Short Story: The House That Kept Its Secrets

 Alright, so my roommate and I bought this old house—super cheap, total fixer-upper. It was one of those places that had “character,” which is just a nice way of saying it needed a ton of work. My roommate handled the big projects—knocking down walls, rewiring stuff—while I got stuck with the worst job: wallpaper removal.

Now, I don’t know what kind of obsession the previous owners had with wallpaper, but they didn’t just cover the walls—they covered the ceilings too. It was brutal work, but oddly satisfying. You ever peel a sunburn and try to get the longest strip possible? That’s basically what I turned it into. A little game to pass the time.

And that’s when I noticed something weird.

Underneath the wallpaper, in every single room, were names and dates written on the walls. At first, I didn’t think much of it. Maybe it was a quirky renovation thing, like marking when they last updated the room? But something about it felt… off. So, one night, curiosity got the best of me, and I decided to Google one of the names.

And my stomach dropped.

The name I searched? It belonged to a missing person. And the date under the wallpaper? The exact date they disappeared.

At this point, my brain is screaming nope, nope, nope, but I keep going. I make a list of all the names and dates and start searching them one by one. Every. Single. One. Matches a missing person’s report. Every date? Lines up perfectly with when they vanished.

At this point, I’m freaking out. I call the cops first thing in the morning, and as soon as they hear what I found, they send an entire crime scene team to the house. I’m standing in the corner, watching them work, still trying to wrap my head around it, when I overhear one of the forensic techs say:

“Yup… it’s human.”

And I’m like, Wait. What’s human?

That’s when one of the officers turns to me and asks, “Ma’am… where’s all the material you already removed?”

Because apparently, the stuff I had been peeling off wasn’t wallpaper.

The Christmas Card from Beyond

 The first Christmas after my grandpa passed was… weird. I was 17, still trying to figure out how to handle all the emotions that came with losing someone who had been such a huge part of my life. Grief is messy, and honestly, I didn’t know what to do with it, so I just… didn’t. I shoved it down, pretended I was fine, and tried to go through the motions of the holiday like everything was normal.

But it wasn’t normal.

That Christmas morning, my brother and I were sitting on the floor, tearing into presents like we always did, when something caught our eye. Tucked deep within the branches of the Christmas tree were two envelopes. Neither of us had put them there, and judging by the confused look on my brother’s face, neither had he.

I grabbed the one with my name on it, and the second I saw the handwriting, my stomach dropped.

It was his. My grandpa’s handwriting, clear as day.

I just sat there, staring at it, my hands shaking. My brother nudged me, urging me to open it, so I did. Inside was a simple note—just four words.

"Love you, Scooter."

My heart felt like it stopped. That was his nickname for me. No one else called me that, ever.

But here’s the thing—my grandpa had passed away in August, months before Christmas. And in all the years we had celebrated together, he had never given me a Christmas card. Not once.

I turned to my mom, holding up the card, expecting some kind of explanation. Maybe she had found it somewhere and saved it for me? Maybe it was something he had written before he passed? But when I asked, she just shook her head, her face going pale.

“That’s not possible,” she muttered.

She refused to talk about it after that. Brushed it off like it never happened.

But my brother? He remembers. He saw it too.

For years, I kept that card tucked away. And there was even a picture—one of me holding the card that morning, my face still filled with shock. It sat in a photo album for a long time.

Then, about nine years ago, something changed. I finally started dealing with the grief I had buried for so long. I let myself feel it.

And then, one day, the picture just… vanished.

I tore through every old album, searched every box of keepsakes. It was just gone. Like it had never existed in the first place.

But I know it did. My brother knows it did.

And every Christmas, I still think about that card. About those four little words. And I wonder if maybe, just maybe, it was my grandpa’s way of reminding me that even though he was gone… he wasn’t really gone.

The Night the Dead Sat Up: My Creepy Morgue Experience

Alright, so back when I was in college, my dad hooked me up with a part-time job at the morgue where he worked. Was this my dream job? Absolutely not. But it paid well, had flexible hours, and honestly, I thought it would be kinda cool in a creepy way.

Now, working in a morgue, you see a lot of weird things. But nothing—and I mean nothing—could’ve prepared me for this night.

So, I was on the night shift, training this new guy. He seemed nervous, which was fair—it’s a morgue, after all. We had a body to move, just standard procedure. The person was tagged, covered with a sheet—same routine I’d done a hundred times. I was walking him through the basics, showing him how to handle the gurney properly, when all of a sudden...

