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A few years ago my brother would get a call on his cellphone around 2:00 – 3:00 A.M. every night. He would answer and it was this hellish sounding noise. Like static mixed with screams. He changed his cell number after a month of this and it stopped.

Then after a week or so it began again. The exact same noise. Exact same time. Finally one day he decided to backdial the call. It was an old man that had no clue what he was talking about. Still the calls persisted. If he didn’t answer, it would call a few more times. No messages were left.

He decided to say screw it. Ended his contract with his phone company, switched to a new one, and then got another new number. You guessed it, the screaming static calls continued after a short delay. By this time he was terrified every night. Unsure why this was happening. He back dialed the number again and got a different person.

Around this time he lost his job and his phone. The calls stopped of course. His phone was disconnected now. So one day my mom asks me to listen to this weird message she got on our home phone.

It was the static screaming. We showed my brother and he was freaking out. He back dialed the number again and it said the number was disconnected this time.

Never heard from it again after that.


22 Creepy True Stories That Will Terrify You (1)


This happened to a friend of mine – she told me about it a year or so ago. We’ll call her Minji.

Minji is in her late 20s, and works as an English tutor in South Korea. One evening, a few years ago, she was tutoring a high school boy. They were up studying pretty late, and the buses stopped running. Being a long way from his house, the boy asked if he could crash on her floor overnight and get the first bus the next morning.

Minji was very reluctant, because inviting a teenage male student to stay the night didn’t sound like a great idea, but he was begging her and eventually she relented. They went back to her one room apartment, and she got into the bed, while he laid a blanket out on the floor, and they both fell asleep.

A few hours later, at maybe 2am, the boy wakes Minji up. “I’m really hungry”, he says, “let’s go get some food”. Minji opens her eyes and looks up at him in disbelief. “Food? Now? It’s 2am, go back to bed.” But the student insists, “no, I’m so hungry, let’s eat something now.” She tells him that there’s some ramen in the kitchen, and he can fix himself some. This doesn’t satisfy him – he doesn’t want ramen, there’s a 24 hour place just down the road, let’s go there.

Eventually, after several minutes of persuasion, the boy gets Minji to come with him to the restaurant. They leave the apartment and head out. As soon as they’re on the street, the boy turns to Minji, and says “I’m not hungry. I woke up in the middle of the night, and looked under your bed. There’s a man sleeping there.”

They call the police, and discover that a homeless man had been living in Minji’s apartment, sleeping under her bed, for over 2 months. The boy only saw him because he was lying on her floor, so had a clear view under the bed.

The police arrested the man, and thankfully there were no other issues, but that’s by far the creepiest thing that’s ever happened to anyone I know.



None from me but I remember a story a high school teacher told me that always stuck with me.

My former teacher was home alone when she was a child some at some point in the 70’s probably. A man knocked on her door and she opened her main door but kept her screen door locked. He said he was from the gas company and wanted to talk to her parents. She told him they weren’t home and he, without missing a beat, tried to start forcing his way into the home. When he found the screen door to be locked he pulled out a fucking box cutter and started to cut through the screen. My teacher ran to hide in a clothes hamper in her parent’s closet. She said she sat there for about 10 minutes before the police arrived. Thank god a neighbor saw everything and called the police or she probably would be dead. Also to put the cherry on the freaking creepy sundae, they found the intruder hiding in the attic.

She told us that as a cautionary tale to lock all doors and windows when home alone. Of course naturally I would go home from school to be alone for hours. Doom.



My friend and I were going to a party a few hours out of town, so we decided to stay at her family’s holiday house about an hour south of the party (now three hours from home). We arrived around mid afternoon, and it was winter in a holiday town, so the area was completely empty – no other cars on the street.

When we left for the party I spent a moment deciding whether to pull the gate all the way closed. I’d had some trouble opening it earlier when we arrived, and if we were getting home late at night I didn’t want to be stuck outside. I decided to shut it for security.

Party was great, we got back to the house around 12:30, and the gate was open. I immediately felt on edge because not only did I know I’d locked it, but I knee it couldn’t just blow open in the wind, but I didn’t want to make a big deal so I was vague when my friend asked if I’d shut it. We went inside, and decided to make a snack. I was wandering through the house when suddenly my friend raced from the kitchen into the hallway and virtually tackled me to the ground; she was convinced she’d heard someone walking around outside. We tried to calm ourselves down, but we had no cell reception and there was no one else around. Over the next half hour or so, as we sat in the hallway paralysed with fear, we heard footsteps outside, and the back door being jimmied.

