#spooky stories

[spooky-fm]

Dp x Dc

I propose: the Justice League keeps bumping into Danny Phantom, but always, always in other countries or on other planets. He refuses to set foot into the US and some other select countries when he is with a member of the JL. They know he operates in those countries when he is alone, but not in their company

They discover the reason when he is asked to come to the Watchtower. He asks them which country's jurisdiction it operates under, and they finally ask why.

That's how the JL discover the Anti-Ecto Laws. They are not very happy.

Phantom just didn't want to put them into the position where they would be committing treason by not murdering him on the spot or turning him over for vivisection.

They are so far beyond not happy.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #spooky stories

[thehmn]

Mildly spooky story time.

I’ve been working as a cleaner at a big store after closing hours for a few months. An older woman is always the last person to go home so I usually run into her shortly before she leaves. She’s very nice and we have a shared “fuck the boss” attitude so I don’t mind her hanging around.

One day she waved me over to the customer entrance and said “My boss asked me to show you how you close the inner door” Confused I told her I already knew. I always start my shift opening it and close it as soon as I’ve cleaned the entrance (Before you worry, I only open the inner door, not the door to the street so nobody can get in unless they break the glass) “Weird. He said it’s often open after you leave” I told her they could check the cameras if they wanted proof that I close it.

The next time we met she popped her head into the room I was cleaning and asked “I was told to ask you if you had someone help you with the cleaning last week?” No. I was here alone. “Okay. It’s just…the business across the street said they saw a very tall man in here after closing hours” A tall man? “Yeah, they saw him cleaning the entrance” What did he look like? “They said he had a dark t-shirt on, short dark hair and big headphones”

Now, as an intersex woman with short hair I’m sometimes confused for a man especially when I’m wearing gender neutral clothes (we literally wear the exact same work uniform at my job. There’s no male or female cut) and especially when people see me from a distance, and the description fit me so I asked if maybe they had seen me? “Yeah, that’s probably it. The keypad log only shows you entering and leaving and the motion sensor never went off which is why we were confused. Have a nice day”

We smiled, confident that we had solved the mystery and I heard her lock the employee door as she left. I went back to work and thought

I’m not tall

#she is taller than me #it was probably an optical illusion #or they remembered me as tall because I scared them #but it’s fun to tell as a spooky story #spooky stories

[paradubolical]

creepypasta oc . i am literally writing the story rn ts is so exciting

#creepypasta #creepypasta art #creepypasta oc #no sleep #horror #zombie #not really actually #trucker creepypasta subgenre #fanart #ts goes so hard trust 🙏🙏🙏 #writing #author #spooky #spooky stories #trucks

[dolliedyhard]

GOTOSLEEP.GIF (Jeff the Killer Creepypasta story)

You shouldn’t be up this late… playing on you’re stupid computer.

go.to.sleep… now.

You get a creepy pop-up with a disfigured guy with scraggly black hair and snow white burned skin rising a blood soaked knife. He tells you to “Go to sleep” in blood smeared text.

You refuse to listen to some dumb scare pop-up. With strained shuttering eyes you close the tap and continue your gameplay.

Just as you do so you feel a gust of blissful cold air brush against your neck. “What was that? I shut my window before going to bed…” You questioned yourself. Before you could turn around you are assaulted by a hand covering you mouth and an arm holding you firm in place in you’re chair. You jump in fear and shock to what is happening. Before you could possess what’s happening you hear a hoarse voice speak, “You shouldn’t be so stubborn, next time listen to some good advice.”

”Next time!?” What the hell is he talking about? What the hell is happening!?!?” Your mind racing while you try desperately to scream. Before you could do so you feel a dreadfully sharp pain in your chest, you freeze as you become lightheaded and the pain overwhelms your senses. Before you could even start to comprehend what was happening to you you were snuffed out in an instant. Maybe you shouldn’t be so stubborn next time. Maybe you should Listen to Jeff’s advice.

#creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #jeff the killer #creepypasta fanart #creepypasta gif #creepypasta stories #creepy stories #spooky stories #jeffery woods #jeff the killer fanart

[ghostly-vibes-here]

The edits I made at the end aren't cannon so don't read too much into them, but otherwise the actual audio and the picture seen come straight from the website

#welcome home #wally darling #sally starlet #frank frankly #julie joyful #barnaby b beagle #eddie dear #howdy pillar #home #thewelcomehomeresterationprokect #spooky stories #happy halloweeeeeeen #welcome home update

[amymaleneart]

Was inspired by @robinette-green to create this fan-art piece.

