16 Dark and Grisly Stories You Should Absolutely Never Read Before Bed

For some odd reason, a lot of people like to get scared as a form of entertainment and we can’t really blame them for that simply because just like every other form of entertainment it arises some unusual or at least rare feelings that are usually considered unpleasant when they happen in real life because you’re actually living it and suffering the consequences of that fear, but when reading a story about something scary you can just experience the feeling without having to actually be there and get hurt physically or emotionally.


I am a 911 telephone operator and in all my years of working, this was the scariest shit I’ve ever heard.

Me- Hello, this is 911 what is your emergency?

Man- I-I don’t know, I just woke up and saw a man outside, he looks like he’s hurt but also dangerous. Can you send someone over?

Me- Of course what is your address?

-no answer-

Me- Hello? Sir? Are you still there?

Man- yes um ya um -silence-

-mumbling- what the hell?

Me- Sir is everything okay? Can you please tell us the address?

Man- oh my god, he just got up H-his face is what the f***

Me- Okay sir, please check around your house and make sure all windows and doors are locked just stay on the line and we’ll track your phone, is it possible to keep your eyes on the man at all times?

Man- y-ea um okay

-locking sound-

-2 minutes of silence-

Man- okay all doors are lock-

Me- Sir, are you okay? is there somewhere in your house that has a lock and no windows?

-no answer-

Man- what the f***! oh my god! what is that!

Me- Sir! please stay on the line

Man- h-his face i-it’s right on the window and and he he’s smiling..


Me- Can you make out his face can you describe him for me?

Man- His teeth are their so sharp and his smile th-the smile holy sh** it’s getting-


Me-Sir! are you still there please answer

-faint taps-

Man- he- he’s tapping on the window he wants to get in oh no -sobbing-

Me- Sir! hello? please run to any room in your house that has a lock and no windo-

-loud crash-


*End of Call*


When she woke up, she found herself enclosed in a glass box just big enough for her to stand in. The box was in the center of a studio with twenty or so spectators meandering around the room looking into the other various glass boxes containing other human beings. She cupped her hands against the glass and stuck her face against them and squinted to view the human inside the glass box not far from her. He hung naked from a rope attached to the top of the box, blatantly dead. She looked down and saw a small sign on the bottom of the box that read “Death by lynching”. “Such a magnificent art piece,” she heard a spectator viewing the box say.

She looked around the room at the other various glass boxes containing humans. One was overrun with rats gnawing flesh, one cadaver floated in the water, and one was hard to spot from the gas that filled their box. The panic finally sank in and she began to bang on her glass box, but only one guest looked just to turn away, uninterested. She stopped banging when a spectator walked up to her box and stared at her the way a tourist stares at the Mona Lisa. The spectator looked down at the sign attached to her glass box and she overheard them say, “Death by starvation.”


I left home in a hurry to pick up my son from school.

Traffic was flowing pretty well that day, nothing on my way but a few red lights. It was while I was waiting at a red light that I noticed the woman.

I have no idea how long she had been standing there, staring at me, but once I noticed her I just could not look away. She was smiling like a maniac and waving at me with one hand while stroking a little boy’s hair with the other. The little boy, her son I assume, was wearing baggy brown clothes and a black goat mask. Now that was a very weird costume, plus, who wears a costume the day after Halloween?

He was also waving and staring at me through that unsettling mask but his waving felt uncomfortable and forced. The woman’s eyes, they could see right through me and I could almost physically feel her stare fixating on me. She wouldn’t even blink. I felt naked and extremely unnerved. Now the boy’s eyes, God, the boy’s eyes were pleading and begging for help. The woman started to grow impatient, waving harder each passing second.

I looked away.

For some reason, I was terrified.

I had to get out of there. Once the green light was on, after what had felt like forever, I took off. Didn’t even dare to look back.

I thought nothing could be more terrifying than that extremely unsettling feeling I had felt under the stare of that woman and her son. But then I got to school, and they told me my son wasn’t there. They told me my wife had already picked him up. But I don’t have a wife. They handed me a note, saying she had asked them to give it to me. There are no words to describe what I felt when I read the note. “Don’t say I didn’t give you a chance to say goodbye.”


A ‘mad genius’ grave-robber is to spend the rest of his life in a psychiatric hospital after digging up the corpses of 29 children and turning them into dolls.

