I felt numb. Cold. I entered the kitchen where I saw the blood, coagulated blood covered the tiled floor as well as broken glass from the back door.  It all came clear to me then. The nightmare, the screams and sounds of glass shattering, the apology, his sudden change in personality and compassion, the reason I woke up so exhausted, the break-in. Everything after the moment my father was nearly decapitated by an unknown assailant, it was all in my head. I guess he had some bad blood with someone other than just his family.  So here I sit, in this room, reliving the true story in my head over and over. They keep me medicated of course. After a thorough psych-eval they tell me that what I once believed to be hallucinations of my dad having been mutilated was actually the other way around, I hallucinated him being alive after finding him murdered. Apparently I would get up in the middle of the night to move him around, just to maintain the illusion. My subconscious mind locked me out. Now that I opened that door it shut behind me, locking me in for good, searching those dark corners and passageways.  I don't know if the hallucinations were partially the result of inheriting my mom's mental illness, or if I just finally snapped after losing the last shred of family i had left. If it's the latter I wouldn't say my cup runneth over, more like I kicked the fuckin' cauldron. On the bright side, I talked to my sister today.  Even though they tell me, however, that I somehow hallucinated everything following his murder and that my subconscious mind created a more preferable reality than the one I was in, something bothers me. As I was leaving for work the day before I was admitted, my dad said something that makes me question this situation even more. "You need to get in touch with your sister and tell her congratulations." I would have questioned further if I wasn't late for work. I didn't even stop to ask him what I was supposed to congratulate her for. During the conversation with my sister today, she told me the good news... She's pregnant. She just found out today.

My Entire World Is Undone (Reddit Story by u/Schizothymia)

https://s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/pod-public-media-files/2023/6/22/12/d12444f7-b4ed-4e5e-9822-959ec497ca80_redcircle.mp3

Reddit Story: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/13l8ajf/i_harvested_organs_from_a_guy_3_times_before_he/Reddit User: https://www.reddit.com/user/Lyn_R_Rose/Intro Song: https://www.youtube.com/@Jaxius   Good evening Guys, Ghouls and Girls! Thank you for watching the latest narrated story. Could you imagine something like this happening? Thinking you&#39;d got away with one of the most insane crimes only to find you were the next victim.. for all of eternity? Please make sure to like, comment and subscribe! Thanks for watching and stay spooky! 👻 Find me and add me on everything over at my Linktree: https://linktr.ee/spookcentralstation If you have a story you&#39;d like to share or have me narrate, feel free to email me at:spookcentralstation@gmail.com

Organ harvesting isn’t a glamourous job. It pays well, but you can’t afford to be slow or sloppy. If you are, the best case scenario is that you miss a pay check, the worst, you get caught. And if you get caught, no one is coming to help you.  I’ve been doing it for a few years now, so I’ve got my strategy down. I’m fairly frail looking so all I have to do is fake a limp and people don’t think twice about ‘helping’ me. It’s laughably easy to lure bleeding hearts to a secluded area so I can slit their throats and open them up.  The target I had staked out that day was a mousy stick of a man. He obviously spent more time at the computer than at the gym. He didn’t seem like the type to carry, but I was always careful to look a person over for signs of a concealed carry.  He stuttered when I approached him, practically shaking like a new born deer, but he was happy to help. He didn’t even bother to try to keep me in his glasses bound sights.  It made it all the easier to strike him down.  I want to say that I knew something was wrong, that even the tiniest bit of dread creeped down my spine, but I had no idea how bad of an idea it was to choose this guy.  I did my usual harvesting routine, packing the now free organs in a stashed cooler.  I space out my harvests and cycle locations to err on the side of caution, so I was miles away from where I killed him when I saw him again.  I have a pretty good poker face, but it almost shattered when I spotted him no worse for wear, humming to himself while taking a walk.  It was impossible. He couldn’t have survived; much less be in the condition to walk around. It had to be some weird look alike!  Still, I hated loose ends.  He acted just like last time, though he seemed to pick up on my distress. “A-are you o-okay?”  “I’m okay, just a bit stressed... Hey, random question but do you have a twin?”  He blinked owlishly at that. “No... I-I'm an only child.”  Even with how suspicious I must have been acting, killing him was just as easy as last time. Panting, I watched him spasm and choke as he haemorrhaged from the cut on his throat before he stilled.  Maybe it was just my nerves, but the following silence felt deafening. Instinct told me to run but I needed to at least harvest one organ today.  I nudged him with my foot, half expecting him to jolt up and bite at my throat like a zombie from a horror movie.  Nothing.  Still my heart would not slow.  I took more from him than I did last time but my cuts were much shakier.  I rested an extra few days after that and I was still shaken when I went out again.  Of course, he was there again.   Instinct screamed at me to leave, to abandon what felt like a sinking ship, but I feared what would happen if I didn’t kill him more than if I did.  My composure was better, but I still felt I was drawing more attention than was healthy for my career.  Again, there wasn’t a slightest bit of difference in how he acted.  I killed him again. One slice and he was down.  The world spun. How many times would I have to keep doing this?  In a daze, I turned around and began to walk away.  “I think you’re missing a couple of steps.”  That voice, smooth and barely recognizable, froze me solid.  I couldn’t breathe as I looked back.  He stared back at me, a completely neutral expression on his face, unbothered by the gouge in his throat.  But that neutrality quickly faded into thinly veiled irk. “I let you rip out my guts two times, the least you can give me is a decent reaction.”  In an adjacent situation, that would have been moment guys with cameras would burst out of the woodwork and yell “you just got pranked bro!” but no one jumped out of the shadows. It was just me and what should have been a corpse.  I finally managed to choke out a pathetic “how?”  He snorted. “You haven’t been remotely entertaining enough for me to entertain answering that.”  I took a step back. “What?”  “Looks like you haven’t been harvesting enough brains.” He shifted so he was laying on his side, throat still open and oozing. “Why else wouldn’t I have struck you down the second I found you slicing a woman’s throat? You’re entertainment. Though lousy in that front.”  Ice cold terror and red-hot fiery rage battled in my bloodstream, the urge to run away fighting the urge to stomp his brains in.  “You’re lucky, really, to have run into me and not someone else. My moral backbone is quite bendable, especially when I’m bored. But,” He tapped his fingers on the bloody concrete, “You really weren’t worth keeping alive.”  “I’ll kill you!” I said reflexively, trying to repress my shaking.  He raised an eyebrow. “And how do you plan on doing that?”  My mouth opened but I couldn’t squeeze anything out.  “That’s what I thought.” He rose to his feet like he was wire-flying in a play, completely unnatural. “Now, I believe it’s time to discuss repayment.”  “What?”  If this had been some sort of game or film, his eyes would have glowed, but instead those dark orbs seemed to swallow light like a black hole. “For every organ you stole, of course. Every inch of skin flayed, every drop of blood spilled.”  “I can give you money!” I sputtered. “A lot of money! All the money!”  He blinked slow and sure, like a lazy predator who knew its prey could not escape. “Does it look like I have any interest in money?”  That’s when I finally succumbed to the instinct to run. I darted out of the alleyway.  At least that’s what should have happened, but as if I made a full circle, when I rounded the corner I was back in the alley with him staring blankly at me.  He clicked his tongue. “It’s far too late to back out now, especially since you’ve accumulated so much debt.”  I had to get out of here, out of this thing’s clutches. I looked down at my knife.  “Like I said.” He was suddenly way too close, a hand trapping the wrist of my knife hand. “It’s far too late to back out.”  My fist shattered on impact with his impossibly hard chin. He didn’t even flinch as I screamed in agony.  “Oh my, throwing a tantrum? The only person to blame is yourself.”  I continued to struggle against his grip, but I could not even make him so much as wiggle.  “How sad. And how annoying-”  I suddenly couldn’t move, like the air around me had become stone.  His eyes in which nothing escaped bore into mine. “Let’s tally up your debt, shall we? Two hearts, two livers, four lungs, four kidneys, one stomach, thirty-six broken ribs, one-hundred ninety-one square inches of flayed skin and muscle, and 13 liters of split blood.” He tsked. “That’s quite a lot. And that is not including severed nerves.”  I choked, trying to say something, anything.  “Even if we broke it down to a matter of simply cells, you don’t have enough in your body currently to repay me. So,” He drew out that syllable. “If I were to harvest a pint of blood every 12 weeks, you would have 7 years before your final payment is required.”  “Now,” his bored expression broke into a sinister grin. “Let’s make the first payment, shall we?”  His free hand crept up to the forearm he held captive. I renewed my efforts to escape as he dragged a nail across my skin, though I still couldn’t move no matter how hard I tried.  His finger stilled on a vein and I felt a sharp sting, like a needle had grown out of his fingertip.  After what felt like forever, he removed his finger, revealing an oozing wound.  “There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” His grip, both physical and supernatural, released me.   I scrambled back, but what distance I gained didn’t feel remotely enough.  “Whelp.” He made a show of dusting off his bloody clothes. “I’ll be seeing you. Oh, and try to cut your life short and you’ll regret it.”  With that, he turned and walked out of the alley, whistling an unfamiliar tune like he didn’t have a care in the world.