She has been running polls on an upcoming spooky tales she's going to write based on the outcome of the polls. Still waiting for the results of the time period, but I came across a fashion ad from the 1960s (in Japan) that I thought I try to replicate anyway. Because it fits the celestial bots too perfectly. (I used the original background from the ad) Tried to keep to similar style as the ad.

Join in on the fun and cast your vote!

#sun and moon x reader #sundrop and moondrop #spooky stories #sun and moon fnaf #small artist #art inspiration #1960s fashion #glitter rock #fnaf daycare attendant #DCA SS #dca fanfic #dca fandom #spooky stories from the daycare

[ibrithir-was-here]

Weird Question, I'm trying to make a list of classic (like Victorian/Edwardian/before 1960s) Ghost Stories with colors in the titles for a Halloween thing, but I can't figure out something for Orange, Pink, Blue or Indigo. Any ideas?

Here's what I've got so far, a few of them have multiple as I'm still deciding which I want to do:

The White People/The Novel of the White Powder

Pink

The Red Room/The Red Lodge/Masque of the Red Death

Orange

The Yellow Wallpaper/The King in Yellow

Green Tea/Girl with the Green Ribbon

Blue

Indigo

The Violet Car

Young Goodman Brown

The Novel of the Black Seal

The Colour Out of Space (for good measure xD )

#halloween #ghost stories #horror stories #spooky season #spooky stories #victorian ghost #edwardian ghost stories #victorian horror #edwardian horror #classic horror #the white people #the yellow wallpaper #the masque of the red death #young goodman brown #the king in yellow #Colour out of space #arthur machen #hp lovecraft #hr wakefield #hg wells #e nesbit #edgar allen poe #nathaniel hawthorne #charlotte perkins gilman #robert w chambers

[maxkirin]

it's that time of year when the corpse of your local mall is possessed by an ancient, evil spirit…

#spooky stories #rumors say that in certain parts of the building you can hear the cries of the Sears that once occupied these halls....... #halloween #spirit

[vermin-teeth]

Reblog to hear spooky stories from your moots :3

#i just think it'd be fun #spooky #spooky stories #ooOooOo

[cryptidcasanova]

For your Hellfire Haunts challenge could I get a ghost!Eddie with "Til death do us part"? I'm a sucker for ghost x human romances

I love this idea so much. Absolutely, @gr00vyr0se! Thanks for sending this in!

Haunted Hearts

Ghost!Eddie Munson x GN Reader

Words: 5.4k

Be warned: this is dangerously soft and tender.

You weren't sure what possessed you to stop at the estate sale. 

You were driving through an old flyover town called...Hanking? Hawks? You were on the road for so long that you couldn't remember. 

With a slow blink, you realized you wouldn't be getting much farther without needing a break. A stop would be a nice break on your eyes, and you parked your car with a stretch. Your shoulders ached, and you slouched before checking your phone. 

Your map gave you an estimated arrival time of four more hours on the road, four more hours before making it home and crashing into your own bed. 

Yeah, you resigned. A break would have been very nice.

The old trailer park home was almost forgotten among the greenery of the midwest. Vines of ivy twisted up and over the windows. The house was a memory of a dying age, and wildlife had taken over the parking lots. Humidity clung low, and you stood with a soft breath. In the distance, you could hear cardinals chirping and squirrels chittering in the trees.

Oh, Indiana. 

Only one other car was parked in the lot, and there was a large poster listing the estate sale on the front porch.

Munson Estate Sale. 

Saturday and Sunday, 10:00-6:00

You stopped at the door as you carried yourself up the creaking steps. The place looked abandoned.

"Hello?" You called into the trailer, tapping on the side of the doorframe. 

You heard a rustle inside and decided to test your luck. You walked into the old, faded trailer with a frown. It looked, well, it looked sad. Neglected. Forgotten.

You wandered the living room aimlessly, looking at the faded wallpaper and dust filtering through the lights.

There wasn't a lot in the living room. Some part of you thought that there were only old baseball caps and German beer mugs left over, but a sinking feeling in your stomach told you otherwise. There must not have been a lot to begin with. 

"Can I help you?" 

The next thing you knew, you were spinning around with a jump, clutching your hand to your chest. 

An old woman was carrying a box from one of the back rooms. She was crouched over, her spine curved, and her hair starting to grey from behind thick glasses. She was struggling with the box.