The body sits up.

Yeah. Full-on, straight-up sits up.

Now, I had been there long enough to know what was up. But the new guy? Oh, he was NOT ready.

His eyes went huge. For a second, he just stood there, completely frozen, like his brain had just short-circuited. Then, out of nowhere, he let out this bloodcurdling scream, spun on his heels, and bolted—straight through the doors, out into the parking lot, and into the night.

I didn’t even have time to react before he was gone.

I ran after him, yelling, “Dude, WAIT! It’s NORMAL!” But he was already halfway across the lot. That man was moving like a horror movie final girl—gone.

So here’s the thing: sometimes, dead bodies can have these post-mortem muscle contractions, especially in the abs. It’s rare, but it happens. The muscles tighten, and it can make the body look like it’s trying to sit up. Super creepy? Absolutely. Paranormal? Not even a little.

But try explaining that to a guy who quit on the spot and never came back.

Do you know Shrieking Susan?

 I nudged my friend Jake in the ribs as we made our way up the winding forest trail. "Hey, did I ever tell you about Shrieking Susan?"

He groaned. "Is this another one of your dumb ghost stories?"

I grinned. "No. Well… yeah. But this one’s actually true."

Jake rolled his eyes as we hiked up the steep incline. "Well? You gonna tell me, or do I have a choice?"

"Nope. You're hearing it."

We passed a couple of hikers on their way down, moving quickly before darkness fully settled in. "So the story goes that she was a beautiful young woman who lived just outside this forest—"

An older woman with hiking poles interrupted me. "Boys, it's getting dark, and the trails ahead can be tricky. You should probably—" She stopped, squinting at us. "Wait… are you two twins?"

Jake and I exchanged a look. Not this again. He smirked at her. "Nope, just two strangers who look exactly alike, wearing the same clothes, in the exact same place. Wild coincidence, huh?"

The lady muttered something under her breath and hurried off.

I picked up a rock and tossed it into the brush, sending a few birds fluttering into the sky. "Anyway," I continued, "Susan was walking home one night when she realized someone was following her. She started running along this exact trail. She made it all the way to the top of the hill where—"

"Let me guess," Jake cut in. "She gets to the top, her stalker catches her, bashes her skull in or strangles her, and now she haunts the woods every night looking for revenge? That about right?"

I sighed. "Well… yeah. But damn, man, you could’ve let me build it up a little."

We finally reached the top of the hill, where I threw down my backpack and pulled out a Halloween mask. I slipped it on.

Jake raised an eyebrow. "That’d be scarier if I hadn’t just watched you put it on."

I chuckled. "Oh, this isn’t for you. It’s so Susan won’t recognize me."

The forest was pitch-black now. Silence settled over the trees—until a twig snapped somewhere behind us.

Jake spun around. "Dude… there’s something there."

"Of course there is," I said. "It’s Susan. And she’s finally about to get her revenge."

Jake laughed nervously, but I could see his hands tightening into fists. "Alright, you got me. Creepy story, weird noises, total setup. Very funny."

I didn’t laugh. I just looked past him, into the trees. A shadowy figure was moving between them.

"See, Jake… there’s a reason I know this story so well."

A long, piercing shriek echoed through the trees. Jake’s breath hitched.

"It’s because I was her attacker."

His eyes widened. "Dude. That’s not funny."

Another shriek rang out, closer this time. Then—out of the darkness—a figure stepped onto the path. Bone-white skin. Sunken black eyes. Twisted, gaping mouth.

Jake stumbled backward, his foot catching on an exposed root. He hit the ground hard, scrambling to push himself away.

"Wait!" he gasped, pointing at me. "It’s him! He’s the one who—"

Before he could finish, Susan lunged.

Her claw-like fingers closed around his throat.

The Girl Who Knew Too Much

 A few years back, I flew down to Florida to visit my old friend for a couple of weeks. I needed the break, a chance to clear my head and enjoy some time away from my usual routine. My friend lived in a decent-sized apartment complex near the city, nothing fancy but comfortable. I had barely been there a day when things started getting… weird.

It started at a coffee shop near my friend’s place. We had gone there for a quick breakfast, and as we sat down, I noticed a girl at the far end of the café. Blonde, maybe early twenties, just sitting there—staring at me.