I Harvested Organs From A Guy 3 Times Before He Mentioned It (Reddit Story by u/Lyn_R_Rose)

https://s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/pod-public-media-files/2023/6/14/13/6665a992-15c8-4081-b54d-a2fc45b8b583_redcircle.mp3

Reddit Story: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/13idih6/do_you_actually_believe_in_ghosts/Reddit User: https://www.reddit.com/user/Verrgasm/Intro Song: https://www.youtube.com/@Jaxius   Good evening Guys, Ghouls and Girls! Thank you for watching the latest narrated story.Have you ever had an unexplainable experience that you just put down to being a bit weird or that you fully believe was something reaching out to get your attention? Do you believe in the paranormal? Let me know your stories in the comments below. Please make sure to like, comment and subscribe! Thanks for watching and stay spooky! 👻 Find me and add me on everything over at my Linktree: https://linktr.ee/spookcentralstation If you have a story you&#39;d like to share or have me narrate, feel free to email me at:spookcentralstation@gmail.com

"Pfft" I made a dismissive noise as if I wasn't afraid. Obviously, I was. There, just the two of us, alone in that old abandoned house in the middle of the night. "Of course I don't..."  "Then get a move on and set up the fucking board, pussy." Tyler said cooly over his shoulder, individually placing and lighting small black candles around the barren dusty bedroom. "It's almost the witching hour."  “I’m doing it, I’m doing it…for fuck’s sake…” I unzipped my backpack and took out the spirit board before laying it flat in front of me, surrounding it with white candles and placing the glass on top. “We know it’s bullshit, anyway. Who cares if we’re a minute late? Are you gonna be all sulky when Elvis doesn’t show up to sing you a song?”  “It’s Halloween, dickbird. All Hallows’ Eve. If it was ever going to work, it’d be tonight…”  With the room flickering in the dim light, we took our places facing each other on opposite ends of the board, placing our left hands on the glass. The air tasted stale in there, literally, I could taste the decay on my tongue. My biggest concern at that point was inhaling mold spores or catching my skin on a rusty nail and getting tetanus or being devoured alive by one of the many giant spiders that’d made their nests in the darkest corners which I cringed to look at. Sensing my impatient urgency, Tyler told me to just ‘close my eyes and clear my mind’, which I did, reluctantly. Anything to get this crazy shitshow wrapped up so that we could get back to Mike’s party on the other side of town. I felt pretty damn stupid trespassing in that hellhole dressed as a pirate, minus an eyepatch. Tyler on the other hand was much more appropriately costumed with his spooky black hooded robe and plastic-gold pentacle medallion; of which I hadn’t stopped laughing at since I first saw him that evening. Why I ever let Tyler talk me into bailing and going there of all places, I’ll never know. Morbid curiosity, perhaps? Maybe I just couldn’t stand another minute of that dickhead Blake and his shitty fucking attitude, all drunk and ready to fight over nothing. I hoped he’d be gone or passed out by the time we made it back, then I might actually have a chance to make some progress with Becca. She’d been particularly distant at Mike’s, upset by all the drama.  We sat in uncomfortable silence for a while, I honestly can’t even say how long, before Tyler finally felt it appropriate to speak. He let his voice flair as if he were the lead performer in some silly magic show.  “Spirits! We seek your presence! We seek your knowledge! Please! Come towards us!”  Another indeterminate moment of silence passed, not even the wind whistling outside interjected, and Tyler tried his hand as a conjurer once more with the same over-the-top dramatic inflection.  “Spirit! Please make yourself known! We seek your company! Can you let us know if you are here with us?”  Still, nothing. Tyler glanced around in frustration and I went to stand, done with the whole thing.  “This is fucking stupid, Tyler. Let’s g-”  “Don’t take your hand off the glass!” The look on Tyler’s face as we locked eyes was half of surprised amazement and the other a reserved dread, he gripped the back of my palm tighter, pressing it into the glass. “I can feel it…”  “The fuck are you talking ab-” I began, before being cut off by something unseen. I felt it too. Like the air grew thicker, switching in an instant from the expected dry staleness of a dead home to the macabre miasmic odor of something else. Something else entirely, like a burning garbage fire. Death. “Tyler… what the fuck?”  “Shhhhhhh!” Tyler hushed me, drawing his free hand to his lips before motioning around the room with it. “Listen…”  Then, as soon as he’d said it, I could hear it. A soft tapping, slowly traveling from one end of the ceiling to the other. Right above us. Steadily and with clear intent, it continued its slow circuit of laps in what I assumed was the attic. Tracing us, going between Tyler and I. Choosing.  “What is your name, spirit?”  The glass shuddered beneath our palms and Tyler had to remind me to keep my grip loose, which wasn’t easy. I could see that he was opening his mouth, likely to ask the question again, but before he could speak the glass began to slowly travel letter-by-letter across the spirit board… crawling like a bug. I barely even had my hand on it. Stifling the urge to run or to look away, I concentrated on the letters, scrawling them down as my fingers shook until the name was entirely spelled out.  C-H-R-I-S-T-I-N-E  “Holy shit, we need to get the fuck out of here, Tyler. This isn’t funny anymore, c’mo-”  Tyler shushed me again, regaining his composure. He applied more desperate pressure onto my hand, urging me to stay. I could tell he was trying to recall the other questions he’d prepared beforehand, but it was obvious that he was about as terrified and astonished as I was. In a voice quivering through his intended confident tone, Tyler continued; now well beyond the flippancy of his initial theatrics, he spoke tentatively.  “Christine…” The glass trembled, and it was all I could do but to convince myself that it wasn’t real. That none of it was. It couldn't be. A soft whimper escaped my lips, my eyes closing tightly in fear. “Can you make yourself known to us?..”  The silence was entirely deafening, as if I couldn’t even hear our twinned shallow breathing anymore. Then, after an eternity, I found the courage to open my eyes. There, in the far corner, I saw what could only be described as a corpse. Hunched up, with its mangled bloody and bruised legs contorted around itself and its broken purple-pale arms twisted around the back of its head. The dead-eyed monster was staring me down, gawking with bulging white marbles between its thick strands of sticky brown hair. Its wide-open mouth was a gaping black hole. An abyss. Without a thought, I grabbed Tyler by the arms and pulled him through the open doorway, sending the glass tumbling in our wake as we rushed back down the creaking staircase and into his shitty red Corolla parked on the sidewalk. I didn’t look back, but I couldn't stop screaming.  As Tyler sped us away from the house, I found my ability to breathe lacking, let alone able to find the words to describe what was right there lurking just feet behind him through my shock. I’m not ashamed to say that I started crying right there in the passenger seat, weeping like an inconsolable lost child. Tyler was in the middle of calling me a slew of degrading names, when suddenly, the radio turned on inexplicably through no action of our own.  Static made it impossible to decipher what was playing, but it was something slow and soothing. Soft jazz. Oldies. We simply stared into each other's stunned faces, frozen, until Tyler turned his attention back to the road and launched into a screaming fit of his own. There it was, in the middle of the dark country lane, all contorted and bent in every unnatural way imaginable. The car screeched as Tyler frantically jerked at the wheel and we went straight through a wooden barrier and over a ditch before coming to a smoking wrecked stop amongst some trees, rolling several times in the chaos.  We were upside down when I woke up. Tyler didn't. His face, I’ll never forget it… all wet and red. Utterly crushed. Dragging myself through the shattered windscreen, cutting my forearms as I shimmied through the opening, I cried out for help but none came, and I felt myself slipping away. The dark of the woods grew increasingly opaque, like a heavy film covering my drooping eyes, and I began to fall backwards into an onyx chasm of calm nothingness.  The fluorescent hospital lights stung at first, but as my vision began to adjust I took solace in the fact that the ordeal was over. I scrambled internally, trying to piece together what had happened to me. Then I saw it, crumpled up in the corner, staring my way without eyes… right through me. It was Tyler. His necrotic pulp of a face leaked thick black sludge onto the blinding white hospital tiles beneath. Blacker than tar. Black like the abyss…

Do You Actually Believe In Ghosts? (Reddit Story by u/Verrgasm)

https://s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/pod-public-media-files/2023/6/4/12/e9b248dd-58b4-476f-910a-be5bf72bf8e0_redcircle.mp3

Reddit Story: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/13hs4tt/im_9_months_into_my_pregnancy_and_something/Reddit User: https://www.reddit.com/user/Theeaglestrikes/Intro Song: https://www.youtube.com/@Jaxius   Good evening Guys, Ghouls and Girls! Thank you for watching the latest narrated story. As a lot of you would know, roughly 3 months ago I had a baby and when I read this story it gave me chills - you always hope to have a healthy and *human* baby so this story was pretty funny to me. Luckily, I DID give birth to a human and she is absolutely perfect but it definitely would have been interesting if she lived up to the pet name I had been calling her when I was pregnant and she kicked me awake at 4 am in the morning.. my little gremlin. Please make sure to like, comment and subscribe! Thanks for watching and stay spooky! 👻 Find me and add me on everything over at my Linktree: https://linktr.ee/spookcentralstation If you have a story you&#39;d like to share or have me narrate, feel free to email me at:spookcentralstation@gmail.com