"Here, let me help," You offered quickly, holding your hands out to grab the other side of the cardboard. It was heavy, and you helped her set it up on the kitchen counter before getting a good look inside.

It was a box of old vinyl records and cassette tapes. No wonder why it was so heavy.

"Thanks," the woman offered, looking around the kitchenette. "Now, if I only knew where I put my tape – oh!" She exclaimed once she found it. 

Her clubbed, wrinkled fingers urged the packing tape up in a stripe, and you closed the box's flaps to silently help her. When you shut the lid, you noticed words scribbled on one of the flaps in an old, dried-out sharpie. You moved your fingers to get a better look.

Eddie 

"Well, I suppose you're here to look around," The woman said, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. You looked down at her face with a nod. "Most of the belongings are going to be donated after today. Let me know if you have any questions."

You didn't need to be told twice, backing away from the main room and heading toward the back of the trailer.

The trailer was smaller on the inside. Aside from the living room and kitchenette, there was a small bathroom, a linen closet, and one bedroom at the end of the hallway.

The bedroom was your only point of interest. 

The room almost looked untouched, as if the dust and cobwebs were older than time let on. 

The air was stale and lingering with the smell of old cigarettes. You couldn't help but scrunch up your nose. 

You walked around carefully, noticing old band posters pinned to the walls. Clothes and boxes were stuffed under the bed frame, and the bed itself was unmade. No sheets, no duvet. Trinkets and more loose cassette tapes were scattered across the mattress. 

It looked much less like an old estate sale and more like a teenage boy's bedroom. 

You walked around the mess, looking at an old, beat-up dresser. Half of the drawer knobs were missing, and your hand lingered over one of the drawers before pulling it toward you. 

You were half expecting to see a home of spiders but were surprised. The drawer was relatively organized under a mess of socks. Old band t-shirts were hidden underneath. You pulled at an old Metallica shirt and grinned. 

Oh, what the hell. 

You folded it under your arm and pushed the hardwood closed. As you looked up in the dresser mirror, your eye caught something from across the room. You spun around on your heel, turning to the corner of the room.

It was a corner of old mismatched band gear, stacks of loose-leaf paper, and a guitar. A nice guitar. 

"What in the world are you doing here?" You asked aloud, your eyebrows knitting together in a moment of confusion. 

You plucked the guitar from its place in the corner - not even on a stand - and gave it a thoughtful strum. It could use some new strings and a little love, but it was in great shape. And you were in no condition to talk. Maybe it was finally time you learned how to play.

But what was it doing in a place like this? It was definitely custom. 

You looked down at it thoughtfully.

"It looks like you're coming home with me."

You didn't see the hint of movement, a shadow, in the mirror's reflection as you walked out of the room.

Your house smelled like soft linens. It was warm, comforting, and clean. 

The simple home sat stationary, waiting for your eager return. When you finally pulled the door open after your trip, it enveloped you in an embrace of laundry detergent and cashmere.

You were home at last.

You toed off your shoes before you even locked the door. You let your bag fall to the floor with an unceremonious thud before addressing the outsider.

If your home was anything, it was soft. It was gentle, humble, and welcoming. The rugged Warlock guitar was a compelling centerpiece. It was sharp and loud and aggressive against the softness of the room.  

Your house didn't smell like cheap cologne and cigarettes. 

You weren't waiting for your things to become dusty heirlooms. 

And you thought that there was some life left in the old guitar. You let out a relaxed groan as you sat down on the couch. You lounged back, your eyes narrowing at the clock on the stovetop. It was getting late. 

You pulled the guitar into your lap and looked it over, your eye catching on an engraving that left an uneven groove under your fingertips.

Corroded Coffin.

Your eyebrows hitched curiously before you traced the letters. There was fondness in your heart. You found the needle in the haystack and in the middle of a shit-stain of a town, nonetheless.

You hesitantly placed one hand on the neck and let it rest in your lap while strumming the strings. They were tight and brittle with old age. Everything was out of tune. Maybe you should get new strings before giving it a real test drive. 

You made a mental list – milk, bread, guitar strings. You smirked, shaking your head. Maybe you could buy a book for beginners or look up tutorials on your phone. It would be a labor of love.

When a yawn bubbled up in your chest, you knew it was time for bed. You washed your face and brushed your teeth before falling between the sheets. You didn't pay any attention to the shadows hugging the corners of your bedroom.

