This blog contains scary stories which have been submitted by users of tumblr.
If you like Ghosts, Aliens, Myths, Folklore, Urban Legends and Cryptozoology then this is the blog for you!
To send me a story of your own experience with the paranormal please read the Guidelines before sending it into submit.
PLEASE READ FAQ BEFORE SENDING ME AN ASK.
When my mom first moved into our last house she said that she’d see a little boy. The boy would always say the same thing. “Mommy, help me.” She told me that every time she’d see the boy the next day someone would be ill, something would go wrong, ect
Right after High School I decided to study Mortuary Science and soon after landed a job as an apprentice funeral director. The job never really bothered me and since I worked for a small funeral home, I often worked by myself (even late at night). However, this story happened on an early morning and I will never forget it.
My morning routines usually involved vacuuming the Funeral chapel, followed by arranging the chairs for viewings, and setting up the flowers. After fixing the chapel, I’m usually tasked with going into the morgue to check on the deceased and figuring out who to embalm. The way the funeral home is designed, the morgue is a few rooms down from the chapel.
I started vacuuming like usual on this very ordinary morning. The vacuum that I had to deal with was this classic early 90’s vacuum with the large dust bag. Needless to say, when the vacuum was on you wouldn’t be able to hear anything else. As I proceeded to toil about the parlor with the blaring of the vacuum, I heard noise coming from the direction of the morgue. It was the sound of a child laughing. I stopped what I was doing, as I thought my boss’ grandson had gotten in the morgue again. He’s not allowed to be in there, of course. I walked to the morgue, opened up the door, but the lights weren’t even on. I went back to the chapel and continued my vacuuming. I just brushed it off as noise coming from else where. A few minutes went by when I heard laughter again. It did sound like a child and the noise was coming from the morgue. I hurried back to the morgue. I just knew the grandson was playing back there. When I walked in the room, I flipped the lights on and saw nobody. “Come on, get out before your grandpa knows you’re back here.” No response. I scoured the morgue, but found not a single soul. I thought I was going crazy.
When I finally finished vacuuming and arranging the parlor, I went back into the morgue to do my next task: preparing the bodies for the embalming. I put on my gloves, donned my mask, and opened the morgue cooler. And there he was.
A deceased young boy.
Fuck Yeah Nightmares Answered: I found it more sad than creepy. But its still has a eerie feel to the story. 9/10 for scares and thanks for sharing.
When I was younger, there was a ruined building at the bottom of our street. All of the kids in the area kept well away from it, because the rumor was that it was haunted. The concrete walls of the old two-story building were cracked and crumbling. The windows were broken and shards of glass lay all over the floor inside. One evening, as a test of courage, my best friend and I decided to explore the creepy old place. We climbed in through a window at the back of the building. The whole place was dirty and there was a layer of mud on the wooden floor. As we dusted ourselves off, we looked up and were shocked to see that someone had written the words “I AM DEAD” on the wall near the ceiling. “Probably just some teenagers trying to scare kids”, I said. “Yeah, probably…”, replied my friend nervously. We explored more of the rooms on the ground floor. In a room that appeared to have once been a kitchen of sorts, we found more writing on the wall. It read “I AM IN A ROOM UPSTAIRS.” We walked up the creaking stairs to the second floor. I led the way and my friend followed close behind. I wasn’t scared, but he was beginning to get a little jittery. When we came to the top of the stairs, we turned left and walked cautiously down the narrow hallway. At the end of the hallway was a closed door with some more ominous writing on it. “YOU WILL FIND ME IN THIS ROOM.” By now, my friend was shaking with fear. I was quite creeped out too, but I didn’t want to show it. He told me he didn’t want to go any further, but I insisted, telling him there was nothing to be afraid of. I turned the handle and the door creaked open. We stepped into the room and found it empty. There were two closed doors on either side. There was more creepy writing on the wall. It read “MY HEAD IS ON THE LEFT AND MY BODY IS ON THE RIGHT.” As soon as my friend saw this, he completely lost his nerve. He gave a yelp and turned to run away. I caught hold of his arm, but he shook me off and fled out through the open door. I heard his footsteps disappearing off down the hallway. I held my ground. I was determined to be brave and overcome my fear. Mustering all my courage, I opened the door on the right and walked inside. I walked to the other side of the room and on the wall, written in tiny letters were the words “MY BODY IS UNDERNEATH.” I looked down at the floor. I was standing on some more writing on the floorboards. I stepped back and saw the words “MY HEAD IS COMING FROM THE ROOM BEHIND YOU. TURN AROUND.” I heard the door behind me creaking and quickly turned. There was a shadow moving behind the door. Suddenly something rolled into the room and came to a rest against the wall. It was my friend’s severed head. His dead, sightless eyes seemed to stare at me. Screaming in horror, I flung myself out through the open window and fell two stories to the ground. I landed on my side, breaking my arm. In horrible pain, I ran home, crying and yelling for my parents. The police were called and they searched the old ruined building. At first, they didn’t find anything. There wasn’t even any writing on the wall. They combed the house from top to bottom, but didn’t find any traces of my friend. Then they pried up the floorboards. His body was lying underneath. They never found his head.