We decided we had to leave, so we gathered everything up and got ready to make a break for the car. Just as we were at the front door ready to leave, there was a huge bang in the back yard, and suddenly what sounded like hundreds of birds started screaming. We legged it to the car, ended up starting it with all our stuff still on our laps, we hadn’t bothered to even put it in the backseat. As we reversed out the driveway we saw somebody running up the side of the house towards us.

Sped the entire way home and even once we got back to my place, didn’t sleep at all that night.



My grandfather died last year sometime when my son was maybe a year old. We had dinner with the whole family every Friday night so my son had seen him several times. Mt grandfather was a very quiet, proud man, but when he thought he was alone or unseen he would make silly faces at my son to get a laugh. A couple nights after his funeral my son (who liked to crawl into bed with us in the middle of the night) started just laughing uncontrollably at like 2 am. So I get out of bed to see what’s going on, and find my son sitting in the middle of the living room, in the dark, laughing.

I say “hey buddy what are you doing?” In toddler speak he says “Papa funny!” I got a little nervous for some reason and went to pick him up and bring him to our room for the rest of the night. And as I’m hauling him away he says “Bye papa!” And blows a kiss at absolutely nothing I can see.



A few weeks ago my girlfriend and I were sleeping together, when I woke up to her saying “What are you doing?” She sometimes talks in her sleep, but this sounded so coherent and urgent that it jolted me awake and I asked what she was talking about. She then woke up and said she thought she saw someone at the end of the bed. Thinking it was just a dream, or semi-awake hallucination, we thought nothing of it and went back to sleep. About an hour later, I woke up and saw someone standing on the bed, with the sheets wrapped up and twisted to their neck. I didn’t know what do but the first thing that came out of my mouth was “What are you doing?” My girlfriend then woke me up. I had been dreaming the exact same thing that she did, and said the exact same thing.

I know it’s the power of suggestion or whatever, but fuck that.



When I was in eighth grade I went on a school trip that was called the Louisiana Tour. It was mostly going around to significant sights in south Louisiana. One of the places we went was Myrtles Plantation, which is considered to be one of the most haunted places in the country.

There are all kinds of stories about the place, but at one point we were standing in a room as a part of a larger group and the tour guide was talking about something, I don’t remember what. As I’m standing there I start to hear what sounds like someone hitting a piano key. After I heard it a couple of times I started to look around for the source of the noise. I didn’t see a piano, but I kept hearing it. So I asked my friends who were standing near me if they heard it, they said no. When I heard it again I said there is it again and that they must have heard it. They thought I was crazy.

So I went back to looking around the room. Everyone’s eyes were on the tour guide except for one woman. She caught my eye and pointed at me and then at her ear with a questioning look. I realized she was asking if I heard it too and I nodded.

At this point the tour guide starts telling a story about a soldier who had died there and that he played the piano and multiple guests had reported hearing him playing in the night.

I honestly didn’t know what to think, I guess I still don’t. I talked to the woman as we were all leaving the room and she had heard the exact same thing as me, but her husband and son had not heard it.



I work at the Myrtles Plantation and i have so many of these stories and events that visitors tell me. The creepiest is one in my opinion is that you can sleep at the Plantation kind of like a bed and breakfast, well we have a room that is filled with those creepy ceramic dolls. There is one doll though that was one of the children’s favorite and always was in the bed with her at night. The child later died (to long to explain) and the doll stayed on the bed with her.

When we started to house guests at the Myrtles we kept the doll on the bed in memory of the child. The first night when someone slept in the room they moved the doll to get more comfortable. In the morning the doll was back in the bed with the its hands on the guest’s throat. She came out outraged accusing us that we did something in her room. No one went in or out of her room that night at all.

The next guest moved the doll as well and when he was sleeping he heard tapping on the wood floors. He woke up and noticed the doll on the floor were the sound was coming from. Everyone who stays in the room and moves the doll, the doll will come and go back in its bed.



I posted this story before to another thread a while ago, but this seems like the perfect place for it, and it’s fairly short, so here it is…

When I was growing up one of my best friends told me a about a very creepy situation involving him, his younger brother, and a man in the window. When my friend and his little brother were younger they shared a bedroom. They’re some years apart, but his younger brother was born with a multitude of different health issues, including multiple sclerosis, and he’s confined to a wheelchair and cannot care for himself. So, to keep an eye on him overnight when his parents couldn’t, they shared a bedroom.