What you didn't expect was to have a dream frightening enough to wake you up. 

It was still dark outside when you were startled up, and when you checked your phone, it was only about three in the morning. Your eyes burned as you looked at the light. 

You were dreaming of skies of lightning and hordes of disfigured bats. They were swarming over you. You couldn't run away or move at all.

You were trapped.

When you finally got a grip, the lingering feeling of fear and loneliness crept into the corners of your heart. You were scared and alone. You turned on the lights before sitting up, flailing slightly to get out from the blankets, trapping you to the mattress.

You felt like crying.

A rush of emotion left you winded, and all you wanted to do was not to be so alone.

So, you got up, turned on the lights and the tv in the living room, and let the soft sounds of old reruns soothe the tension in your shoulders.

You started a batch of laundry from the trip, and the whirl of water added to the cacophony of noise you relied on to fill the space. Searching high and low, you found an old bag of chocolate chips in your panty. You tried your hand at the chocolate chip cookie recipe on the back of it.

You definitely didn't have all the ingredients it required. But after scrolling on your phone for twenty minutes, you found helpful alternatives and were back on track.

Old cartoons were playing on the TV, and you turned to the old tune of the Thundercats intro. You raised an eyebrow with mild confusion. It had been years since you watched it. You swore your dad kept an old VHS movie tape of Thundercats at his house. But you followed the glow of the TV to your couch and plopped down. 

It was almost calming to watch the grainy art frames. You sat there, subconsciously strumming at the guitar still perched next to you. You sat there until the cookies were done baking and went back to watching the old shows.

Time passed by like syrup, slowly and thickly in your brain. You swapped out the laundry, put away the cookies, and gave the guitar another thoughtful strum before deciding to try and go back to bed. 

The memories of the nightmare had faded, and you almost felt silly for how scared you felt.

This time, your bed looked far more inviting. You plugged in your phone, cursed under your breath at how late it was getting, and finally crawled back under the covers. You were tired. Your mind could calm down, and it took very little time for you to get comfy enough to doze. 

You were right there, on the cusp of being swept under the current. A faint thought passed over you, and you swore you could hear the low thrum of a melody from the other room. But you were too far gone to focus on it. Sleep claimed you quickly, deeply.

You didn't have any dreams the rest of the night.

In the morning, you dragged your feet out of bed and swore you were dozing off in the shower. Not even coffee helped. It felt like a blanket was weighing you down. 

All your hours on the road must have finally caught up with you.

You felt irritable, like you weren't entirely comfortable in your own house, and paced around the rooms.

Nothing you wore felt right. You eyed the old Metallica shirt carefully as you pulled it out of the dryer. After running your thumb along the old lettering, you smiled. You decided to pair it with some old jeans and finally felt comfortable.

But you were still so out of it that you didn't notice the guitar or the snapped strings splayed along the couch as you hurried out the door.

It was better at work, surprisingly. You worked a whole shift and felt better than you had all morning. The tension in your shoulders was gone; more than once, you looked down at the Metallica shirt affectionately.

You felt much better when you made it to the grocery store. The fluorescents in the store were bright, and you rubbed your eyes, trying to focus. You had written out your list of staples to get. At the bottom of your list, you remembered quickly scribbling down chocolate milk on your way out the door. You grinned and shook your head.

You must have really had a tough night. It had been years since you actively thought about chocolate milk. Maybe it was the late-night baking or cartoons. There was a nagging feeling in your belly to hurry up as you walked down the aisles. You bypassed the refrigerated section altogether, and sitting on a shelf next to juice and Caprisuns, you found a case of Yoo-hoos.

You couldn't recall if your parents bought them when you were a kid, but you reached out to the packaging anyways. And it wasn't long after that you were checking out and loading up your trunk with groceries: You had other stops to make, after all.

The music store was intimidating. 

You walked past aisles of sheet music to the guitar gear with small steps. There were acoustic and electric guitars hanging on the walls, and boxes of amps and speakers were below them. There was so much to look at. You were never particularly musically inclined - but your parents were. Maybe it was time to learn for yourself.

The shop was quaint, and there might have only been two or three other customers while you looked for strings. And when you found them? Oh man, there were a bunch of them. 

The strings ranged by guitar type and brand, and you quickly got frazzled. The price range was obscene. When you finally fidgeted toward a box, you hesitated.

"It's a rip-off."