I’m not talking about childbirth. Something awful is growing within me.  I’m a 29-year-old woman named Nancy, and this is my first pregnancy. There was nothing abnormal about our baby’s conception. I’ve lived a normal, middle-class, suburban life. No Satanic rituals. No cults. Nothing that Hollywood films often imply to be the culprit. I suppose I’d better explain why I’m going to die.  12 weeks:  Everybody uses the cliché that pregnancy is “no walk in the park”, but I knew my symptoms were unusual at the very first ultrasound scan. My husband, Johnny, came with me, and I don’t think anything could’ve prepared us.  The baby, much to our horror, had long, spindly arms and legs. And the worst part was the look on Dr Samson’s face. She was smiling. There was something uncanny about her skin. It seemed oversized and loose-fitting, though that was certainly enough to tauten my heart. If she’d looked ordinary, I might’ve dismissed her jolly reaction as an attempt to put us at ease.  “Is that... normal?” Johnny asked.  “Every baby is special,” The doctor answered, chuckling.  Then she leant over my belly, inaudibly mouthing something to the baby. I cast wide eyes at my husband, silently begging for him to save me. Johnny opened his mouth, but the doctor lifted her head before he could speak.  “Perfectly healthy and happy,” She said.  Dr Samson’s smiling face followed us as we walked out of the room. We chalked it up to a weird experience – a weird screen glitch, a weird doctor, and a weird day.  I wish I’d trusted my fearful instincts.  21 weeks:  My husband and I hoped for a slightly more normal picture from my second scan, but Dr Samson showed us something even more unnerving. The baby seemed too well-formed for 20 weeks. I suddenly realised my late-night cramps and pains hadn’t been normal at all. The grinding, tearing sensation in my lower abdomen must've been those ghastly, elongated limbs digging away at my innards. I feared the baby would burst my uterus.  “Perfectly healthy,” Dr Samson assured me, offering that same unhinged smile.  “There’s something wrong with him,” I whimpered, crying.  Johnny started to reassure me that Dr Samson was a professional, though I knew he shared my terror. He wanted to keep me safe and sane. He’s a good man.  “Is there something wrong with the scanner, perhaps?” He asked, hopefully.  Dr Samson giggled. “No. It’s perfectly fine.”  “I think I want a second opinion,” I said.  I expected the doctor to refuse, but she persisted with that searing smile. And a few days later, my third scan produced a bizarre result. Nothing appeared on the screen.  Dr Houghton, my new doctor, sighed sombrely. “It could be a miscarriage or an ectopic pregnancy – a pregnancy outside of the womb. We’ll need to conduct tests.”  I knew I hadn’t miscarried. My pain was worsening with every passing day, but no professionals could ascertain what was happening to me. And Dr Houghton couldn’t attend my fourth scan. Nobody could get in touch with him. So, Dr Brown took over.  “Aha! Found your baby! He was just playing hide and seek,” Our new doctor said, laughing.  Johnny and I gasped at the screen in terror. Finally, we could see our baby again. In the space of five days, our son had become ginormous. His legs were slinking out of view, and his head was filling up my womb. For a brief moment, Dr Brown rubbed his eyes, and I realised he wasn’t wiping the bags beneath them. Like Dr Samson, his flesh seemed to loosely cling to his face. But unlike Dr Samson, he seemed keen to keep us calm.  “He might look a little large, but he’s healthy,” Dr Brown promised. “Perfectly fine.”  “Why does everybody keep saying this is perfectly fine?” Johnny asked, finally losing his cool. “Something is wrong, and–”  “I’ve seen a pregnancy like this before,” Dr Brown interjected, smiling. “I promise you that nothing is wrong with your son. He’s just a fast grower.”  32 weeks:  We went for scans at different hospitals, but nothing showed up on scanners or results. As far as anybody could tell me, I wasn’t pregnant.  One terrible night, at 3am, I started to think they might be right.  I woke to find myself in a state of sleep paralysis. My lips couldn’t open and my limbs wouldn’t budge, so I wasn’t able to wake Johnny. Beyond my control, however, my grinding, painful limbs pulled my body out of bed. I could feel something within my body, like a secondary skeleton, puppeteering my paralysed form towards the en-suite bathroom.  I stood before the mirror, trembling in disbelief at my sagging skin, horrified that the thing might burst free and tear me to shreds. My lips, still firmly pressed together, began to curl upwards.  It was the same smile that I’d seen on Dr Samson’s face.  38 weeks:  We saw Dr Brown yesterday. A late “emergency scan” revealed something, but we couldn’t even see a baby anymore. Just an indistinguishable mass that filled my womb. It might’ve been part of my baby’s fully-grown torso.  “Perfectly fine,” Dr Brown said, smiling horribly.  As we left the hospital in a dazed state of terror, Johnny and I bumped into Dr Samson, and the deranged doctor gripped my arm, leaning towards me.  “Not long until you walk with us, Takra,” She giggled into my ear, presumably speaking to my baby. “And you’ll do perfectly fine.”  This petrifying pregnancy finally makes sense. The relentless aches in my joints. The ever-drooping bags under my eyes. The throbbing sensation in my head – it feels as if something wants to worm its way in there, pancaking my brain against the inside of my skull. Replacing it with something else.  I’m not going to give birth in 2 weeks, am I? Takra is going to fill my body and wear my skin like a glove.  And I’ll become one of the loose-fleshed people.

I’m 9 Months Into My Pregnancy And Something Horrifying Is About To Happen - (Reddit story by u/Theeaglestrikes)

https://s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/pod-public-media-files/2023/5/25/14/b0344100-5540-415b-839d-47cc7d380ce9_redcircle.mp3

Reddit Story: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/132cb14/oregano_salt_and_just_a_pinch_of_deadly_nightshade/Reddit User: https://www.reddit.com/user/ACWalkerIsScared/Intro Song / Music: https://www.youtube.com/ @Jaxius   Good evening Guys, Ghouls and Girls! Thank you for watching the latest narrated story. My husband and I celebrated our one year wedding anniversary in March in a very chill, KFC and trackies sort of way but since having our newborn, I kind of relate to wanting to slip something into his food just so I can get a bit of shut eye without being talked at or harassed but alas, he lives to see another day! This one gave me the chills and what a twist at the end! Let me know what you think in the comments. Please make sure to like, comment and subscribe! Thanks for listening and stay spooky! 👻 Find me and add me on everything over at my Linktree: https://linktr.ee/spookcentralstation If you have a story you&#39;d like to share or have me narrate, feel free to email me at:spookcentralstation@gmail.com

