Three Disturbing Stories About Strangers and Beings

Three very disturbing stories that will haunt your soul!

Let’s Get Spooky!

The Blank Page

Credited to R Holmes

My father grew up on an Indian reservation in South Dakota. It is a place with few trees and even fewer people, and there has been little development since the place was settled many, many years ago. The people live in clusters of nearly uniform houses that were built by the government, and the only place to go shopping or see a movie is nearly two hours away. It’s hot in the summer, cold in the winter, and sometimes the wind blows for days without letting up. Even now, the people there have to be tough to survive. You look out for your friends, you help your neighbors, and you don’t forget your family.

His grandmother died when he was very young, but he’s told me that he retains one particularly vivid memory of her. It was winter and they were at the house together in the early evening, and she was cooking in the kitchen while he played with a deck of cards in the front room. He can’t quite recall what she looked like, but he can still remember the smell of the food that she was making that night. It’s funny how memory works that way. His parents, grandfather, and two older sisters had caught a ride into Rapid City to buy supplies before the first big storms came through, so it was just the two of them. She went on cooking and he went on playing with those cards until he’d lost track of time and it was pitch black outside.

There was a knock at the door. Not a loud knock like the police, or the friendly kind of knock that a neighbor uses when he’s stopping by to borrow something. Just a slow, quiet tapping on the door. Tap, tap, tap, just like that. Naturally, he figured his family had made it back from the city, so he went right over to let them inside. Before he had a chance to reach the door, his frail, elderly grandmother grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away, like he was a rag doll. “Never answer the door at night,” she told him, covering his mouth so he couldn’t say anything. He could feel her arm trembling. There was no more knocking, but my father couldn’t shake the sense that there was someone familiar standing on the other side of that door, waiting to be let inside. When she finally let go of him, he asked her why she had stopped him.

“Sometimes the dead try to come home,” she said. There were tears in her eyes.

His family didn’t return that night, and there was no phone service so they couldn’t call. When they made it back the following day, he learned that his grandfather had died from a heart attack during the trip. My father never said anything about the knocking, and neither did his grandmother. It was like it had never happened. His grandmother wasn’t the same after that and followed her husband to the grave just a few months later. My father was six years old.

It was much later when my father found himself alone at night during a particularly bad winter storm, the wind howling outside and the rest of his family stranded miles away. They had gone into the city that morning, and wouldn’t be able to come back until the storm let up and the roads were cleared. Eventually the electricity went out and the only light came from the stove they used for heating. The worst part of the storm lasted a few hours, but finally it got quiet outside as the wind slowed and the windows stopped rattling. Then the knock came again. That same tapping at the door from years before, like fingers just barely brushing against it. My father couldn’t bring himself to look out the window to see if anyone was standing outside, but for some reason, he found himself drawn to the door, like he had to open it. It was only when he felt the cold from beneath the door on his bare feet that he stopped. He called outside, asking who was there.

“It’s me,” came the voice from the other side of the door. “Let me inside. It’s cold.”

He recognized the voice, since it belonged to his eldest sister. He had his hand on the doorknob when his grandmother’s words came back to him, and the feel of her hand gripping his arm. Never answer the door at night. There were many things he could have asked his sister at that moment. He could have asked where his parents were, or why he hadn’t heard the car pull up when they were dropped off. He could have even asked why she needed to knock at all – they didn’t lock their doors on the reservation. He didn’t ask her any of those things. Instead, he told her to go around to the back and he would let her inside. Before he could say anything else, or even think anything else, he heard the knocking start at the back door, like she had been there the entire time. Instantly. Tap, tap, tap. He didn’t open the door, and spent the rest of the night curled up on the floor. His family had tried to return home earlier that evening and got into a car accident in the snow. His father had broken his leg in two places. His eldest sister had died, mangled in the wreck. He didn’t tell anyone what had happened, but he knew in his heart that sometimes the dead do try to come home.

My father was not afraid of what might have happened that night. When he told me the story, he was sorrowful. He always regretted that he lost his opportunity to see his sister one last time. I know that’s why he went home by himself and waited when my mother died. You don’t forget your family. I know he heard that knocking on the door, tap, tap, tap, like he remembered from his youth. I also know that he forgot something, very, very important. The fear in his grandmother’s voice on that cold winter night, and the way she held him with all her strength. Never answer the door at night. When we found him the next day, the front door was wide open and he had been torn limb from limb. There were no footprints in the snow.