One night my friend randomly woke up for no in particular reason and happened to glance over at his younger brother, but noticed something very startling; a strange silhouette of a man wearing a top hat looking in through the window behind his younger brother’s crib. The first thing my friend did was jump up and turn the light on, then ran into his parents room to tell them what he saw. When his parents came back into their room to investigate, his younger brother was having a seizure in his crib.

A few of his family members say it was his younger brother’s guardian angel standing in the window that night; my friend believes it was death.

It’s all still pretty unsettling to me.



When I was younger, I had an imaginary friend who lived in this massive antique dresser. We’d chill out and I vividly remember him telling me stories, although I have absolutely no recollection of what they actually were.

I remember one day talking to my parents about it (Dad traveled quite a bit so he wasn’t up to date with what I was into) and when I started telling him about my dresser buddy, he wanted to know his name. It was something innocent like Peter or Patrick but I can still see him going white in the face.

I drew Peter/Patrick out for him and the very next day him and my uncle took out that dresser and burned it. It wasn’t until a few years later when I found out my Dad’s little brother (my uncle) also had the same friend with the same name who lived in the same antique dresser. After a few months of the typical imaginary friend shit, my uncle started having night terrors and couldn’t sleep because of Peter/Patrick. It got so bad that they had to move him out of his room before he managed to get back to normal.



On a somewhat similar note:

When my son was about 3, he had an imaginary friend in his room who he used to talk to all the time. He would tell us stories about things she would tell him and we’d hear him chatting to her at bed time. We thought it was pretty cute.

After a few months my son said he wasn’t friends with her anymore. We figured he was over his phase of “seeing” her, so were surprised to hear him still talking to her at night. Then he started not wanting to go to bed and having really bad dreams.

At some point we ended up asking a lot of questions about her. We had assumed she was a little girl, but apparently she was 47. She lived in the wall and he stopped being friends with her because she wanted him to call her mummy (her name was something like Margaret). She wanted him to come and live in the wall with her.

He had told her he didn’t want to talk to her anymore and she wouldn’t go away. We eventually moved house, and he stopped talking about her.

Funny thing is, when I was pregnant with him (living in the same house) I used to have dreams about a lady sitting at a dining table in our bedroom, except it was obviously a different era, and the room was not a bedroom at the time. The lady used to knit and make me listen to her giving me parenting advice, while her two 20ish year old sons sat at the table quietly.



It reminds me of this doll my brother gave me after visiting Mexico when I was a kid. It was just a standard doll with “traditional “Mexican dress and I immediately loved her and went to sleep clutching the doll.

I normally did not have nightmares as a kid and if I did, they were very tame. Nothing crazy. The thing is as soon as I started sleeping with this doll by my side (I sometimes placed it near my dresser), I started having super violent, scary dreams where I or family members and even strangers would get harmed. I would wake up screaming sometimes too.

I eventually told my mom about it and her eyes immediately went to the doll and she told me she would be throwing it away. I protested a bit then gave it to her. After that night, the nightmares completely went away. Maybe it was coincidence, maybe not but it still creeps me out.



I was once featured in a St Jude’s survivor newsletter when I was about 5 years old in the early ’90s. The newsletter went out across the country and apparently into Canada. There was this guy named Mitchell that called my family up out of the blue because he had read my cancer survival story. He lived somewhere in Canada and claimed to be this big-time Christian and wanted to talk to me God and prayer. My mom let him talk to me for whatever reason and the guy actually just wanted to talk to me about ALF. This Canadian dude named Mitchell was obsessed with ALF and somehow got a hold of our mailing address and sent me tons of ALF merchandise: coloring books, pencils, ALF everything. For some reason, my parents let him talk to me whenever he would call because they bought into his God stuff and liked how he sent me ALF crap.

This went on and off for about a year until he asked me if I had ever heard of John Wayne Gacy. He told me who he was and that he had escaped him when Gacy tried kidnapping him when he was a kid. He told me I should tell my parents they shouldn’t trust strangers because you never know who you could really be talking to. I remember he didn’t sound menacing when he said it, just matter-of-fact.