So, I had to bust out the microscope to take a look at the chewed-up remains of some poison hemlock recently. Typical Tuesday afternoon for yours truly.  I was given this chewed-up hemlock by a new acquaintance, whom I’ll refer to here as Rosemary. She'd heard through a web forum that I’m something of an enthusiast when it comes to the supernatural/paranormal/generally weird shit, and wanted me to inspect the sample for, well, any of the above. Hemlock, if you weren't aware, is a delightful little white plant in the carrot family, and eating it will win you everything from dry mouth to muscle death to respiratory failure. Nothing special next to most of what’s in my collection, but the story attached to the sample, now that’s something else entirely. I’ve included below the transcript of my interview with Rosemary. What follows below is her account of culinary chaos, and why the hemlock sample in my study shouldn't exist.  *  ROSEMARY’S ACCOUNT  You can think I’m a bitch all you want, but you’re not the one who had to live with him. Anyone who had to be married to my husband as long as I was would’ve wanted to poison him, too.  No, he wasn’t abusive. As far as I know, no, he didn’t cheat. Though looking back, there were a few late work nights that might’ve roused my suspicions. But honestly, if it was just cheating, I wouldn’t have cared. Hell, if he’d been with some new slut every other night, if he’d been a total manwhore, I think I could have lived with that much easier.  No. The simple fact is, he got under my skin.  The way he popped his gum. The high-pitched sigh he made when he got out of bed in the mornings. Chucking his shoes by the door instead of the closet shoe rack. The rancid smell of his breath at the end of the day, worming its way up my nostril as he leaned in to kiss me on the cheek. It may all sound trivial out of context, but put it all together for ten fucking years and the thousand little miseries combine into something maddening. Like an itch wriggling deep in the bone that I couldn’t scratch. A persistent ringing in my ear. A maggot in my apple.  The worst of it was the foul blandness of him. He was perpetually unbothered by everything life threw at him, as apathetically content as a cow chewing cud in the field, and unaware of how all the little habits and details of him were starting to twist me out of my mind. He didn’t even have the decency to be ugly. No crooked tooth, no deep forehead wrinkle, no beer belly. He looked like nothing.  Before I made the decision, I told him he could leave me if he wanted to.  “Imagine if you left,” I mumbled, my head on the pillow, eyes on the stipples of the popcorn ceiling. “I wouldn’t hold it against you.”  All he did was laugh, reach over from his side of the bed, and kiss me on the cheek goodnight.  Tell me, what kind of man does that?  Anyway, that was the night I realized I had to kill him.  No, divorce was not an option. A prenup had been signed, was the problem. If I left him, I’d basically be left with nothing. He was the main breadwinner at the time, and had a sizeable life insurance policy. I had to protect my future. So, over the course of the year, I began to cultivate my garden in the backwoods behind our property. I bought the seeds on the darknet. Hemlock, oleander, foxglove, datura, hellebores, mandrake, deadly nightshade. A few others, too. I wasn’t sure how much of what would grow, so I wanted to cover all my bases. Yes, I’m not stupid, of course I thought about cleaning agents and stuff like that, but I figured all those would be easier to detect in an autopsy. Chemicals, you know. I figured natural stuff would disperse and disappear from the body faster. Then it’d just look like a heart attack.  I wasn’t worried about him going out to the woods and finding the garden. He wasn’t the type to go and explore. I definitely didn’t see him go beyond the back porch in the months and months it took me to grow it all. I always made sure to tend to it while he was still at work, so he wouldn’t notice me sneaking off. So, after a lot of time and care, I was able to start harvesting.  That first night was probably the giddiest I’d ever felt while cooking. It was a soup dish, I don’t remember exactly which. I poured out my own serving, leaving his in the pot for me to alter. As he kicked off his shoes by the fucking door and jammed his briefcase in the closet, yapping about some inane thing that happened at work, I began seasoning his soup.  “So Lewis was worried the deadline on the deliverables was too tight . . .”  “Mhm . . .” I sprinkled in oregano, salt, a pinch of the nightshade.  “And I told him, you know, we’ve worked on tighter deadlines before without issue . . .”  “Mhm . . .” In went the minced hemlock, shavings of mandrake, all generous amounts. I thought all that together would have to be enough. He’d be dead by midnight.  We sat across from each other at dinner as he continued talking intermittently about work, blissfully unaware as ever while he was spooning poison into his ever-babbling mouth. He must’ve wondered, if he ever wondered about anything, why I looked so unusually alert that evening, so smiley and engaged as he told his story. It was my most thrilling dinner in a while. Every time I saw him take a sip, it was like a hit of heroin surging directly through my veins. I just remember thinking, I’m finally doing it. I’m finally going to be free.  He finished the whole bowl, thanked me for the meal, and asked for seconds. I obliged.  We went to bed. He fell asleep, and I pretended to do the same. I waited, breathless, for his symptoms to kick in. I waited for the vomiting, foaming at the mouth, heart palpitations, all of it. One hour ticked by, then another, and another. I wriggled over and pressed close to his chest like I was cuddling, trying to figure out if his heart had simply stopped in his sleep. But nope, it was beating strong as ever, and he slept like a baby all the way until his alarm chimed with the sunrise.  I was just stupefied when he walked out that morning for work, looking right as rain, same braindead smile as he kissed my cheek and told me goodbye. All day I waited for a call that he’d collapsed at work, that he was in the hospital. Nothing. As if all my months in the garden, all the things I’d stirred into his bowl, had never existed.  I figured I must not have used enough after all. So later I went collecting from the garden again, this time everything. I knew I couldn’t cook soup again, that might seem suspicious. So I made stew instead.  When I say I threw in everything to his portion, I mean everything. Along with the nightshade, hemlock, and mandrake, I added enough datura seeds to make his brain pop like a bubble, and crushed every bit of the hellebores into a powder to add. Plus all the oleander, hell, everything, just everything. And then I had to throw in spices from my kitchen to mask the taste.  