At first, I thought maybe I had something on my face or my shirt was inside-out, but no. She was just locked in, watching me like I was the only person in the room. After a few minutes, it got uncomfortable. I made eye contact with her, half-expecting her to look away, but instead, she smiled—slow, deliberate.

I turned back to my friend and tried to shake it off.

An hour later, we were walking back to his place when I saw her again. This time, she was standing at the entrance to his apartment complex, just standing there. She didn’t say anything, didn’t move—just stared as we walked past. I asked my friend if he knew her, but he just shrugged. I figured maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe she lived in the complex.

But it didn’t feel like a coincidence.

Over the next few days, I saw her everywhere.

If I went to grab food, she was there, a few tables away. If I went for a walk, she was across the street, watching. Never talking. Never approaching. Just smiling.

One night, around 11 PM, I stepped out onto the balcony to get some fresh air. My friend lived on the fifth floor. As I leaned against the railing, I happened to glance down toward the parking lot—and there she was.

Standing directly below me. Looking straight up. Smiling.

I backed away from the railing. My skin was crawling. I grabbed my phone, ready to text my friend about it when my screen lit up with a new message.

From an unknown number.

"I love watching you sleep."

I froze. My heart slammed against my ribs.

How did she get my number?

How did she know where I was staying?

I didn’t sleep that night.

A few days later, I convinced myself I was overreacting. Maybe she was just some weird girl who had taken a liking to me, but I was leaving soon. I figured once I flew back home, it wouldn’t matter.

Then, on the second to last night of my trip, things escalated.

I had gone out with my friend and a few of his buddies. We hit up a bar, had a few drinks, nothing crazy. I didn’t tell anyone where we were going beforehand—it was a last-minute decision.

But somehow, she knew.

We were sitting at a booth when she appeared, sliding into the seat directly across from me. For the first time since I’d seen her, she spoke.

"How could you go out drinking with that bitch, (my full name)? I thought you loved me."

My stomach dropped. I had never told her my name. Not my first name. Certainly not my full name.

Then she leaned in and whispered, "I don’t want to do something drastic, but you’re making me."

That was it. I had had enough. I stood up, towering over her, and let my anger take over.

"I don’t know who the hell you are, or how you’ve been following me, but if you so much as breathe near me or my friends again, I will make damn sure you regret it."

She blinked, tears welling in her eyes. Then, in the middle of the bar, she started screaming.

Screaming about how I had broken her heart. Screaming about how I had ruined her life.

Security stepped in and pulled her away. My friends were stunned. One of them asked me how I knew her.

"I don’t," I told them.

After that night, she started showing up less frequently. A week after I left Florida, my friend called me with an update.

She had tried to hurt herself in her apartment, ranting about me and a few other guys, saying we had "ruined" her life. After that, she just… disappeared.

No one saw her again.

I don’t know where she went, and honestly? I don’t want to know.

Night Watch at the Cemetery (Junko's True Story)

I work security at a cemetery. It’s not exactly a dream job, but it pays the bills. Two years ago, the cemetery expanded, moving newer burials to a state-of-the-art section with modern facilities, while the old cemetery—dating back to the 1930s—was left mostly untouched. The older graves, mausoleums, and the caretaker’s office were still there, but at night, the place had a weight to it. A feeling like you weren’t quite alone.
One night, around 9:30 PM, I was making my rounds near the West side when I noticed a small group of caretakers and groundskeepers standing near the old maintenance shed. They looked rattled. I walked over, asking if everything was alright.
They hesitated before one of them finally spoke.
Earlier that night, they had decided to take one last walk through the East section for nostalgia’s sake. It had been years since they worked that side, and with the move, they wanted to say goodbye. As they walked past the caretaker’s old office, a phone inside started ringing.
Here’s the thing—the office had been abandoned for weeks. The power had been cut. There shouldn’t have been any working electronics in there.
Not knowing what else to do, one of them stepped inside and picked up the receiver. A woman’s voice came through the line, soft but confused.
“Hello? Who is this?”
The caretaker swallowed hard. “This is __, I work here. Can I help you?”
A pause. Then:
“Where am I?”
The caretaker’s blood ran cold. “This is (cemetery name). Are you… visiting someone?”
Another pause. Then, in an almost resigned whisper:
“Oh. Okay.”
And the line went dead.
That’s when they noticed the number on the old desk phone’s caller ID.
The call had come from the mausoleum directly across from the office.
By this point, all the mausoleums had been sealed. There was no one inside. No one alive, anyway.
That was all it took. The group bolted out of the East section, right as I was finishing my patrol. After that, I avoided that side of the cemetery for the rest of my shift.
My mother worked at the cemetery’s office right out of college. It was the only job she had ever known. On the day the transition was finalized, she decided to take a final walk through the old grounds, camera in hand, wanting to capture what was left before it was forgotten.
At one point, she stopped near a row of old, above-ground tombs and prepared to take a picture. But just as she raised the camera—
One of the tomb doors slammed shut.
Not a slow creak, not a gust of wind nudging it—slammed, as if someone inside had thrown it shut with all their strength.
That was the last picture she ever took in that cemetery.
Then, just last Friday, something happened to me.
It was close to 10 PM, and I was making my final patrol near a row of older graves. There was an elderly woman who frequently visited her late husband’s grave, and I had walked her back to the gate earlier that evening. She moved slowly, needing a cane, and I always made sure she got back to her car safely. 
I was walking past the spot where she’d been sitting when I saw someone move.