Read more: http://metro.co.uk/2014/10/28/grave-robber-dug-up-29-girls-and-turned-them-into-human-dolls-4924735/#ixzz48jFc8pJ3

5. I know him so well.

He goes to bed at ten, every night. He says goodbye to his friends on the Internet and shuts his laptop down, like clockwork, and then he changes out of his clothes and goes to bed. He dreams but never remembers what about. When he wakes up in the morning, he’s always slept in, and he hurries to get to school in time. He gets home at thirty-six minutes past three and does his homework, and then he returns to his laptop until bed.

He likes gummy bears, horror films, and music that has screamed vocals. He doesn’t really have any friends apart from me, so he keeps some weed in his sock drawer for when the loneliness gets too much. He doesn’t know what he wants to do after school, but he knows he wants to go and live in a big city. London, maybe. He’s so sad because he doesn’t realize how beautiful he is. I don’t know what I’d be if I didn’t love him like I do. I was nothing before him.

We’ve lived together for twelve months now, it’s nice. I used to be one of those faceless people he speaks to online until we both realized that we couldn’t live with being so far away from each other. I moved to the other end of the country to be with him, I made so many sacrifices and I don’t regret it at all. His parents are nice, but we just spent most of the time up in his room alone. We don’t talk like we used to before I moved in, though. Most of the time I just watch him. It’s how I know so much about him.

Tonight, his routine’s changed. He doesn’t touch the laptop, he just lies on his bed with his face in the pillow and cries. I was concerned until I looked at his calendar and realized the date. Of course, he’s upset; it’s been a year since I hanged myself.


The cashier swipes my items across the scanner as I stare at the floor. I find it easiest to get through my anxiety by avoiding eye contact with other people. That’s why I only go shopping at night: fewer people to avoid.

“Did you find everything okay?” she asks casually.

“Mm-hmm,” I mumble to the floor. Her voice sounds nice. Pleasant. Curiosity wins over and I glance up.

The cashier’s head is completely caved in on the left side, blood streaming out her eye and ear on the right. Probably a car accident. I snap my gaze back down towards the floor and feel vomit at the back of my throat.

After I pay she gives back my change in a hand so mangled I’m surprised it can hold anything at all.

Thanking her, I grab my bags and turn towards the exit. Immediately I see a man looking through magazines at the storefront. The skin on his face and hands is the consistency of a hot dog that fell into a campfire. Burn victim.

I turn the other way and see a woman with a purple bruise surrounding her neck, her eyes bugged out and bloodshot. Death by hanging.

I rush out the door as fast as I can. In my car, I finally catch my breath as I lean my forehead on the steering wheel. Eventually, I look up and see my familiar reflection in the rear-view mirror: my head is blown open in the back. Gunshot victim.

Why did I ever wish for the power to see how people die?


Nap in the car.

Mommy always leaves me and daddy home on Saturday nights, and I and daddy always go get ice cream in the car after dinner. I have to sit in the back seat until I’m a big boy. I go in the kitchen to see what daddy is cooking for dinner after my Barney movie is over, but he’s not in there this time. I saw a note on the counter that said mommy and uncle James were going somewhere together. I’m not sure, I don’t read that good. I go find daddy in the garage.

I shut the door behind me like I’m supposed to. Daddy is in the car and he already has the car turned on. We must not be eating dinner tonight, only ice cream. I get in the backseat behind daddy since I’m not a big boy yet. Daddy doesn’t say anything when I said hello to him. Maybe he can’t hear me over the loud car. I think I’ll take a nap on the way to ice cream. I feel kinda sleepy.



A group of friends was staying at this remote cabin that one of my friend’s cousins owned. There were no roads leading to the cabin, and it was a good ¾ day hike from where you parked the cars.

I couldn’t go at the same time as everyone else due to work obligations, so I decided to head up the same day but later. It would mean I would have to camp for a night by myself though (the latter part of the trail is too dangerous to be taken at night, especially by someone who doesn’t know it). I didn’t care, I was kind of looking forward to it as I’ve never camped alone before.

So I was in the middle of these woods when the sun went down. I got my camp set up in this small clearing. Probably 40 feet across. Get my camp fire going and pitch my small, one person tent. Do all that camping stuff like cooking hot dogs on a stick over the fire and smoores. I probably stay up for a good 2 or 3 hours after dark (it was mid-autumn so the days were somewhat short).