Again we were sitting across from each other at the table, and he was happily wolfing the stuff down.  “Taste alright?” I asked him, picking at my own meal.  “Delicious as ever,” he said. “Actually, this is my favorite thing you’ve made in awhile. This a new recipe?”  “. . . yep.”  “Nice. You should definitely make it again.”  Another night spent waiting for him to die. Nothing. He didn’t so much as shiver. When he left for work again the next morning, I was racking my head for answers. Did he have some sort of hyperstrong immune system? Had I overcooked the additions to his, somehow boiled all the poisonous parts out? I’d put in so much, there was no way it wasn’t enough. It should have choked him from the inside. It should have cooked the blood in his lungs. It should have sent the veins bursting in his eyes, flooded them red.  At this point I was getting sleep-deprived and desperate. For the next several dinners, I stopped depending solely on my garden and started getting creative instead of staying careful. I found out from a TV show that you can poison someone with gold and silver, so I started breaking down my jewelry and ferreting tiny bits into his food. I slipped spoonfuls of drain cleaner and detergent beads into his afternoon smoothies. I went to visit my grandmother’s house to chip off the lead paint on her walls, and added that to all his dinners. My cleaning agents, in they went. Every dinner I upped the ante, and every dinner he ate with the smile, insisting it was delicious, before retiring for another peaceful night of sleep while I screamed inside my head.  It all came to a head by the tenth dinner. I was watching him slurp down a concoction of henbane, crushed pills, and formaldehyde.  “Yum,” he said.  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I snapped.  He blinked at me, all surprised. “Language, babe.”  Something inside me splintered, the threads of my patience and mind snapped from the sleepless nights and the impossible failures and the years and years of waiting for something, anything to change. I was beyond controlling myself. I was beyond stopping the words from leaving my mouth.  “You just keep eating it,” I said, choked. “Eating it all, and nothing happens. How do you keep eating it? Why won’t you say anything? I’m barely able to do anything about the taste anymore, don’t you taste it? Don’t you feel it? Why the fuck are you acting normal?”  My husband didn’t say anything. He just stared at me from across the table. And then this slow, lazy smile spread across his face.  “What?” I rasped. I’d never seen his face look like that.  He smiled wider, then wider, showing all his white teeth and stretching his lips thin as hairs. Then he . . . his jaw. It unhooked. Slack.  I watched, frozen, pinned to my seat as the man I’d been married to for ten years thrust his arm down his own mouth, all the way past the elbow. He didn’t break eye contact with me as he reached in deeper and deeper. He stopped, and I heard a wet squelch. He began pulling his arm back out, and gripped in his hand was something round and pink and fleshy, trailed by ropes of misshapen, bloody tubing. It quivered in his hand. Gurgled.  I fought down the bile rising in my throat as he slapped the organ down on the table, the intestines still hanging out his gaping mouth, yellow fluid seeping into the white table cloth, leaking from the corners of his lips. The air swelled with the smell of rotten meat. He grabbed the knife to his right, plunged it into the smooth tissue of the organ, and sliced it open. He reached into the newly made slit and began picking things out, plopping them onto the table for me to see.  Chewed-up hemlock. Blue detergent beads. Little black datura seeds. Paint chips. Foxglove leaves and petals. Specks of gold.  One by one he plucked each poison and toxin out that I’d fed him over the last several days. All of it pristine, undigested.  Finally, he picked out a leaf of deadly nightshade, and flicked it right onto my cheek.  I think that’s when I finally screamed out loud.  I leapt out my seat and ran, just ran. Behind me I could hear him laughing, a low wheeze dampened by the innards choking his mouth. I couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. I just grabbed my keys off the counter and bolted to my car, that horrible laugh dogging me the whole way. I swear I heard it right in my ear even when I drove clear out the neighborhood. Sometimes I still do. Always behind, just outside my vision.  *  I went back, of course.  The next morning, with the cops in tow. And you know what we found? Nothing.  Not a trace of him, not a whisper. His car was gone, and the whole house had been cleaned out, completely empty. Years later, I even hired a P.I to try and track him, and all he was able to find of my husband was a few old photos on other people’s social media. In the words of the investigator, “it was like he scarcely existed.”  In a way, I guess I got what I wanted. Not with the money, all the bank accounts were cleared once he left, but at least he was gone. For a while.  Last few months, something’s changed. I’ve started getting things in the mail, in unmarked envelopes. Paint chips. Datura seeds. Specks of gold. This hemlock is the latest.  I tried changing my name and moving, but the envelopes keep coming. It has to be him. But I have no idea what he wants. No idea if he’s sending me these as a warning, or a joke, or a promise.  I only know it means he’s coming.  END OF ROSEMARY’S ACCOUNT  *  Well, I took a look at the hemlock and other samples under the microscope per Rosemary’s request, as well as to satisfy my own curiosity. That, along with other tests, didn’t yield any results out of the ordinary. But I did find something else interesting.  Rosemary had also given me copies of the photos her P.I found (she hadn’t kept any from her marriage). The man photographed within was fairly bland looking, and wore the same perfectly pleasant smile in every single one, as though he had that exact facial expression down to a science. I cross-analyzed the photos with some face databases and archives, and came up with one match.  From 1945.  The photo show's him standing in the center of a group of young, laughing men just outside a bar in Oak Ridge, Tennessee. Now, could it be a coincidence? Could it be a simple case of Rosemary’s husband having a look-a-like from way back when? Sure. It definitely makes more sense than the alternative explanation.  But it’s the smile. That same, perfectly pleasant smile, frozen in black and white.  Think I’ll skip dinner tonight.