Never Open the Door at Night

by NathanLeachman

You’ve heard it all before. Stories of that one depressed, lonely, deprived teenager. The one that finds herself befallen by unspeakable tragedy at the cruel hands of her long time oppressor. It’s become so cliche that you may have even heard the acknowledgment of its overuse elsewhere. This image is only so popular because we are so plentiful. We come from all walks of life, all nationalities, all social statuses. We are the ones whose minds are one with the darkness they fear, the ones whose thoughts are so loud, and intense in their heads they find them whispering them aloud. Speaking silent words of perpetual black into the dead night before us, to be carried by the nights chill into utter obscurity. Projecting our madness to the full moon, that we may carry some sanity within ourselves… But always to no avail.

Perhaps that is all I do now. Speak words into the silent midnight so pitch black that they meld into it, only to find the company of other deranged minds, whispering the same maddened thoughts, never to meet through the stone barriers of shyness. Enough of this however, you want to hear tales of monsters, curses, tragedy, spirits. Those who hunger for such anomalies of the abyss must have enough dark thoughts within themselves, you don’t need mine as well. In my ghetto, inner city school kids exchange whispers of an old myth passed down from the upperclassmen; mostly just to scare the freshmen, or act like they’re involved with their school. Either way it goes as this; a few years back there was a young freshman girl who was eager to begin her glorious high school career. She would spend every hour of night during the week preluding the start of the new school year dreaming, pondering, and inquiring the wondrous things to come. No more asinine busy work, the next four years would dictate where the rest of her life was headed. Then the first week came… It went perfectly, better than she had imagined during those anxious, hopeful nights.

Everybody adored her, her classes were mild, and challenging. It was cruel, as if fate had deemed she should live her dream for a time as a mere jest; just to show her what she was missing. To show her what she would be missing for the rest of eternity. She woke up after a relaxing weekend alone, she could feel joy, and anticipation dancing in her young heart. She was so oblivious, so confident, so strong… Alas it would not be enough, her mom drove her to school as she did every day, they were one turn away as a smile cracked on her face, a smile that would we warped by evil odds, a face twisted by the devils cruel fire. A face that would drag many others with her into the burning abyss, what were the odds? A large truck smashed into the passenger side where she was sitting as they began to make the turn, crumbling the feeble metal structure into a steel tomb. The engine began to catch fire, and smoke began to fill her lungs. She could see through the shattered glass the broken image of a desperate mother, smashing her fist into the steel to free her, with a man behind her on the phone. Her seat had curved and the door was smashed like tin foil, only one opening revealed itself in this burning prison. It was a crack in the glass, by the corner of the windshield, she knew that should she stay idle the smoke would choke her out, and that was no way she wanted to die.

She reached out and touched glass, only to rear back in pain. The glass was searing hot, parts of it even melting from the fire. She knew what she had to do, the image of her school, and her future infuriated her with an inhuman zeal. She forced her mouth onto the opening, and breathed the fresh air, all pain ignored, her lips peeled back with the heat like plastic to a match, her hair singed and dissipated. Her flesh warped and cauterized in place like human clay. Several minutes passed in this agonizing state, until through the broken windshield red lights flashed, and sirens sounded over her mothers hysterical cries from watching her beautiful daughter changed into this monster just to survive. She spent three blind bitter months in the hospital, the white gaus masking her hideous transformation. Then the day came, the mask was taken off, though nobody could quite find the appropriate reaction. Her lips were charred black outlines for her melted teeth, her lower jaw seemed almost unhinged, perhaps worse of all, was that look of pure bitter sorrow, and spite, when she herself saw what she was. She refused to speak a word, not that it was easy without proper lips or a functioning lower jaw.

She spent the next miserable month in her room, unfit to return to school. She began diving deep into the internet, perhaps a sick part of her wanted to see its dark underside just to prove to herself she was not the only one. She eventually couldn’t take it, she didn’t want to be seen, she couldn’t be seen. She logged onto the Wikipedia, created a blank page, and began furiously typing all her spite, all her hate, pouring her heart channeling her very soul into that page. The story goes that once she had poured all of her soul into that page, she had no reason to stay anchored to her broken body.

She parted, before she could post, that page remained blank for some time. The students then fabricated a myth that should you stare into that blank page for too long, she will suck your soul into it, with hers. This is that page, now you might ask yourself, why am I going here knowing this terrible myth? Am I some kind of skeptic? Trying to give you a scare? No, I am here because I am alone, because here I have someone like me, someone to whisper dark nothings into abyssal silence with. I’ll be joining her soon, and you’ll be joining us. We dark minded people should stick together, misery loves company, and with each stolen soul this abyss becomes that much less of a void, I do apologize for ruining this pages blank reputation by the way. You are dark minded like us… It’s time you tragically joined us in our little blackness. Of all these pages to choose from… What are the odds?