The entire time I thought I heard shit moving in the woods on the edge of the clearing. I didn’t think anything of it at first cause the woods are full of animals, but as the night went on I realized that whatever it was was just circling the clearing over and over. Once I started paying attention it made 4 or 5 laps around before I decided to get up and investigate. The noise stopped as soon as I stooped up and I thought I heard some sounded going away through the woods.

I just shrug it off thinking it was some fox that was curious that got scared when I stood up. I decide its time to sleep, douse the fire and climb into my tent. I start to doze off and stay in that half asleep half awake state for a while. I normally hear weird shit when I’m in this state, so I don’t think much of it when I hear a voice.

Something wakes me all the way up though and I realize the voice is real and right outside my tent. Its just above a whisper and I’m not sure if it was another language or if they were just speaking English in such a way that I couldn’t understand.

I lay there for some time, I don’t know how long, listening and waiting for something to happen. There is just enough moon light to light up the walls of the tent, so I can see when a hand presses into the wall of my tent down near my foot. This freaks me out and I sit up quickly. Who ever was outside of the tent tore ass out of there. Like running full sprint through the woods.

I get out of the tent and shine my flashlight around and see nothing. I was expecting there to be a bloody hand print on the tent, but nope. Didn’t sleep that night, packed up camp at first light that morning and booked it to the cabin.

Credit to Bringerofthenachos


Simple Thrills.

The fortune teller was never wrong. If you had the money and the guts, she could show you the last moments right before you died. I knew people who had been to her and told of what they had seen. I’ve seen her predictions come true on several occasions.

It didn’t take too much thought before I decided to see her myself. I’m naturally curious. The vision she showed me was stunning. As I gazed into her crystal ball, the world faded and I was walking down the back road near my house, in the dark. The crickets chirped in the shadows. The crisp, cold air nipped at my nose. And then darkness. I didn’t see how I died. The fortune teller said we didn’t always see our deaths, sometimes just the moments before. The ball, she said, showed us only what we needed to see.

That vision changed my life. It’s easy to take risks when you know they aren’t risky. That back road I’m supposed to die on? It’s not the only way to get to my house. All I had to do is avoid it and I didn’t have to worry about a thing. I could go bungie jumping or sky diving or swim with sharks without worry of lasting harm. I was able-bodied in my vision so I knew nothing bad could happen to me. And the thrills were wonderful. But of course, thrills quickly stop becoming thrills when you take away the danger.

Don’t get me wrong: I still love the extreme sports and the risky adventures. I ran with the bulls last month. I had a blast. But lately I’ve taken to a different type of thrill. Once a month, after the sun goes down, I put on my coat and I take a walk, right down the road. Yeah, that road.

As I walk down that road, hear the crickets chirp, feel the cold wind blowing through my hair, I find myself undergoing a transformation. The solid, fearless foundation I have in the face of cliffs and sharks and charging bulls starts to fracture and crumble with every step I take. As I approach the spot where the fortune teller’s vision goes black, I feel my chest tighten. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. The sound of the crickets gives way to the thrum of blood as my heart frantically pumps. I shudder and then close my eyes, waiting, wondering if this is the moment I die. I continue to walk, eyes closed, and brace for the icy sting of a blade or the fangs of some unknown beast. Fear floods my mind and when I can take it no longer, I open my eyes again, never knowing whether I’ll see the end of my street or the grinning visage of Death.

And for that glorious moment in time, I feel truly alive.


The Brave Ones.

Here they come again, the brave ones. Another Halloween night, and the kids are back, here to prove their fearlessness. The old house’s floorboards creak beneath their sneakers.

Only half an hour until midnight, so I have to work fast. I start with their flashlight, blowing lightly against it, so that it flickers, but this inspires little more than a nervous giggle.

Fifteen minutes until midnight. Time to take things up a notch. I hover up to the ceiling, and will my body into flesh. My every nerve is on fire, but they’ve given me no choice. I force drops of blood to trickle out my nose, but the boys below don’t notice. I knock against the ceiling, but they won’t even look up.

“I thought this place was supposed to be haunted,” says the leader. “What a joke.”

Five minutes until midnight. I’m running out of time. With the last of my strength, I scream—so loud that they finally turn to look up at me. I like to think I put on a good show: I sway on an invisible noose, and the blood flows freely from my nostrils now. A couple of drops hit a skinny one with a crew cut. The boys scream and run into the night, just in time.