Oregano, Salt And Just A Pinch Of Deadly Nightshade - (Reddit Story by u/ACWalkerIsScared)

https://s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/pod-public-media-files/2023/5/22/13/68008f7a-58e3-4d3d-82f1-94081574a9b0_finished_redcircle2.mp3

Reddit Story: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/umraxy/this_body_used_to_be_mine/Reddit User: https://www.reddit.com/user/KamaciteCloverIntro Song: https://www.youtube.com/ @Jaxius   Good evening Guys, Ghouls and Girls! Thank you for listening to the latest narrated story. Please make sure to like, comment and subscribe! Thanks for watching and stay spooky! 👻 Find me and add me on everything over at my Linktree: https://linktr.ee/spookcentralstation If you have a story you&#39;d like to share or have me narrate, feel free to email me at:spookcentralstation@gmail.com

It started with a cut. I had not thought much of it at the time, nor could I tell you where I even got it from. It’s the only thing I could think of that would explain it: how they got inside. It was a thin cut on the centre of my right palm. It hurt more than my ego would care to admit. As a precaution, I cleaned it and applied a liberal amount of anti-bacterial cream before covering it with a bandage. It had been a nuisance while pushing my computer mouse around with it, constantly reminding me of its presence. I lifted my hand and rotated my wrist. A rough series of cracks sounded off with the sensation of dragging a stick through gravel. Papercuts and carpal tunnel: the hazards in my field of work. I turned my gaze to the bottom right corner of the screen. 4:48 PM. 12 minutes from the end of the shift. My supervisor had already slipped out. They had tickets to…something…it didn’t matter. I wasn’t paying too much attention at the time, truth be told. They had bragged the whole afternoon away and strutted out a full hour early. None of us had the desire to challenge the person above us on the food-chain. God forbid if they found out I took less than 15 minutes at the end of the day. Not the most pleasant work environment, but it was the one that actually hired me. Perhaps my exploitability was my key asset.  Most of the other workers had taken their chances and left soon after the supervisor’s exit, leaving me behind. Seeing no one was around, I signed out and turned off my monitor. Sliding my papers into my pack, I lifted it by the strap with my right hand, not giving much thought to the action. I dropped it immediately in response to a shooting pain. I looked at my palm. The bandage was virtually pristine, save for the wrinkles caused by the curvature of my hand. Odd. It had felt as if I grasped a curling iron, or at least I imagined that’s how it felt. I gingerly tested the strap with my right hand again. It seemed fine. The sensation had been far more severe than anything I had felt during the work day. I decided against putting further unnecessary stress on it. Using my left hand, I hoisted it around my shoulder. It had already fallen dark by the time I walked out into the office parking lot. I would have complained, but around this time last year we had a significant snowfall. I was just happy I didn’t have to drive home through the snow. My palm was throbbing. I had no gloves on me, so my hands were rather cold, but the sensation was far greater in my bandaged right palm. It was as if an icicle pierced right through its centre. I hurried towards my vehicle in the corner of the empty lot. I flung the driver’s side door open and tossed my pack into the passenger’s seat.  …  My eyes opened; their vision consumed by a miniature mountain range of white that was a stucco ceiling. I blinked the sleep away from my eyes. A thought was developing, yet it dragged along, scraping the inside of my skull, refusing to form into anything coherent. I just laid still with an instinctual feeling that something was not right. Without my mind giving any definition to this feeling, I was unsure how to act. My eyes remained on the ceiling. It was much like that which coated the ceiling of my parents’ old home. I hadn’t seen much of the unappealing substance since I moved out. My apartment’s styling was an amalgamation of wood, concrete, and glass. Perhaps a few years ago it’s design would have been considered inspired…  I was not in my own bed.  My eyes shifted downwards carefully. Light shone through the window a few steps from the foot of the bed. The walls were lined in yellowing wallpaper. The scent of years of cigarette smoke hung in the atmosphere. My eyes tilted to my right. The red digits of a clock sitting on the peeling wood of a nightstand read 7:23 AM. My attention drifted to the left. The sheets were in disarray, leaving the impression of another body that inhabited the space moments before. I slowly sat up. I took in my surroundings. There was a brown rotting desk in the corner with a seemingly ancient metal lamp upon it. A black tube TV was wedged into a cabinet sitting in front of the window. To its left, a door, marked, beaten, wearing its years of abuse. The door’s painted white metal acted like a canvass for the dark streaks and other miscellaneous smudges that adorned it.  I was in a motel. A real dump of one at that. I waited for memories to materialize. Nothing came. The parking lot, then this. I felt my stomach churn. It was as if time lurched forward without warning. The room was dizzying. My head turned towards the left of the room. In the corner was the entrance to the washroom. I hesitated for a moment. Burgundy curtains were drawn part way across the window, cloaking the left side of the room in shadow. Despite my nausea, I had little desire to cross the threshold of darkness towards the washroom. Rubbing my face, a soggy bandage slightly caught on the bridge of my nose. A sharp response shot off from my hand, causing me to pull it a way. It continued to ache dully as I inspected the warped bandage. Past my hand, my clothing and shoes sat amongst the mucky brownish red carpet. Without stepping down onto it, I leaned from the bed and snatched up my belongings. Hastily throwing them on, I stood up and began to make my way towards the room’s exit. I heard something fall off the bed. A pillow or blanket perhaps? I wasn’t sure, but I heard something. I turned around, my back to the front door.  It was faint. A moan of sorts. Just barely audible. I wanted to pretend that I didn’t hear it. I stood still, unable to control my motor functions. I just stared into the dark. The moment hung in silence. A pale, wiry, hand slowly lifted itself from below the other side of the bed. Its digits clawed a crumpled sheet. Low moaning emanated from the dark. The noise sustained, becoming louder with every moment until, without warning, it became a shriek. I broke from my daze and spun towards the door. I grasped its handle and flung it back, fleeing out of the room. I refused to look behind me as I sprinted, creating as much distance as I could from the thing in the room. The chill ate at my skin as I ran through the outer walkway of a weathered green building. The winter sun was just beginning to rear its head. I approached a metal stair set leading down to the car lot below. My shoes clanged against the steps, echoing out into the silent morning. Once I reached the ground floor, I stopped and surveyed my surroundings.  I had no idea where I was. To add to my concern, my vehicle could not be found amongst the handful that were sitting in front of the 2-story relic of a building. I looked up towards a sign that sat atop a pole placed by the Parking entrance. “MOTEL” was written in filthy fluorescent letters. The “O” was flickering. Scanning my surroundings, I noticed that the motel seemed to be tucked away in some sort of industrial district. I turned around to face the building I had just come out of. My breath plumed in the brisk morning air. Looking past the second-floor railing, I spotted the room that I had fled from. The door was still open. I couldn’t make out much else beyond that. My legs began to move before my mind even seemed to command it. I had no direction, just the need to escape, to be somewhere, anywhere else than here. I was running towards the parking lot exit. In my mind’s eye, the foul creature had crawled out onto the balcony, leapt down to the pavement, and was chasing me on all fours, frothing at the mouth. Sound had been muted. All I could hear was the beating of my heart accompanied by rhythmic breathing. The air stung my throat as I ran straight into the street. I nearly caught my leg on a pothole as I ran helplessly without any direction. I could feel it gaining. My chest squeezed as I felt it right on top of me. I continued to run, heaving, nearly out of breath, like a race horse about to collapse. Electricity danced around in my brain. The scenery began to darken.  …  There was nothing. Just a sound. Liquid. Gurgling. Distant, yet all too close. A violent tremor. Something shaking at my feet. I could feel its vibrations, yet I could not see. The veil was slowly lifted. Concrete. Columns dispersed across a barren grey landscape, marked by yellow dividing lines. Pipes overlapped one another on the ceiling. Glaring light emanated from a strip of fluorescent bulbs hanging above. An arrow was painted in the middle of the path, followed by another which curved left, leading down a corridor that spiraled out of view. My entire body felt rigid. How was it possible that I arrived here unconsciously? I went to turn my neck, and met a mild resistance. An invisible force tugged in the opposite direction as I turned to look to my right. It dissipated. A parking garage continued for some distance before me, with only a few cars scattered amongst the stalls. My body ached and my eyes burned. I blinked a few times, trying to shake away my fatigue. The entire structure was silent save for that sound. Rustling intermingled with a low gurgling. A sound that in my stupor, I did not register. As my mind fought through the distress of finding myself in another unknown location, I finally fixated on it. The origin of the noise was close.  Incredibly close.  At first glance, it seemed as if I was alone in this structure. My gaze locked forward. Right where the arrows led off to the side, there was a concrete wall, broken up only by the pristine metal doors of an elevator. In its reflection, was an obscured picture of myself and a dark blob directly at my feet. If the image on the doors was to be believed, something was laying right in front of me. It was just out of my vision. All I had to do was look down. The sound became more violent. It was that of a struggle. I felt something brush against my left leg. I tilted my head and looked down upon it. On the hard surface below me, was a man. He wore a black raincoat and blue jeans. He had a thick brow and hollow cheeks. His eyes were light blue. These were the details that I attempted to focus on, trying to avoid processing the entire picture.  The man was convulsing in his own fluids, arching his back upwards and slamming it into the concrete. Streaks of blood came from the stripes that his nails had carved into his throat. His left hand gripped his chest as his right continuously raked at his throat. Saliva and bile dripped from clenched teeth that looked like they were on the verge of shattering. All the while his eyes were trained upon mine. I wanted to collapse, but my legs were locked in place. The body twisted and contorted to the point that I thought it was going to fold in on itself. Then it stopped. The man’s back fell flat on the concrete. Stillness. Life left his eyes. The pupils stared directly at the ceiling. For a brief moment, I thought I noticed something. Just at the inner corner of the man’s eye, something poked out. A bundle of dark strands, with distinct bends in them part way. Each of them had irregular jagged grooves. If I had to compare them to something, I would say they were almost like spider legs. They rotated and extended in each direction, then slid back inside from whence they came. The man’s cold blue eyes darted right, looking directly at me.  …  I stood in a dimly lit room. A warm liquid made its way down my right arm. There was a large gash in my bicep. I could see it, but could not feel it. A sensor light provided a slight amount of illumination from the outside. Glass was sprinkled across the carpet with intermittent blood stains. My eyes followed the trail of red which led to the remnants of a sliding glass door. It had been shattered. Something had even caught the frame, knocking it off the tracks. Past a bookshelf, just behind a sofa, something stuck out. I cautiously moved towards it. My legs stopped at the edge of the sofa. I leaned over. Not much detail could be discerned in the faint light, but I saw enough. A grown man, in a grey t-shirt and boxer shorts, lay on the floor face up, his feet sticking out just past the furniture. Behind me, a light wheeze glided through the air. I turned towards the noise. There had been a door behind where I had come into consciousness. It was slightly ajar. A few glowing stickers that depicted smiling planets, stars, and the like, were haphazardly thrown across it. At the center of the doorway was a small silhouette of a body. It twitched. I felt my insides nearly collapse on themselves.  A soft whimper echoed through the building. My body became rigid. The cry sounded off again. It was muffled, but I could hear it all too well. My legs began moving, but not by my command. My neck twisted to the right. A carpeted staircase was before me. I continued towards the noise. I tried to stop. My body continued. My arms, legs, nothing responded to me. I ascended the steps. As the stairs creaked, the cries peaked in terror. The sound which once seemed almost silent was now deafening. It was as if my hearing had blocked out everything else and isolated the noise. At the top of the steps, I passed by a hallway lined with family photos. My eyes remained locked forward. Stopping abruptly, I pivoted to the right. My vision was consumed by a door. Whatever was behind it attempted to hold its breath, but their heartbeat was painfully audible. Without warning, my body slammed repeatedly against the door. The person behind it began screaming. On the third try, the door flew off of its hinges. Inside, a street lamp shone through a window’s blinds revealing a dark-haired woman. She lobbed something. It collided with my left shoulder. I proceeded forward.  She backed into the corner of the room, unable to say a word. I lunged forward and threw her to the ground. My hands latched onto her head and began to pry her jaw open. Leaning above her, I felt my body shake as my mouth began to stretch open. Stripes of light from the window revealed the awful scene. The feeling of thousands of fibers dragging across my esophagus spurred my mind into a frenzy. A flood of minuscule wriggling masses came pouring out of my mouth, falling straight into hers. A few fell just shy of her mouth and crawled their way inside. I was able to spot one of them as it passed a blade of light. At its center, was a porous, white body. Sprouting from all angles were several dexterous strands that transported the grotesque masses at a disturbing speed and steadiness. Their form almost resembled the seed heads of dandelions in a hideous caricature of nature. Tears came from my eyes as I was helpless, only able to watch. My jaw then clamped shut and I let go of her. I watched as the last of the creatures crawled inside. Her jaw remained open, grotesquely askew. Eyes wide, her face locked into an expression of shock. My body stood up robotically and my gaze remained locked on her as she began to convulse on the ground.  …  I don’t know how much more time I have before I become nothing more than an observer. The hours that I am awake have begun to dwindle. I have lost track of time completely. I can not say if it has been days, weeks, or months. They know everything I intend to do. There is not much that can be done. There are others out there now who have lost their bodies and soul. All I can do is write about it with the time I have left. They sense no threat in these actions, perhaps because I know it is futile. What are they? How did they get inside that cut? I will never have answers to these questions. All I know is that they will continue to spread. Watch the people around you and take note of their strange behavior. I wish all of you well. If you do not heed these warnings, you may end up like me: A passenger.