Of course my parents freaked when I told them that and they changed numbers and called the police. They never really did anything since the guy did live in Canada by all accounts and hadn’t really threatened me. Also, keep in mind Mitchell somehow had our mailing address and knew exactly where we lived. We had plans on moving soon anyway though.

Fast forward 10 years to about 2001. We live in a new house, a new state, everything unlisted. I’m now 15. What did we get in the mail? Yes, you guessed it, a fucking ALF coloring book.



Hard to say what qualifies as creepy. It could maybe be seen as heartwarming. I don’t know. My mother swears this is a true story, and frankly, I don’t see why she would lie about it.

My mom had three kids. There’s me, the youngest, and my older brother – but before either of us were born, there was Jonathan. He was a sweet little blonde boy, big blue eyes, known for accidentally repeating Dad’s swears in church. Wholesome kid, great in school, active outside.

When he was almost six, he was riding his bike and fell and hit his head on a rock. He got up and said he felt fine. My mom found him the next morning in his bed when she tried to wake him up to get to kindergarten, one pupil dilated and the other not. She got him air-lifted to the nearest hospital.

During this time, Jonathan’s best friend Nick was sitting at the breakfast table eating cereal. Nick suddenly gets up from the table and goes to the door. When his mom asks him what’s up, Nick says that Johnny was calling for him.

You see, Nick and Johnny lived on separate blocks, but they weren’t allowed to cross the street without a parent yet because they were still fairly young. But they lived close enough to call to one another to come out to talk at their respective street corners.

So Nick goes out to the street corner while his mother receives a call from mine that Johnny was just declared dead in the hospital (idle brain aneurism that was triggered by the fall). Nick’s mom can hardly handle this news and is now wondering where her son went.

But Nick comes back a few minutes later and says that he heard Johnny calling to him but he wasn’t at the street corner when he looked, then sits down to continue eating his cereal. When his mom asks Nick what Johnny was saying, Nick says he had come to say, “Goodbye.”

My mom told me this story when I was young but it’s stuck with me. I wish I could have met him. But truthfully, I wouldn’t be here to type this story to all you random strangers if he hadn’t died; my mother only wanted two kids. I’m thankful for the chance I was given to live, and feel like he died FOR me sometimes. I’m not religious, but I do feel spiritual when I think of Johnny.



Before my family and I moved to another state, my father went and visited the area to check on the progress of our new house which was being built. My father was there for a few days and was staying at some crappy Motel 6 in a shady area of town. His room was the last room at the end of the hallway on the top floor. In the middle of the night on the last night he was in town he is woken by the phone ringing in his room.

He groggily answers. It was the front desk and they say something along the lines “Sorry to wake you, but we’ve been receiving a couple of reports about rooms being broken into and some stuff being stolen. We are calling to make sure you lock your door and are safe.” My father replies that he is fine and hangs up. He decides to go double check that he locked the door.

As he sits up in bed he notices that the door to his room is ajar. Being spooked, he cautiously checks the room and finds that nothing is missing and no one else is in the room. He creeps to the door and peaks out. Sitting right outside his room on the window sill of the hallway window is his shaving kit. Creeped out of his mind, he quickly grabs it and locks the door.

After he calms down a bit he calls down to the front desk and says “Hey, you just called me about the break ins around the hotel, and I just want to report that my room was broken into when I was sleeping, nothing stolen and I am fine. Figured you would like to know”

The front desk replies, “You must be mistaken, we never called your room and we haven’t received any reports of breaks ins”



My wife’s mother passed away in 2003 from cancer. After the funeral, family and friends gathered at her house for a final celebration of her life. The gathering went late into the evening. My son, 3 at the time, needed to go to bed at that point.

I walked with him up the stairs to where he would sleep. The room that my mother-in-law passed away in was upstairs, and straight down the hallway as you reached the top of the landing. My son and I walked upstairs together, with me holding his hand. As we nearly reached the top of the stairs, my son stopped and wouldn’t move…at the point which he could just see down the hallway. He was staring straight down the hall. I looked at him, then down the hall to an open doorway to a completely dark bedroom. He just stared, and would not move any further. I asked him “Buddy, are you OK?” His response was…”Daddy. The light. The light scares me.” I looked again down the hallway where he was staring into darkness. “Buddy, you see a light?” “Yes daddy. It scares me.”

I promptly picked him up and went back downstairs. To this day, the hairs still stand on the back of my neck when I think of it.



