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Note: This is based on an actual nightmare I had back when Momo was popular. Before we start, I’m not going to make any attempts to call Momo or do the Momo Challenge. I’m not here to do that, as it’s incredibly dangerous, and I’m not trying to get myself or my family hurt. I’m just here to share a nightmare I had a long time ago, back when the legend was popular.

Documents relating to the events at Slaghtaverty, near Garvagh, 23rd-31st October 2025. Compiled by Hannah Moore My name is Hannah Moore. I'm 35. I'm a freelance audio producer, which means I make podcasts and radio documentaries for people who can afford to pay me, and I record everything, and I label everything, and I keep everything. That habit is the only reason this document exists, and I think it's the only reason I'm not in prison.

If you were on TikTok or Instagram in the week before Christmas 2024, there's a good chance you've seen my brother die.

Note: This is a story I posted on Reddit's nosleep around 2021. They removed it for being "not horror" but I disagree. Yeah, it's comedic. I was a comedy writer for several years and wanted to try writing something funny and creepy. I think it turned out well. -------- A weird thing happened to me recently, and I've struggled with how to talk about it. Basically, there's no way to do it without sounding bugfuck insane, so here it is: ALF spoke to me through my television.

Chapter 6: Face of the Forgotten He pressed forward with his claymore resting on his shoulder, leaving bloody footprints behind him. His feet regrew the muscles and skin with every step he took further into the labyrinth. Requiem walked through the labyrinth that took the shape of a dungeon. Every room he passed was vacant as he progressed through the torchless hallway that seemed to have no end.

I was five when the man in the wolfman mask scared the shit out of me. No, he didn’t eat me. No, he didn’t kill me. He just gave me one good Halloween scare.

My name is Emily Stark. That name used to sound soft, elegant—almost sacred. It was spoken on red carpets, in interviews, on magazine covers, in credits after films, in signature lines beneath paintings, in animated series I helped create, and in songs people claimed saved their lives. I was adored. I was famous. I was “gifted.” I could smile in a way that made people forget how to breathe, and sing in a way that made silence feel holy. I was an actress, model, writer, philanthropist, painter,…

My name is Eliot, and I live in the middle of nowhere. I don’t mean that in the way that I have other people living near me. No, I don’t live in a small town. I mean it in a real, isolating way. My house is about an hour’s drive to even the nearest small town, surrounded by miles of thick and tall trees, even the grass was a bit too tall, where roads seemed to stretch forever before fading into nothing. There are no neighbors for miles.

Spending time in jail isn't fun, like at all. It may be one of the worst experiences you could ever face in your life. If any kid out there is listening to this? Please understand that jail isn't cool. One minute you get yourself arrested, thinking it will make you look cool in front of your friends, showing that you're some sort of badass. Next, you'll be shivering in a jail cell, with other prisoners around you that either want to hurt you physically, or worse. But, when I was arrested, I…

9/9/2010 ... Syrup1292: I think for our final we should go with just a normal trifold. Dangerturnip: Nah, that’d be so boring. Think about it. We’re competing with the bigwigs here. The straight-As are gonna go big. We need to stand out. Syrup1292: But it’s haarrrd. We need ideas. Dangerturnip: Maybe something performative? Syrup1292: We haven’t even chosen a topic yet. Dangerturnip: Well, do you remember anything we learned this year?

“Hey sweetie, are you gonna open your eyes for me now?” I heard his voice. It was all sweet and nice, making my stomach feel sick. His hands were on my shoulder, squeezing slightly, shaking them side to side. I could feel a groan pass my lips and my eyes struggled to unstick themselves. “Yeah! There we go, I'm sorry about that special candy, I guess you're just a little bit smaller than the dose is made for.” He laughed, it's a quiet, airy laugh, making my stomach tighten again. I blinked,…

I still can’t sleep with the basement door shut. Even three years later, every time the house settles, I find myself staring at the handle, half-expecting it to slowly turn.

He had no idea how he had ended up in these foul depths, but all he knew was that he needed to find a way out before it was too late. The young Dragonnoid had sworn to himself he would never go into the city, so why was he wandering lost in its forsaken bowels?

My brain couldn’t cooperate with what I was seeing. It was 39 minutes past 12, and my 58 year old father was standing outside my front door, looking especially tired and zombified. And he was asking me… “Are you sure you haven’t seen your sister?” He questioned in a raspy, hollow voice. I continued gaping at him, shaking my head. I forced my jaw to shut. “No, Dad. I don’t have a sister, I’m the only child.” I said, for the millionth time. “Are you… okay?”

Steve was a respected city official who, from time to time, liked to break away from his daily routine and visit his hometown, located about 30 kilometers away. He stood at the station dressed in an elegant suit and hat, carrying a large suitcase. The weather that day was drowsy and rainy; he had forgotten to bring an umbrella. Thus, when the train arrived, he boarded quickly, took a window seat, and began to read a book. The front of the locomotive bore a sign: "Train to Nowhere."

4/14/2015 ... “No… No… No… Definitely not… No…”

I don’t remember the exact moment it began, which is strange, because people always say you remember the worst thing that ever happened to you with perfect clarity. I remember the grass under my shoes, slightly wet, bending with a quiet sound every time I shifted my weight. I remember thinking about nothing important, just counting steps like it mattered. I remember the air being cold enough to make my fingers stiff. And then there’s a gap. Not darkness, not even fear at first—just a gap, like…

I naturally fell into babysitting around the age of 14. As the oldest of two older siblings, I was used to watching younger kids a fair amount of the time. So through friends and family, I got leads for babysitting to score some cash, which definitely beat having to work at a restaurant. The job had its ups and downs, but overall it wasn’t a bad gig at all. Yet, as many good experiences as I had, they were all eclipsed by one night.

The 4th Annual Harrison Boulevard Food Truck Festival was in high gear. Food, fun, and, and families were the main course at the town’s celebration. Three blocks of culinary delights included everything from BBQ, vegetarian, and desserts. Small bites and some candy carts splattered in between. The event is a tourism hotspot and a welcome boom to the town’s economy. The day was a scorching 98 degrees outside but people still came salivating to the event. Some locals grumbled about increased…

The old wooden floorboards didn't just creak; they groaned like dying men. It was 3:17 AM when I woke to the sound of my bedroom door clicking open. I didn't move. I didn't breathe. From the doorway, the heavy, dragging footsteps of my grandmother shuffled toward the bed. She had been dead for three weeks, but there she was, pulling the cold air of the hallway behind her.