The words were followed by a low whisper of a breath, and you looked over your shoulder. You wanted to see who was giving their feedback. But the only person remotely close by was an older employee.

You could have sworn the voice sounded younger.

You looked around again before shaking your head, forgetting about it. You reached for some middle-of-the-road strings and a winder. They didn't break the bank, and you even snagged a couple of fun guitar picks before calling it a night.

The house was much colder than you remembered leaving it that morning.

You crossed your arms after putting away groceries, frowning when you looked at the thermostat. It was the same as you had left it. With a grumble, you turned up the heat and moved to your bedroom, throwing on a sweatshirt.

You baked a frozen pizza and drank a Yoohoo for dinner before settling in on the couch, but you felt restless. You couldn't stay still.

It was only then that you noticed a couple of snapped guitar strings. You cursed under your breath, your fingers blindly reaching toward the music shop bag.

Three tutorial videos and a half an hour later, you were winding, clipping, and pulling the first string into place, only to find out it was the wrong string. It was an arduous task. 

Your back ached, and you groaned, sitting up from your spot. You let your arms stretch above you and thought the air was warmer.

When you finally blinked away from the guitar, you felt a chilled rush of goosebumps on your neck and tilted your head back to the kitchen. For a moment, you thought you saw something just out of the corner of your eye.

You bit your lip anxiously. It didn't matter what you thought. You were feeling paranoid.

Or at least you thought you were paranoid. 

Days started to pass quickly as you got back into a work rhythm. You still woke up to strange dreams. They were all vivid at the moment, but none were as frightening as the initial dream of bats and lightning. Their memories sizzled out when you woke up, but you were left with a strange feeling.

Every morning you woke up with a heaviness in your bones that wouldn't cease until you left the house. 

There was a chill in the air regardless of the warm fall sun. Sometimes you felt like you weren't entirely alone.

Learning the guitar came slowly. The pads of your fingers burned and ached, and most nights, you let the guitar sit all alone on its side of the couch. 

You turned to old comfort films to fill your free time and started to expand your music horizons. Sometimes you would watch old rock and roll music videos with heavy guitar solos and look at the guitar with a longing expression.

You could do that.

If you applied yourself, you could do it.

Sometimes, in the dead of night, you swore you could hear the guitar playing from out in the living room. It was slow and sweet, and you could almost feel the thrumming vibrations in your sleep.

Sometimes you would wake up on the couch with the guitar in your lap or a blanket draped over you. Those days you felt especially drained. 

You couldn't remember how you got out there but could imagine it was the aftermath of a bad dream. 

One morning you woke up to the soft sound of the TV. Your eyes were sleepy, and your neck ached, but you were content. The remote was right next to your hand, and when you focused, you realized the music was the end of the Lord Of the Rings. 

You didn't overthink it. You loved those movies. 

You reached for the remote and turned on the second one - The Two Towers - before settling back on the couch. 

But your precarious sleeping patterns also messed with your appetite. 

You went through another pack of Yoo-hoos and bought chips and pop tarts. 

Playing the guitar became a subconscious effort like maybe you knew how to play after all. You were zoning out one night, strumming blindly while watching cartoons, and startled up when you realized you were playing the notes of Stairway to Heaven. 

It was slow and maybe a little choppy, but it was there. The trouble was, you didn't even know how to play that song. 

You put the guitar down for a while after that. 

It wasn't until one Friday night, after you settled in after a long work week, that you got a noise complaint from the neighbors. 

They were grumpy, spitting up and down that they could hear your 'devil music' during all hours of the day. They listened to the incessant noise all afternoon. They even complained about hearing the raucous music in the middle of the night. 

But you had a hard time understanding them; you weren't even home in the middle of the day. You didn't even have time to run home on your lunch break. 

You didn't have speakers or an amp, so what were they hearing?

There was a sudden chill in the air behind your back. Oh. You swallowed hard and tensed up, but tried to keep your composure and calm down your neighbors. 

You promised to lay off the music, and when they finally relented and let you get on with your night, you sent a scalding glance at the guitar. 

"You're putting on a show without me?"

When you finally dared to pick up the guitar, you moved it from the couch and made a beeline to your closet. Until you knew what was going on, you didn't have the nerve to look at it. 

Even the dark, carved words Corroded Coffin stared back at you with grief. But you closed the closet door anyway.

You had no idea what you were doing. 

What did you bring into your house?

You stayed in your bedroom the rest of the night. Whatever was in your house wasn't malicious. That much you were sure of.