Below me, I hear the Thing turn, its disappointment palpable. For now, it sleeps. But one day, I will fail. The boys will be too brave, and I won’t scare them out in time. One day they will wake it.


Up From The Wishing Well.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

That’s me.

I didn’t feel so stupid this afternoon, when I was being a good mother. It was a crisp fall day and the leaves were gorgeous colors, so I took my daughter for a walk. We strolled the back paths while she asked a thousand questions, and I listened as she recounted each fairy tale that the woods brought to her mind. It didn’t matter to either of us that I was the one who had read all those fairy tales to her in the first place.

No, none of that was stupid. But wandering near the crumbling old wishing well certainly was. She was enchanted by it.

“Have you ever done it, Mommy? Made a wish here?”

“I’ve made two wishes,” I said. “Once, I wished for you, and then you came true. And you only cost me a penny.”

She giggled and asked about my second wish.

“That wish was the most heartfelt I’ve ever made, because it was for you again.”

“But you already got me!”

I smiled.

“Yes, but I didn’t want to lose you. I made the second wish when you were a baby, when you were sick and the doctors said there was no hope. I was so sad that I dropped in another penny. And that wish also came true, because you got better. Are you glad I wished it?”


So was I. And I wasn’t lying, I really did make that wish.

But I didn’t tell her the whole story. I didn’t tell her how, after I’d tossed the coin down the well, it came back up and landed right at my feet. I didn’t tell her that when I touched the coin again, I instantly understood that something down there—or maybe the well itself—was making a wish in return. And it wanted more than a penny.

“Did Daddy make a wish, too?” she asked.

Of course she would ask that. She thinks the world of her father, even though she never really knew him. I told everyone else that my husband ran away, but I’ve only told her what a loving and devoted man he’d been, until he went missing. In her imagination he was a long-lost king, and she was his princess.

“No,” I said, “I never dragged Daddy all the way out here.”

Except I did.


Because some wishes cost more.

And now, tonight, someone is beating on my front door. There are tortured groans that vaguely resemble my name, and I can smell something terrible. It’s a musty odor, like the mold in a damp cellar or cave.

Suddenly there is silence. Then with a crash, the window is shattered by a grasping, skeletal hand, and the moldy smell is overpowered by the stench of decayed flesh.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

What was I thinking? What else was a little girl who loves her missing daddy going to wish for?

Why did I give her a penny?



The Black Lagoon

To celebrate their first year in university, six friends went camping in the wilderness. After driving for several hours from the nearest town, they discovered a lagoon, nestled beside a cliff ideal for diving. They set up camp in the woods nearby and spent the evening swimming in the warm, clear water. As the sun sunk below the trees, one of the friends went up to the highest point on the cliff and jumped off, while the other 5 watched. Their laughter slowly subsided as they waited for him to surface. It only took half a minute for them to dive in after their friend. Struggling and sputtering among the reeds in the lagoon, they searched hopelessly for him. Finally they disentangled themselves and came up, but they never saw their friend again. Heartbroken they returned to the city and passed a strange and lonely year in which their only solace was the knowledge that they would return to the lagoon to honour the anniversary of their friend’s death.

A year passed and they returned to the lagoon as a memorial, but as they approached they saw their friend standing there, head bowed. Excitedly they called to him and began running towards him, but he didn’t turn. As they got closer they called him more desparately, but still to no avail. With joy they ran towards him, but stopped dead when they saw not one but five crosses on the waterside.


Emergency broadcast warning.

Attention: An event of unknown origin has begun in your area. In order to ensure your safety you must perform the following actions. Any deviation will result in loss of life.

  • Open all external and internal doors.
  • Open all windows.
  • Do not attempt by any means to bar entry.
  • When they enter, do not move, look at or acknowledge their presence in any way.
  • Do not react.
  • Small children, otherwise impaired individuals, and pets you cannot keep from reacting should be abandoned.
  • Repeat, do not react.

Leave your televisions or radios on to await the all clear. Good luck.


Stuck at work.

It’s 7:31pm, and I’m the last person in the office. But instead of leaving, I’m standing in front of the elevator with a box of paperclips in my hand.

“Ready to go?” asks Ray.

He’s keeping the elevator door open for me. Behind him are Megan, Carla, and Marcos, all of whom look tired from working so late.

