Hello horror fans!
We have a youtube chanal that makes horror stories, And we would like to know what you wanna watch on halloween. Say it and we make it :D
Here is the link https://youtube.com/@Nightmarenecessitie…xQkRYdV32m
Thank you for watching!
“Here is one of our horror stories. If you want to see and hear it instead, go to our YouTube channel.”
Echoes Of The Haunted House, Supernatural story
Sarah and I had grown weary of the relentless chaos of city life. I worked as a digital musician, creating melodies and beats from the comfort of our crowded apartment, while Sarah, a freelance writer, had her own battles with deadlines and the cacophony of street noise that seemed to have no end.
Our daily existence was a never-ending symphony of honking horns, blaring sirens, and the constant hustle and bustle of the urban jungle.
We longed for a change, a chance to escape the relentless noise and find solace in the quiet embrace of nature.
It was during one of our long drives in search of that elusive peace that we stumbled upon an idyllic piece of land on the outskirts of a quaint, little town.
As we cruised down a winding country road, a weathered sign caught our attention. It simply read, “Land for Sale.”
Curiosity piqued, we decided to follow the arrow pointing down a narrow path shaded by towering oaks.
The moment we set foot on that perfect land; we knew we had found our sanctuary. The land was an enchanting blend of rolling hills and lush greenery.
Ancient oak trees stood sentinel, their branches forming a protective canopy over the property.
Wildflowers danced in the gentle breeze, and a small stream meandered through the landscape, glistening like a ribbon of silver in the sunlight.
As we walked further into the open area, we couldn’t help but notice the presence of numerous crows.
They perched on tree branches, their dark forms stark against the clear blue sky. Their cawing filled the air, but we thought little of it, attributing their presence to the rural setting and the abundant trees that offered them shelter.
As we stood on the land, we were filled with excitement and anticipation. The rolling hills and lush greenery seemed like the ideal setting for our future.
We quickly purchased the land and hired a talented architect to help bring our dream to life.
Construction began, and our vision slowly took shape. However, as the walls of our new home rose, strange and unsettling events began to unfold.
Workers reported tools disappearing without a trace, and they often heard whispers carried on the wind that seemed to echo through the land.
Not only that, we and the constructors encountered unexplained cold spots throughout the construction site.
At first, we brushed these occurrences off as mere superstitions, the product of an active imagination fueled by the remote location and the age of the surrounding trees.
But after many months, well actually almost one entire year, the house stood ready and it was ready to be called our new home.
No more cold spots, no more tools that was disappearing, well no more tools that the construction workers would have forgotten.
One night, while I was in our bedroom unpacking boxes, I heard sounds emanating from the kitchen.
The clinking of utensils and the faint aroma of cooking wafted through the air. Assuming it was Sarah preparing dinner, I decided to pay her a surprise visit.
As I made my way past the hallway and into the kitchen, I was greeted by the sight of someone standing at the stove, their back turned to me.
They were clearly engrossed in the task of cooking, their movements precise and deliberate. I couldn’t help but admire the elegant silhouette of the woman’s figure, thinking it was Sarah.
With a smile, I called out, “Hey, I thought I’d give you a hand with dinner.”
However, no response came from the figure at the stove. She continued to work diligently, her long, blonde hair cascading down her back.
Slightly perplexed but not overly concerned, I decided to give her some space and headed to the bathroom to freshen up before dinner.
It was there that I found Sarah, standing before the bathroom mirror. She looked up as I entered and smiled warmly.
Confused, I stammered, “I thought you were in the kitchen, cooking dinner?”
Sarah’s smile faded, and her eyes widened. “Mark, I’ve been in here the whole time. I haven’t been in the kitchen.”
My heart began to race as I realized the implications of what I had just witnessed.
With trembling hands, I led Sarah back to the kitchen, but the figure that had been cooking had vanished, leaving behind only a lingering sense of unease.
The incident in the kitchen had left us both shaken. The eerie presence in our home was impossible to ignore, and it gnawed at our sanity.
We exchanged worried glances, unsure of how to explain the unexplainable.
Over the following weeks, the strange occurrences continued unabated. Objects would move on their own, and the sound of phantom footsteps echoed through the empty hallways at night.
We tried to rationalize it, attributing it to stress or our overactive imaginations, but deep down, we couldn’t deny that something peculiar was happening.
One evening, as Sarah and I sat in the living room, discussing our increasingly unsettling experiences, we heard a soft, mournful melody drift through the air.
It was the haunting notes of a piano, a sound that neither of us could produce, as I was a digital musician, and we had no piano in the house.
Intrigued and apprehensive, we followed the sound, which led us to a room we rarely used. The door creaked open, revealing a dusty old piano that hadn’t been there before.
Its keys moved on their own, playing a melancholic tune that seemed to resonate with the sorrowful atmosphere that had enveloped our home.
As we watched in disbelief, the piano continued to play, its keys pressing down as if guided by invisible hands.
The music grew louder, filling the room with a haunting melody that sent shivers down our spines.
Unable to bear the unsettling presence any longer, we decided to seek answers.
With a mixture of fear and determination, we reached out to a local historian who possessed knowledge of the area’s history, particularly its forgotten cemetery.
To our shock, we discovered that our idyllic property had once been an ancient cemetery, long forgotten by the town.
The crows that had seemed inconsequential were believed to be a harbinger of spirits, guarding the resting place of the souls buried beneath our land.
Terrified yet determined to resolve this ordeal, we contacted a paranormal expert who understood the intricate nature of such disturbances.
Together, we decided to conduct a series of ceremonies to make amends with the restless spirits.
Under the guidance of the expert, we held séances, attempting to establish contact with the spirits. We listened to their stories, their whispers reaching us through mediums.
It was a chilling experience, as we felt their presence in the room, and their voices filled our ears with sorrowful tales.
As our attempts to communicate with the spirits continued, we finally made contact with the restless presence that had been preparing food in our kitchen.
She was a mother who had once lived on this land many, many decades ago. Her name was Isabella, and she had lost both of her children to starvation during a harsh winter when food was scarce.
Isabella’s spirit had remained tied to the land, unable to find peace after the tragic loss of her children.
She had continued to care for them in the afterlife, forever trapped in a cycle of preparing meals that her beloved children would never eat.
The revelation of her tragic story filled us with compassion and sorrow. We offered our condolences and expressed our deep sympathy for her pain and suffering.
As part of our efforts to help her find peace, we included Isabella and her children in our ceremonies and offerings, ensuring they were not forgotten.
With time and these acts of kindness, Isabella’s presence in our home became less frequent, and we could feel a sense of release and tranquility in the air.
It was as if, finally, she and her children had found the solace they had longed for, and our home became a place where the living and the departed could coexist in harmony.
From that day forward, we established an annual tradition. On the anniversary of our first contact with the restless spirits, we invited a gifted medium to our home.
This ritual served to maintain the delicate balance between our world and the spirit realm.
Over the years, this tradition ensured that both new and old spirits found solace and acknowledgement.
Our home remained a place of peace, where the living and the departed coexisted, bound by a shared respect for the past and the unspoken stories that lingered in the air.