When I was a child we would frequently get calls for a woman named Tanya. Didn’t seem like a big deal, she had the same last name as us, although it’s quite a common one around here.

When we moved across the city and phone books stopped being the go-to for finding somebody’s number, the calls for Tanya gradually stopped. Those days seemed to have ended and we carried on, forgetting about the mysterious Tanya.

It was about 4 years ago that she popped up in our lives again.

I was driving home from work one afternoon and was greeted by a pretty grisly car wreck at the turn to my house – two cars had collided and one had wrapped itself around the signage pole that had house numbers and directions on it, one of which was my house number.

Several days later we get a call from the police. They asked if Tanya was at this residence. Her car was found wrapped around a pole – down the street from my house – and she was nowhere to be found at the accident site.

Haven’t heard anything about her since.



I’ll try to get through this without breaking down. It’s still kind of chilling to think about.

Around the time I was 19 I was deployed to Iraq. My unit worked with bombs, and honestly, I didn’t know I would make it home intact. About halfway through my tour the red cross notified my unit that my father was terminally ill. Within a week I was on a plane back to the states.

Now my dad being ill was something I had grown used to. He was strong though, and I never expected to actually lose him. I lost my mother when I was 7, and my father’s lungs had collapsed shortly before then. He was on oxygen and needed a wheelchair to go anywhere. Medication by the handfuls were needed every few hours. He gained weight from limited movement, developed diabetes, and had already beaten cancer once. I never expected to lose him and he wasn’t the type to ever give up.

I arrive home, head to the hospital, and he assures me he’s fine and they’re overreacting. I visit him every day I’m there, but he tells me he’ll be fine by the time I get home “for good”.

I reluctantly go back overseas. I call his hospital whenever I have a few minutes of free time and we’re near a call center. My deployment finishes, and he kept his promise. He comes home from the hospital, because he says he doesn’t want to die there. He gets worse, and goes back. The family all visits, but we know he isn’t improving.

One day I’m at home and the phone rings. It’s an unknown number, so I don’t answer. It goes to the answering machine, and a very raspy voice mumbles “Call the hospital.” It’s my dad. I grab the phone, but he already hung up.

So I call. They tell me he’s been intubated for the past couple hours and he just started going into cardiac arrest. He’s non responsive, and we need to come say our goodbyes. I argue that he just called me, and she says that’s not possible. They’ve been working on him for some time now.

I hung up and told my family the news. My sister and I stared at the answering machine. We played the tape again, and again.

That was the last time I heard my father’s voice. I’m a skeptic. I don’t believe in the paranormal or ghosts, and I cannot come up with any logical explanation. I still get watery eyed thinking about it.



My mom is Native American. She named my sister Chula which means fox. Most likely because of her name sake but maybe not ,my sister loved everything that had to do with a fox. Last November my mom was doing dishes at the sink and looking out the window at the woods like she always does. Well she looks up from the dishes to the edge of the woods and at that moment a Fox steps out of the woods.

It sits on it’s hind legs and stares right at my moms face while she stares back through the window . She said it seemed like five minutes they stared at each other. Suddenly the fox got up turned around and slowly walked into the woods. my mom said her first thought was to call Chula tell her about the fox.

My sister never answered she died in a head on collision that day due to some asshole drunk driver. My mom keeps looking for the fox. It has never come back.



So glad I have a story to share the same day I created my Reddit account!

About four years ago I was sleeping and woke up randomly to see a person standing next to my bed. This person was clearly female, but very petite — perhaps a teenager or just tiny in stature. She was facing away from me and had her shoulder cocked up to her cheek, like the way you sometimes see people holding phones. Her hair was in a low ponytail.

There was nothing surreal or ghostly about her. She appeared exactly as you would imagine a person would if you were to waken in a dark room, somewhat illuminated by moonlight. There was no mistaking the fact that someone else was standing only a couple feet away from my bed.

I jolted upright immediately. Shock is putting it mildly. I remember my heart was POUNDING, POUNDING, POUNDING. The worst part about it was… she heard me sit up, and reacted, turning her crooked head around to face me, as if equally surprised to see me as I was her. I was so scared I actually closed my eyes, like they do in the movies, thinking that when I opened then she would be gone and I could chalk it up to some kind of half-dreaming state.