The first time this happened, I opened my mouth to say yes, then I suddenly changed my answer as I remembered my resolution to lose a few pounds.

Back then I said, “Thanks, but I’ll take the stairs.”

This time I don’t say anything.

“Suit yourself,” Ray says anyway, as if I had spoken.

He releases the door, but before it can close, I toss in the box. It lands on its corner and the lid pops off, scattering its contents like a paperclip grenade. Then the door slides shut and I’m alone again.

No one in the elevator thought this was weird. In fact, they didn’t even notice. I’ve done this little experiment many, many times, so I’m not surprised they didn’t react. I’m also not surprised to look over and see the box of paperclips back on my desk, as if I’d never touched it.

My other experiments end the same way. I’ve blocked the doors, I’ve shouted and begged, and I’ve grabbed at Ray’s arm, but nothing makes any lasting difference. My co-workers never respond, and everything resets. I always end up alone in the office, at least until the elevator reappears and Ray asks if I’m ready to go.

I’ve gotten tired of experimenting, but there isn’t much else to do around here. The phones and radios and fire alarms don’t work. All the computers are frozen. I found a cheap romance novel hidden in Megan’s bottom drawer, but I know how it ends. I ought to—I’ve only read it thirty times.

Even if I actually do take the stairwell, it’s like walking into an M. C. Escher print. However many flights I descend or ascend, every door brings me right back here, to the 40th floor.

Of course, I could always join my co-workers in the elevator. I remember once when I was a kid, I was feeling morbidly curious so I looked up elevator accidents and found out they were incredibly rare. Elevators are probably the safest method of transportation in the world, since they basically cannot just go crashing to the ground. You’re about 1,000 times more likely to die on a staircase.

But even though I know that, I also know this: each time the elevator leaves, if I put my ear to the door, I can hear the receding screams of my co-workers echoing back up the shaft.

And that’s why it’s always 7:31pm. Because I’m supposed to be with them.

Looking up from the paperclip box, I see the elevator has returned.

“Ready to go?” asks Ray.

Eventually, I know I’ll say yes.


The wallet in the sewer.

My folks dropped me off just outside the campus main gates.

“Call us and let us know how your mid-terms go?” Dad asked.

I smiled and replied that I would. I gave them both a hug and stepped up onto the sidewalk and waved at them as they merged back into traffic.

That was a great weekend, but it was time to get back to my usual college routine.

As I bent down to pick up my bags, I saw it. A wallet was lodged between the grilles of a sewer grate by my feet.

I pried it out carefully. It was black with a silver zipper along the top. A faded “Hello Kitty” sticker decorated the bottom right corner suggesting that the wallet most likely belonged to a girl. I opened it and my eyes widened.

Hundred dollar bills.

There must have been a dozen of them. I immediately glanced around to make sure no one noticed. I headed as fast as I could back to the safety and privacy of my dorm room.

Once there, I emptied the contents of the wallet.

$4000 total.

No ID.

There was however, a wallet-sized high school graduation picture of a girl. She had shoulder-length golden-brown hair and a cheerleader smile. She was pretty and next thing I knew, I forgot about the cash and found myself staring at the picture. I got knocked out of my fugue when I heard footsteps outside. My roommate was due back any moment and I didn’t want him to catch me with all that cash so I put everything away but I held onto the photo.

I made inquiries about the girl in the photo. It took some time, but I finally found out her name was Rebecca but people called her Becky. Once I got a name, it was only a matter of time in finding her. She was a freshman who worked part-time at nights at the sports complex.

The sports complex was in the process of massive renovations. When I approached it, I swore it looked like a bomb hit. Once inside it didn’t take me long to find her. She was sitting inside the entrance booth. She didn’t look at all like the girl in the photo. Whereas the girl in the photo was bright-eyed and cheery, this girl looked sullen and bored.

“Becky?” I asked.

She looked up at me. I was half-expecting to see her smile but she didn’t. In fact, from the way she looked at me, it made me feel like I was bothering her.

“Yeah?” she answered.

“I…uh…I have something for you.”

I reached into my school bag and pulled out my .22. Becky didn’t have much of a chance to react when I double-tapped her in the head.

I quickly left by the side entrance. On my way back to the dorm I sent out a text on my burner phone.

“Job is done. I expect 2nd half of payment at the same spot.”


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