harry-the-bespectacled-ninja submitted:
Flash
Once we had a subsitute art teacher and she promised us if we stayed quiet, she’d tell us all a true ghost story. Obviously, we stayed quiet enough. The details are a little bit fuzzy, but this is about the story she told:
The curse of the Crying Boy Painting. In 1988, a mysterious explosion destroyed the home of the Amos family in Heswall, England. When firemen sifted through the burnt-out shell of the house, they found a framed picture, entitled ‘The Crying Boy’, which was a portrait of an angelic-looking boy with a sorrowful expression and a tear rolling down his cheek. But the picture was not even singed by the blaze.
Not long afterwards in Bradford, there was another blaze, and again a picture of the crying child was found intact among the smouldering ruins. The head of the Yorkshire Fire Brigade told the national newspapers that pictures of the weird Crying Boy were frequently found intact in the rubble of houses that had been mysteriously burnt to the ground. Journalists asked him if he thought that the picture was evil and could somehow start the fires, but the fire-chief refused to comment.
The reports of the unlucky painting causing fires are still occasionally reported; there was a Crying Boy picture found at a gutted house in Dublin in 1998, but no one as ever found out just who the child is in the supposedly cursed painting. One well-respected researcher into occult matters, a retired schoolmaster from Devon named George Mallory, claimed that to have uncovered the truth in 1995. Mr Mallory claimed he tracked down the artist behind the controversial portrait: an old Spanish postcard artist named Franchot Seville, who lives in Madrid. Seville said the Crying boy was a little street urchin he had found wandering around Madrid in 1969. He never spoke, and had a very sorrowful look in his eyes. Seville painted the boy, and a Catholic priest said the Boy was Don Bonillo, a child who had run away after seeing his parents die in a blaze. The priest told the artist to have nothing to do with the runaway, because wherever he settled, fires of unknown origin would mysteriously break out; the villagers called him ‘Diablo’ because of this.
Seville ignored the superstitious priest and looked after the boy. The paintings of the little sad orphan made Seville fairly rich, but one day, his studio was mysteriously burned to the ground. Seville was ruined, and he accused the little Don Bonillo of arson. The boy ran off crying, and was never seen again. Then, from all over Europe came the reports of the unlucky Crying Boy paintings causing blazes. Seville was also regarded as a jinx, and no one commissioned him to paint, or would even look at his paintings. In 1976, a car exploded into a fireball on the outskirts of Barcelona after crashing into a wall. The victim was charred beyond recognition, but part of the victim’s driving licence in the glove compartment was only partly burned. The name on the licence was one 19-year-old Don Bonillo; could this have been the same Don Bonillo who had been the subject of the Crying Boy painting eight years earlier? We will probably never know, as no friends or relations ever came forward for the body.
Through the eyes of a child, the world is very different. Every child has a fear of what is lurking under their bed. They fear what is hiding in the closet or peeping in at them through the little crack in a door that’s standing ajar.
A doctor would tell you that children are much more perceptive than adults. Their eyes are able to see the things that an adult’s eyes cannot see. When you grow up, you become blind to the dangers that creep and crawl through the darkness. Children can see what is truly there. They see the monsters.
If you were to look, for just one night, through a child’s eyes, you would know what true fear really is. If you were able to see again the things you only dimly remember from your childhood, imagine how terrifying that would be. Can you remember those sleepless nights, burrowing under your covers, shaking and shivering in the darkness, afraid to move, afraid to make a sound, afraid to breathe?
Those are the nights that adults forget. The nights when you would cover yourself completely with your blankets, so that the monsters couldn’t see you. The nights when you would hold your breath, so the monsters couldn’t hear you. The nights when you would lie as still as possible, so you wouldn’t attract their attention. I know you remember those nights.
The only thing that would protect you was light. Bright light. You slept with the light on. That made it safe. That meant they couldn’t get you.
Teenagers are caught in the middle. They still sense that something is there in the darkness, but they try to convince themselves it’s just their imagination. They’re embarrassed to sleep with the light on. Teenagers have forgotten that light is the only thing that can keep them away.
While you’re sitting there in front of your computer, do you think that the light from your monitor will be enough to keep them away?
Sorry. It’s not.
Now look behind you with a child’s eyes and try not to scream.