She was still there, staring at me. I started to fumble for the lamp on my nightstand. It felt like god damn forever — I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I was so nervous that the noise would further prompt her to come towards me, or something. When I finally switched it on, she was gone.

I called my boyfriend, hysterically crying and begging him to come over. He refused, and said I hadn’t actually seen what I thought I had seen. I slept with the light on for three entire weeks, I was so scared. I remember I told my mom the next day and she advised me to search every closet in my apartment for squatters, which is perhaps even more terrifying than a ghost appearance, thanks mom!



When I was young, I went to see my grandpa who happened to be caretaking for a multi-millionaire’s ranch while the prior caretaker was having rotator cuff surgery.

One day he takes me into the prior caretaker’s house and a few others and has me flip the breakers off (All of them.) I didn’t think anything of it at the time, I figured it was maintenance if some type.

That night at about 11:30 I was sitting on the couch watching the news and he calls me out onto the porch. He points at the caretaker’s house (where we turned the breakers off, btws) but there are three lights on. I grab binoculars and look through the windows. No people, no movement, nothing.

He looks over at me and says “That’s the third time this week. The first time I went over with my .357 expecting someone to have broken in. But when I got to the house, the door was locked just like I’d left it. I went inside and nothing was out of order except a barstool was pulled out.”

Sure enough, we went over and nothing was out of order except the barstool. So I go downstairs to check the breaker box and the second I open the breaker box, the lights go off upstairs.

I quickly wisened up and got the fuck outta there.



I worked in a nursing home as an aide in a hospice unit. One night I had three patients trying to die and my job was to ensure that they were comfortable. The girls that worked the floor with me at night were awesome. We would always try to make each other laugh and get through the night as best as we could. I was known for scaring girls. Sometimes I’d hide in the closet of a room where someone had recently died (their body and belongings long gone in the empty room) and I’d press the call light and wait. The girls would come in and hastily shut it off but I’d always jump out and scare the shit out of them.

One night I was in the nurses station filling out a report since I had to give a pt Kent some narcotics when an aide rushed in. She swore that she thought she saw my shadow on the wall as if I were hiding trying to scare her but then she heard me laugh in the nurses station. I decided to check it out since there wasn’t supposed to be anyone on our floor. As I walked over to the wall I stood where the light would have created my shadow and there was nothing. I laughed it off until the CNA started shrieking and I turned around and a shadow seemingly rose up the wall from the ground out of nothing. I just stared at it and said, “oh for heaven’s sake is that the best you’ve got?” And walked back to the nursing station.

A while later I had to do rounds. As I walked towards a patients room I heard three knocks on the door that lead outside to the patio by their room and I saw an older gentleman dressed in all black. I couldn’t let him in because I didn’t have the access code so I told him to hold on a moment and i would get the nurse to let him in. When she and I returned to the door he was gone. She went outside and we couldn’t find him, so I continued to the patient’s room to check on him.

Blood everywhere and the patient is on the floor bleeding. He had tried to get up it appears and flopped around a bit in his blood trying to get up. The nurse lifted him back into the bed and we cleaned him up. There was nothing else we could do as he was DNR besides make sure he was comfortable. I went to my next patients room and bam…dead. He had stopped breathing. I rushed to get the nurse and pulled his file. DNR also. We call the morgue and his family while I clean his body with an aide. I go to check on the patient that fell (vitals every 15 minutes for non witnessed fall) and he’s dead. I’m get the nurse, she’s frustrated because this takes two aides off her floor to care for the deceased and lots of paperwork for her. As I’m walking down the hall for linens I see the ol man I originally saw outside walking past the nurses station and he whispered, “one more jacmia, and then I’m done for the night, just one more” I jumped up because his whisper was so eerie and I run to the direction he was going. A patient’s room door slammed shut and when I ran in she looked directly at me and took her last breath and died. Her eyes still staring directly at me. For some reason I remember her window being open and how odd it was. I ran to the window and didn’t see anything and slammed it shut, checked the woman for a pulse and found nothing.

The nurse had followed me and saw exactly what I saw and heard the voice whisper as I did. She was coming around he corner and swore she saw the man and then me jump up and run after him and, like me, saw the patient’s room door slam shit before I could get in there. When I had turned around I saw the nurse standing in the doorway and she could only say, “I fucking saw it too oh my god I fucking saw it too”.


Source: Creepypasta are great, but does anyone have any good true creepy stories?