The older section had two main paths: East and West. The East section was the first to be shut down, closed to visitors about two weeks before the transition.

The Creepy Doll (Vamp's True Story)

 ⚠️TW:(fear of dolls, wooded area)⚠️

So, let's start off by saying as someone who doesn't like dolls, it makes it 10x scarier than what I make it out to be. One day I was adventuring in the woods close to my home and i am the one to adventured off to places I shouldn't be. This was soon to be a popular hike trail but at the time it was just trees and a couple small paths. At the time we would have to make our own paths to go further back and soon there wasn't a path, but you can see where a lot of people have been, or even where they were planning on building a path. I never stayed closes to these said paths I always went deeper to explore. I would go almost every day rather it was only or with someone and every day I would find a new way through. (KEY CONTEXT: The night before I had a dream about this doll and the location which I've been plenty of time and passed.) This day I went deeper than I should, and I went alone which was a mistake because I got lost, like really lost. It was getting close to dark, and I needed to get back home, so I was trying to make my trace, but I kept coming back to this specific tree. Something seemed offed and I had marked it with a sharp object to keep track where I've been. I paused to take a quick breather and think, when I seem like I'm making something difficult for myself I tend to take a step back and think, it helps a lot. I sat down and looked up and seen some broken wood, I got up and stepped back for full vision and it looked like a broken tree house. I circle the tree and on the other side by the trunk there was this creepy doll. It had red yarn hair and a blue dress. Like a Raggedy Ann doll (if you haven't seen one, I placed an image as a reference) It was old and torn but it didn't look dirty just how a normal doll looks if you had it for a while (You know) I looked around thinking maybe a little kid is near and lost. I heard children laughing and seen some run past. I called out to them asking if they lost a doll. after no one answered and it got quiet I threw it up on the broken wood up in the tree and continued to get home. I made another circle back to the same tree, but the doll nailed to the tree. the children were laughing again. It scared me I've seen too many horror movies to stay but I calmly walked out and eventually got back to the path. when I got home, I told a few people about it and I found a few people had a similar experience in the same woods. A couple older folks said there was a tree house there when they experienced it. the younger ones or my age said it was just broke pieces of wood. (I feel like it adds to the lore there's so much I don't know apparently) later that night I had a dream but it was one of those dreams that feel like your awake but clearly I see my body on the bed so clearly I'm in a dream (rule: don't let your dream know you're in a dream) so I went around the house and I had seen this doll in my house and i heard children laughing from it. I walked pass it and turned to look at it and it ran at me yelling "You made me dirty, you will pay" but I couldn't move. It jumped on me look in the eyes and asked if I wanted to play a game. I guess that was my breaking point because I officially woke up. the rest of the week I was having a bad week. I felt like my world was falling apart for no reason. I just wasn't right in the mental state, and I kept having these weird dreams. As the person I am who believes my dreams happen for a reason and they come true i went back and it was in a tree hole. I didn't know what to do so I kind of just stared it at and left it alone. I heard children laughing again and I seen a kid come up to me asking to give the doll to her (she said it was hers I am not fighting with a kid) I gave her the doll and she whisper thank you and she kind of disappeared. after than I went back to my normal self and I never seen her or the doll again. The "tree house" is also gone and it looks like nothing happen. The only proof I have that was left is my tree markings.