You took to the internet for help. Cold air? Strange noises? It could mean anything from poor airflow to a mouse infestation. Strange dreams? It could mean phycological distress or uncertainty. 

And as much as you wanted to skirt around it, you eventually searched for what was really consuming your thoughts.

Ghosts. Haunting spectre. Demonic presences.

You didn't know where to start. 

'Ghost anomalies could be caused by connections of the deceased to places or objects. These spirits can have an effect on the environment around them. They can influence temperature, and electronic devices can go haywire. Magnetism shifts are expected. Sometimes, if left alone for long enough, it could even affect the living.'

You frowned, letting your head fall in your hands.

The strange behavior didn't begin until you brought that guitar home. 

It would explain your own peculiar behavior. Some days it felt like the strength from your bones like you had been hit by a bus. But maybe it wasn't a bus at all.

You cleared out your search bar and looked up Corroded Coffin, but the results were few and far between. You looked up haunted instruments, but that search list was even shorter. 

And then you pulled up a map, trying to backtrack the route you drove home.

It must have all stemmed from the estate sale.

You tried to remember the path, zooming in and out of the major cities and small towns. Did you take County Road 19? Didn't you make an exit at Highway 75?

It was an arduous process, and when you finally did get back into the weeds of Indiana, your eyes almost lit up.

Hawkins. Bingo.

You opened a new tab; a new search. 

Hawkins, Indiana estate sales. 

There was a list of fancy, middle-class homes with estate sales. But there was nothing about a trailer park. You kept trying.

Hawkins, Indiana trailer park.

You did find the trailer park, but there was very little information on who lived there or how to get in touch with them. There was just an old brochure attached in the city records that must have been from the 70s. Maybe you weren't looking in the right place.

Hawkins, Indiana obituaries.

Why would they have an estate sale unless there was no one to take care of the trailer? Someone must have recently passed away. 

The search pulled up a newspaper. The Hawkins Post. It was a weekly paper that mainly covered local sporting events and the mismanagement of tax policies. Still, at the end of the articles, there was an obituary section. It was a small town, after all. 

You started looking back, digging through weeks of online copies of the paper, searching for a needle in a haystack. 

You almost gasped when you finally found something that lingered from your memory. 

Wayne Munson.

Munson Estate Sale

He passed away about a month before the estate sale and had a short obituary underneath his name.

Wayne was a dedicated worker at the power plant for over forty years, had a soft spot for fishing and fried foods, and was as kind as he was gruff around the edges. 

Unfortunately, Wayne is not remembered by family members. However, he is and will be recognized by this community. Wayne was a devoted uncle, but after the town events of 1986, he remained alone. We will remember Wayne and all the work he has contributed to Hawkins.

You read over it twice. Maybe you were haunted by the memory of Wayne Munson. But it didn't make any sense. What happened in 1986? You went back.

Hawkins, Indiana 1986

Your eyes went wide at the results. There was a massive earthquake that destroyed the town. People were killed, and others went missing. There were pictures of the wreckage. 

Your belly ached. You thought about the guitar and looked at the closet door across the hall. Wayne had a family. Someone went missing.

"What happened to you?" You whispered into the air, clearing your search bar again.

Missing Persons Hawkins, Indiana 1986

You scrolled through missing person pictures, and there was a massive spike in the spring of 1986. The town really was devastated. 

And then you found it. Edward "Eddie" Munson.

It was a missing person's poster of Eddie Munson.

The black and white poster was old and grainy, and you zoomed in as closely as possible. His hair was long and dark, unruly, with curls that framed his face. You couldn't help but smirk. He definitely had hair to fit the period. His eyes were dark, or maybe it was just the picture, but his features were soft. You leaned back against the bedframe. He looked so young when he went missing. It must have been a school picture.

Eddie Munson.

You thought back to the estate sale and the woman carrying that big old box of tapes. Eddie's name was on the top of it. Eddie was into music.

When you looked back at the picture, your heart skipped a beat. He was wearing an all-too-familiar Metallica shirt in the photo. That same shirt was draped over your desk chair with the rest of your clean laundry. 

You zoomed back out and saw a link to details of the disappearance with a newly formed curiosity. But your computer screen froze as you moved to click on the link. Not even a moment later, the screen turned black, and you jumped. 

There was a shadow looming behind you. 

You practically jumped off the bed, but when you turned around, no one was there. No shadows were lingering between your bed and the wall.