This Body Used To Be Mine - (Reddit Story by u/KamaciteClover)

https://s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/pod-public-media-files/2023/5/14/12/2cf01dc8-fc54-47c4-a2e2-f497341abb44_redcircle.mp3

Reddit Story: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1375lma/these_arent_my_friends/Reddit User: https://www.reddit.com/user/Powerful-Time2067/Intro Song: https://www.youtube.com/ @Jaxius   Good evening Guys, Ghouls and Girls! Thank you for watching the latest narrated story. Have any of your friends acted super strange? Maybe not to this extent but I definitely have had some questionable nightmares! Let me know some of your stories in the comment section below. Please make sure to like, comment and subscribe! Thanks for watching and stay spooky! 👻 Find me and add me on everything over at my Linktree: https://linktr.ee/spookcentralstation If you have a story you&#39;d like to share or have me narrate, feel free to email me at:spookcentralstation@gmail.com

My coworkers started acting weird; they’re not their usual selves. I just started working at this tech company last month after graduation, and it’s been amazing. I’ve started becoming closer with my coworkers, especially Ava and Dean. I’d like to say we’re all pretty good friends.  Two weeks ago, Ava came to my office and asked if I talked to our boss at all today as he was acting off, and I just told her I hadn’t. I didn’t even think about that conversation until last week, when I came in and Ava came into my office. Usually, she’s a very cheerful person and very bright and happy. When she came in today, she greeted me in a very monotone voice with no emotion behind it. I asked if she was okay, and she just tilted her head slightly, said "of course," and left. I thought it was weird, so I went to talk to Dean and ask him if he noticed anything weird about Ava today, except he was acting the same way, with a blank stare and no emotion in his voice. It was creeping me out, so I just went back to my desk and started working.  Now my office, along with everyone else's, has a comfortable amount of room and a bunch of glass windows surrounding it, so I can just sit at my desk and see anyone walking around outside. As I was working, I started to see Ava pacing back and forth at my office door, so I stood up and opened the door to ask her if she needed anything, and she just stared at me with her head slightly tilted and a smile on her face. I know, just based on how I described it, that it doesn’t sound creepy, but you weren’t there; it was one of the creepiest fucking things I’ve ever seen. Ava just walks away after that.  After my shift is done, I start to walk to the elevator so I can go to my car and leave this place, as it was one of the weirdest fucking days I’ve ever had. As I go in the elevator and the doors start closing, Dean starts running towards it. It seems harmless enough, right? Wrong.  Have you ever seen one of those horror movies where the bad guy or evil person starts running towards the main character at a sprint and the main character has a weird look on their face? They eventually come to their senses and realise they need to start moving their asses so they can escape what looks like death. Well, that’s what Dean looked like while he was running towards me, and I had an awful feeling, so I came to my senses and quickly started pressing the button so I could close the elevator and escape certain death.  Lucky for us, it closes in time, and it sounds like Dean runs into the elevator doors at full speed. At this point, I’m creeped out, so I say fuck it and call in sick the next day and the next day and the next day until the weekend, when I’m off.  I eventually called my mom and told her about everything. She thought I was being dramatic and maybe they were playing a prank, and honestly, I thought maybe she was right.  So on Saturday, I text Ava first and tell her I’m coming over. She doesn't reply, so I just go over anyway. I knock on her door, no answer, I ring the doorbell, nothing, so I figure she’s out or busy, so I next text Dean, and same thing, no reply, so I go over, and same thing, no answer. At this point, I thought that something must be up, so I just waited until Sunday, but same thing, nothing.  When I go back to work on Monday, I see Dean and Ava in Ava’s office together just staring at each other. I’m about to walk in and ask why they both ignored me during the weekend until I see their mouths open so wide it looks like their jaws should be broken and their eyes so wide they eventually start bleeding.  After a few minutes, they close their mouths and their eyes go back to normal, and they just stare at me and start running towards me, so I use all my energy to get the fuck out of there, and I go and run into my office, shutting the blinds and locking the doors.  They’ve been banging against them all day, and I just saw the news that a body has been found, and they identified it as Ava’s body. I don’t know what the fuck is happening, but whoever that is isn’t Ava, and if I’m right, that isn’t Dean either. I don’t know what to do; I can’t stay in my office forever, but I’m not ready to die yet.

These Aren't My Friends - (Reddit Story by u/Powerful-Time2067)

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