The Darkest Shadow

by ISTinfinite

Some REALLY terrifying stuff has been happening to me. I don’t know how to handle it. I’m getting too ahead of myself though, I should start with something like… Hi, my name is Jacob. I’m 16, and I live in the suburbs of LA. Too cliche of an intro? I don’t know… I’m to frightened to care right now.

It all started a week ago. I was at some shop somewhere near the outside of LA, somewhere off some remote highway. My mom decided she wanted to stop there after coming back from a short camping trip with the family. After arriving there, we saw that it was a knick-knack shop, and a moderately sized one at that. Walking inside, an ominous feeling dropped over me, almost like a feeling when its hot outside of the pickle and step into a cool building and the rush of coolness hits you, only this time… with eeriness. I looked around, examining all the odd and somewhat normal-looking items. That’s when something weird happened. A flash seemed to illuminate the right side of my field-of-vision. I looked over but there was nothing shiny… Just a book that had a crazily ornate hard-cover. It had silver and gold lining with metallic designs on the face of it. For some reason, it began to draw me in, like I wanted it, and honestly, I kinda did.

I found the decoration on the front very cool due to the style of decoration which I can’t really describe, just a kind of style that drew me in. I inspected the title of the book and it was titled The Darkest Shadow. I was intrigued by the book and, having a love of creepy stuff like this, I decided to grab it and take it to the cashier.

Touching it was a mistake. As soon as I grabbed it, an intense feeling of dread, or fear, I’m not even sure, loomed over me. After about six seconds or so the feeling just ascended off me, or most of it at least because I still felt uneasy. I tried to ignore it and just figured it was hormones or the eerie feeling the shop had already given me to begin with.

“Is this for sale?” I asked the cashier, arriving at the counter. “You want that book? Are you sure?” the cashier replied, a sound of only what I can describe as fear in his voice. “Uhm… Yeah… Is that a problem?” I questioned, quite surprised with his un-enthusiasm to sell it to me, almost as if he knew something I didn’t. “No not at all. Take it. Have it for free,” the cashier said, not even touching the book.”Oh, okay, thanks,” I smiled, happy but confused. “Bye-bye, then,” the cashier said on my way out, or at least that’s what I think he said. Who cares though? I had my book and I was pretty excited to get to reading. I haven’t read a good thrilling book in a while, and this was free so, hey, what’s not to be excited about. For some reason though, I couldn’t shake off that I wasn’t sure if he said “Bye-bye then”, or something else. I swear he could have said “Bye-bye Jen.”

We got home and I had some dinner. Taco’s. The best. Sometime around 8:00 P.M. I decided to start reading the book. I grabbed it off my nightstand next to my bed. I pried it open and began to read. It had the thick smell of age to match the yellowing paper. The text was still readable so I didn’t mind. The book was actually pretty cool and interesting. It was about a girl who had drowned in a bathroom after her husband found out she had an affair with another man. The man cut off the light while the mother was washing their 12 month old baby in the tub. The man drowned the girl in the tub in front of the daughter, and then proceeded to drown the baby.

Due to the guilt and realization of what he had done, he slit his throat and bled out. That’s all I’ve read so far. I look at the clock. 12:42 A.M. I should get some sleep, I thought. I stood the book up on the nightstand, hoping the book would make my room more decorative. I turned my mini-lamp off and my room was flooded with pitch blackness. For some reason, I began to feel insecure, like something was watching me from the closet across my room. I closed my eyes and tried to shake off the feeling. I figured I was feeling this way because I read a scary book until 12:42 A.M. It wasn’t really a good idea but I was just so drawn to this book that I almost couldn’t put it down. My eyes had adjusted to the blackness of the room and now I could make out object in my room like my bookshelf, my Xbox, TV, my desk, and computer. I could see the outline of my sliding closet door. Something caught my eye, though.

The book on my shelf was producing a shadow the stretched to the roof of my room. I don’t know how, seeing as my windows were completely covered by the shades so there was absolutely no source of light shining through the window. There was no light source at all, yet the book had a shadow growing out of it. I could tell because there was a shadow like shade emerging from it that was a darker shade than the rest of the room. As I stared at it, I realized it looked like the shadow of a human. That scared the crap out of me. I guess I just had set it up oddly on my nightstand… that’s all…

It moved. I held still, petrified. I swear it moved. There was not a doubt in my mind that made me think it didn’t. It looked like a girl with long hair. I was scared stiff. The shadow’s head slowly jerked sideways, as if looking at me in a two dimensional form. I turned in my bed, scared that it was clearly aware I was there. I closed my eyes and did not open them until somehow I fell asleep.

