Frightful Untold Fables

The fog rolled into Blackthorn Manor like a living thing, slipping under doors and clinging to the chandeliers as the guests gathered for the final toast. When the lights flickered and went out, the scream cut through the darkness—short, sharp, and final. By the time the candles were relit, the host lay sprawled at the foot of the grand staircase, eyes frozen wide, a silver letter opener buried deep in his chest. No one had seen anything. No one, of course, admitted to hearing footsteps.
Detective Hale noticed what the others missed. The clock on the wall had stopped at precisely 11:13, its glass cracked from the inside. Mud stained only one pair of shoes, though the garden path outside was drenched. A single glove rested on the banister, fingers curled as if gripping something invisible. Each guest had a reason to lie, but only one had a reason to return—someone who knew the house well enough to move through it unseen, even in total darkness.
At dawn, Hale stood alone in the foyer and rewound the broken clock. As it ticked back to life, a hidden panel slid open behind the staircase, revealing a narrow passage and the real murder weapon slick with drying blood. The killer had never left the house. When the remaining guests were called downstairs, one chair sat empty, still warm, its owner gone forever—vanished into the walls of Blackthorn Manor, where some secrets prefer to stay buried with the dead.

4 days ago | [YT] | 0

Frightful Untold Fables

The toilet started flushing by itself at 3:12 a.m., every night, exactly once. Not a full flush—just enough to gurgle, like it was clearing its throat. I checked the tank, the pipes, even shut off the water. It still did it. When I leaned closer one night, the bowl rippled even though nothing had moved, and a smell rose up that wasn’t sewage—warm, damp, and unmistakably breathy. For a second, I thought I heard whispering echo through the porcelain, warped and distant, like a voice traveling up a very long throat.
The next morning, there was condensation on the seat, shaped like fingerprints. That night, my phone slipped from my hand and clattered onto the bathroom floor. As I reached down to grab it, the toilet lid slowly lifted on its own. The water inside was gone, replaced by darkness that didn’t reflect light. From deep within the pipes, something inhaled, eager and close, and the whisper finally became clear: “You always sit so still.”

6 days ago | [YT] | 0

Frightful Untold Fables

I want to start by saying this wasn’t a nightmare.
I know the difference.
Nightmares fade when you wake up.
This didn’t.
I woke up already afraid—not startled, not confused. Afraid in a quiet, familiar way, like a feeling I’d known once and somehow forgotten.
The room was dark. The air was still. Too still.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
2:17 a.m.
That number still makes my stomach turn.
The message was short.
Don’t turn around.
I stared at the screen, waiting for logic to rush in. Waiting for my brain to label it spam. A prank. A mistake.
It didn’t.
I live alone. I always have. No roommates. No pets. No reason for anyone to be behind me.
Still… I didn’t turn around.
I typed back.
Who is this?
The response came immediately.
You already looked once.
My throat tightened.
Earlier that night, I’d been standing in the bathroom, brushing my teeth, when I felt it—that sudden pressure between your shoulder blades. The instinct that tells you someone is standing too close.
I’d looked.
Nothing was there.
I told myself it was exhaustion. Stress. My imagination.
I unlocked my phone and checked the contact.
There was no number.
No email.
Just a name.
Me.
My heart began pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.
Another message appeared.
You lock the door every night.
That was true. I always double-checked it.
Then another message.
But tonight you paused.
I hadn’t told anyone that.
I remembered standing at my front door earlier, key in hand, frozen for just a second—listening. Waiting. For something I couldn’t explain.
I typed again.
This isn’t funny.
The reply came instantly.
I know.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared.
Then the next message arrived.
That’s why I stopped laughing.
The room felt colder—not suddenly, just enough that I noticed.
I looked at the closet.
It was directly across from my bed. Closed. The way it always was.
I’d never liked closets. Even as a kid. I’d always told myself it was silly—just clothes, boxes, empty space.
But now it didn’t feel empty.
A sound came from inside.
Not a bang.
Not a creak.
A breath.
Slow. Steady.
Right against the door.
My phone buzzed again.
You’re holding your breath.
I exhaled without realizing I’d stopped breathing.
My fingers shook as I typed.
What do you want?
This time, the reply took longer. Long enough for hope to creep in.
Then:
I want you to remember.
The closet door shifted—not opening, just enough to break the seal.
Darkness pooled inside, thicker than the rest of the room, like light refused to enter it.
Another message appeared.
You used to hear me every night.
A memory surfaced—lying in bed as a child, listening to soft sounds from the closet. Convincing myself it was the house settling. Convincing myself not to open the door.
You told yourself I wasn’t real.
The door creaked wider.
I could hear the breathing clearly now. Not rushed. Not angry.
Patient.
You grew up.
You moved away.
You stopped checking.
I stood up slowly and backed toward the bedroom door.
I turned the handle.
It didn’t open.
My phone buzzed.
I locked it this time.
Panic burned through me.
The closet door was halfway open now. I still couldn’t see what was inside—but I could feel it watching. Waiting.
Fear doesn’t disappear, the message read.
It waits.
The breathing stopped.
That silence was worse than any sound.
My phone vibrated one last time.
You should’ve stayed in the bathroom.
Something shifted behind me—not stepping forward, not yet. Just close enough that I understood the truth.
The reason the closet never felt empty.
The reason I never checked.
The reason it always felt closer at night.
It wasn’t hiding from me.
It was waiting.
Waiting for me to remember.
And now that I had…
The breathing started again.
Right behind me.

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1 week ago | [YT] | 0