Library

A few years ago, I had returned from Walt Disney World in Orlando, Florida and I nostalgically wanted to watch some old Mickey Mouse shorts for VHS. Among all of the other Mickey Mouse tapes, I noticed an out-of-place Mickey Mouse tape labelled, "Mickey's Book". What was odd was that the tape's date was 01/29/1995, even though old, black and white Mickey Mouse shorts were being produced much earlier.

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."

I never believed in urban legends, not at all. Until I saw him. This is a very generic way to start, but it started one evening when I was walking home from working; the streets were empty, but then I saw the man in the distance of the streets at an outdoor market. There was a small man hunched over with a massive, overstuffed pack with various masks on it. That grin, that GRIN... it was the first thing that caught me; it stretched past his cheeks and just stayed there.

I already know what you’re thinking. A gnome? Despite what the term I use might suggest, these creatures aren't rosy cheeked little bearded men with a pointy hats and quaint little tunics. As my friend would later find out, and as I'd feared for a long time, these beings are much stranger and far different from what is typically portrayed.

You think you understand the whole system? Read again. The door only sticks sometimes, but it always opens when I need it to. I noticed it first during the rainy season when the air felt heavier and everything in the house took longer to settle. The wood swelled a little, I think. It pressed into the frame and made the handle feel tighter than usual. Most people would panic at that. They would force it. Shake the handle. And make a scene out of something that just needs time.

Sara and Tom scrambled through the castle corridors, hoping to find Roy. They checked everywhere, but he was nowhere to be found. Suddenly, Tom spotted Roy between two suits of armor-huddled, trembling, and paralyzed with fear. "Man, why are you shaking like that?" Tom asked. "I... I... I saw her..." "Who did you see?" "The Mourner... I mean, the ghost of the Mourner. She was gliding down the hallway, "Man, why are you shaking like that?" Tom asked. "I... I... I saw her..."

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.

The Doorman

My cousin told me it happened in a very small village in Mexico, the one our grandfather grew up in. Late one night, a young man was leaving a friend's home. Despite the late hour, he insisted that he could walk home. After all, his own abode was only a mile away. Stepping out into the quiet streets, he started his journey. Breathing in the humid summer air, listening to the buzz of the street lamps mixed with the crickets and his own footsteps on the gravel ground.

Nobody in the street took the warnings seriously. Not until the insults started. It began just after midnight in a quiet neighborhood outside Cape Town. People were woken by banging bins, dogs barking, and a strange little voice yelling from outside. At first, Mr. Daniels thought it was drunk teenagers. He opened his window and shouted, “Who’s making all that noise?” Silence. Then from the darkness below came a raspy voice. “Go back inside, you old fool.” Mr. Daniels blinked.

It was just about half an hour ago since it happened. I had come to the decision that my house was in need of a rather intense cleanup. Starting with the living room, I took out all the junk and other stuff and then started cleaning. I glanced at the wallpaper, pained by how ugly it truly is without any of my stuff cluttering around it. This wallpaper had still belonged to the previous owners, it hasn't been too long ago since I had moved in and I hadn't really taken the time to change it.

The attic floorboards are thin, but the silence is thinner. I’ve been up here for three hours. The vibrating stopped, which is worse. Now, the only sound is a rhythmic thump-drag, thump-drag coming from the hallway directly below the attic hatch.

His friends kept calling out, but Sara was nowhere to be found. They decided to split up. Suddenly, Tom spotted a curious exhibit: a large, double-sided rotating mirror. At first, he saw only his own reflection, but a moment later... he saw Sara. "Sara, what are you doing? You gave us a real scare. We were so worried about you. We were afraid something had happened." "I’m sorry, but this is just so... incredible," she replied. "Ah, women," Tom muttered under his breath.

Silences are louder than the music on the radio.... Quiet, is the noise of white and light... The silences can be loud too, when the quiet gets noisy, and your mind starts to hurt.... When your mind starts to see danger wherever you go... Anxiety, dressed up in the hidden depths of your mind.... And it will never let you go... Depression, forms of smiles, and 'I'm Fine'.... Where your mind is your worst enemy, that another person can't hurt you with words...

Sorrow Hill is a place shrouded in mystery. Tourists from all over England and the far corners of the world flock to the castle hill, drawn by the legend of a ghost that appears at the stroke of midnight. They hear screams, wailing, and the desperate sobbing of a woman. Some claim to have seen a figure dressed in a long, black mourning gown, gliding through the castle corridors. Fans of fortresses, spirits, and dark tales stand in long queues at the ticket office, eager for a glimpse of the…

Red, true as crimson stones.... December is here, with snowflakes and mistletoes of winter white.... 6 days left, with sugar cookies and hot chocolate: happiness.... Of Holly berries and bells of golden rings.... 5 days left, with long nights and shadows that watch you in the darkness of night... Of Holly berries, red and true... 4 days left, with eyes of amber glow and icy cold stares watching you as you sleep with care... Of Holly, covered in crimson hue, dark and true....

During the darkest of nights, on the night of Christmas Eve. A light shone in the dark veil. A candle was lit with love and care. He hummed with cheerfulness and glee. The other, quiet as a mouse, was hidden within the stairwell, lit by candlelight and holly bells. The man noticed the snowflake-printed nightgown as he hummed 'Jingle Bells.' She ran and hid under the shadows of the night. With the candlelight lighting his way.

Shadows risen from the darkness... Moonless Night follows the shadows like a plague. Silver bells, Darkness shadows, and Endless stars... Into the Darkness is where it starts... Into the Darkness, opal stars and golden moons arise. Followed by screams in the dead of night... Lovely and Afraid with haunted eyes of emerald shade... Would you walk alone into the Darkness of night? To find yourself and the endless night? To meet him in the middle of the night...

(Inspired by the Dyatlov Pass Incident) The wind started howling before midnight. At first, it was just another sound in the endless white silence of the mountains. The nine hikers had heard worse. They were trained, experienced—people who didn’t panic easily. Inside the tent, frost clung to the fabric like a second skin. Someone laughed softly, trying to lighten the mood. Another adjusted their boots. Then— It came.

(Inspired by the The Zodiac Killer) The letter arrived on a quiet morning. Plain envelope. No return address. Inside, a message—neatly written, almost calm. “I like killing people because it is so much fun.” The newsroom fell silent. At first, they thought it was a prank. Until the police confirmed it. The details in the letter… only the killer could know. He didn’t stop there. More letters came. Each one colder than the last. Each one playing a game.