The next morning the day went through normally. It was a Sunday so I didn’t do much. I decided to give the book another shot. I grabbed it from off my desk and read and read. I couldn’t set it down. I kept seeing the girl jerking her head towards me over and over in my mind, and I couldn’t set the book down. Eventually dinner came, I don’t know how. What I ate doesn’t really matter so I’m not going to go into detail about it.

I decided to get sleep early tonight. Reading the book didn’t sound like a very good idea, so I didn’t do it. I turned the light off and pitch blackness flooded the room again. Nothing wrong had happened this time. Once my eyes had adjusted, I saw the shadow again. Oh God, I thought, I don’t want to do this again. Suddenly, there was a faint sound coming from outside of my room. I listened harder, and it sounded like a baby crying. I looked up to see the shadow… but it was gone. Huh. Must have been my imagination the whole time. I looked down at the floor and yelled. The girl shadow was rising out of the ground, its head facing towards the floor. Oh crap, oh god, this is terrible. Thoughts were blurting through my head and then the shadow jerked its head towards me. I couldn’t move. I was stuck. It’s empty, lifeless eyes, pierced into mine. The baby crying crew louder, and the girl came closer, emitting a multi-pitched, demonic-like laugh. Her movement forward emitted a sound like nothing you’d ever expect. It was the sound that would emit like if you removed a game cartridge out of a device while its still playing.

I suddenly regained movement. I grabbed the book and ran for my life past the girl. I ran to our kitchen and grabbed a lighter out of the junk drawer. I threw the book in the stainless steel sink (which was dry at the moment) that way I wouldn’t burn down the house. I lit the book on fire and watched it burn. A feeling of joy washed over me. This should do it, I thought. I felt kind of proud. I really hope this would get read of the ghost.

Without warning, the sink blasted on, full power. It put the fire out almost instantly. “No no no no no no no no,” I cried in grief. I picked up the book and opened it up, only… the pages were blank. Confused, I flipped through the pages until I came across one that had a eerie girl grinning up at me with the words ”You shouldn’t have done that” printed on it. Full of fear and rage, I ran outside in the night.

Looking back at the house, I saw the girl grinning at me through the window. I turned my head and ran. I ran as fast as I could. My feet hurt because I didn’t have any shoes or socks, and I also didn’t know where I was going. I looked around and saw a well. I remember it because any time we’d drive around the suburbs to go to downtown LA, we’d pass it. I ran to the well and chucked the book as hard as I could. It hit the side of the well and dropped down and splashed in the distance. I sighed with relief and ran back home.

No sign of the girl. No crying baby. It was quiet. I checked on my parents and they were still asleep. I don’t know how they didn’t hear all the commotion. I went back to my room to go to sleep. I inspected the room and there was nothing out of the usual, especially no shadows anywhere. I felt a weight lifted off me, like this evil had been eradicated, or at least unbound from me. I smiled and went to sleep.

The next morning my mom said we were going downtown to do some heavy duty shopping. “Awesome, maybe I can get some games!” I said enthusiastically, and my mom rolled her eyes and smiled. “Come on let’s go.” We both got in the car and I hopped in the front seat. My mom started up the ignition and pulled out of the driveway. We turned down the street and drove down the road to downtown LA. I looked to the side and something caught my eye. I saw the well, and right behind it… was the girl standing in a freaky, crippled-looking position, her head cocked almost completely sideways, smiling at me. I held in my breath and swung my head towards the front windshield. My mom looked over me, confused. Then her phone buzzed. I jumped, scared for my life.

“Jacob, relax. It’s just my phone. Can you pick it up for me, I’m driving. It’s probably your dad.” I sighed and replied,”Yeah, sure.” I picked up the phone and hit the answer call button. “Hello?” I said. Then my blood ran cold. At the other side of the line, I heard a distinct female voice rasp,

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

Exit

Hey it’s Spooky Boo Rhodes

Get ready for Halloween! I have a special edition of my horror stories coming out in Paperback this Fall and to celebrate I’ve created a limited edition package where you can get a personally signed paperback, a digital copy of the book to read so your paperback doesn’t get worn and torn, and a really cool special edition t-shirt. To find out more just visit my page at www.spookyboorhodes.com and click on the Sandcastle Horror link at the top.

Come and visit me on YouTube on Saturday nights where I replay the podcast stories and have a fun time chatting with the audience. We also talk about movies, books, costumes, and really anything related to horror. Check it out at youtube.com/spookybooscarystorytime.

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That’s all for tonight. I’ll see you in your nightmares.