You were all alone when you looked back at the dark computer screen. It couldn't have run out of battery charge - it was plugged into the outlet.

Panic spiked in your veins. 

You made a move to stand up but faltered. The air was too cold. You could see the puff of air as you exhaled, and your head ached.

It was a heavy, suffocating feeling. You couldn't think straight. 

The room was spinning around you, and you braced yourself on the headboard to steady yourself. But the effort was fruitless. You blindly collapsed between the bed and the dresser only a moment later. And as your eyes fluttered shut, you were out before your head could hit the floor. 

But your head never hit the ground. 

You were cradled between the hardwood and something invisible to the naked eye. You were brought to the ground gently, your skin jumping with goosebumps at the sudden chill. For the first time in a long time, everything was silent.

And Eddie didn't know what to do.

He was scared.

"Sorry, sorry," He apologized. And he meant it.

Eddie didn't want you to look for him, worried about what you might find. He was accused of so many things - devil worship, child endangerment, murder. He was the ostracised freak of Hawkins, and he couldn't even die right. He wasn't at peace.

And when Dustin gave his uncle the guitar, he found his way back. Not that anyone could see him, but he was there. 

He was tied to the guitar in the upside-down, and when Wayne locked it in the back room with all of Eddie's things, he thought he'd be stuck there forever.

You saved him. 

Your entire existence was different from the life he had known. It was white linens and peace. It was clean air and the chance to grow up. 

Eddie didn't feel dragged down by his upbringing. He wasn't a freak. 

You felt it too. You could feel him, even if you couldn't put it into words.

And Eddie tried to be a polite guest, but he was just so antsy. He was in a new place and didn't feel so alone with you. He wanted to be content for the first time in a long time. 

He got to see you, the real you, in the safety of your own home. He spent his mornings staying out of your way, watching from a distance as you hurried to get ready and make it to work.

He appreciated the slow, cat-like way you stretched out after a long day. He'd watch how you slowly pluck at the guitar strings when you needed to decompress. Sometimes he even wanted to help. He even tuned your guitar and ensured the strings were tight before you played. 

Eddie's taste in movies was rubbing off on you; he was sure of it. You'd put on old slasher movies without really thinking about it. And when woke up to the Fellowship of the Ring? He was nervous about being too involved, but you jumped right in. Eddie had been in a bubble for so long and didn't want to be locked away again.

At night, when you were just on the cusp of falling asleep, he felt the closest he ever had. It was like the plane between life and death was thinner somehow. You were on the cusp of wakefulness and sleep, and he could reach out to you. If he could just show you, talk to you, he -

Eddie froze. 

He was lonely. He just wanted someone to talk to. 

Most nights, he'd linger in the doorframe until sleep pulled you under, waiting until he could feel the electricity in the air. He was so close to something. And he reveled in that feeling. 

He could reach out to you in your dreams. 

At first, he didn't mean to do it. And he never meant to scare you, but he could vividly remember the upside-down. Your dreams and fears were his own.

Eddie needed to show you. He didn't want to jeopardize whatever attachment he formed, but he needed you to understand. He wasn't a monster. He wasn't a killer.

Eddie was enamored by you. 

He didn't know if it was love or the need for companionship, but he didn't want to lose you. He had waited years, almost lifetimes, for a change. He had been waiting for you all along. 

And if you knew what other people thought about him? If you believed them? He wasn't sure if he would recover.

The fear was paralyzing, so he panicked. He had to stop you.

He didn't even know just how much influence he could have. His body was still trapped in the upside-down, and he could feel the lingering power of the heavy atmosphere. So he overwhelmed the energy of the room.

You couldn't have fought against it if you had tried. 

"I'm not going to hurt you." He assured, reaching out to touch your face. "I promise."

But Eddie didn't know if he was trying to assure himself or you. He wasn't even sure you could hear him. He'd have to be careful. His touch was nervous, pressing into your temples and watching as your expression softened. He moved his hands away quickly.

You were pulled up from the floor and laid back in bed. Eddie assessed you with a frown. His connection was stronger than he thought. He leaned in close, sitting on the edge of the bed, and twirled his rings on his fingers anxiously. 

He was going to tell you the truth, his truth, before you could find out on your own. But when he took your hand in his own, you startled up.

You could see him. You were staring straight at him, grasping his hand tight as you looked him over. It wasn't another dream. 

He was really there, wearing an old, beat-up jacket and jeans as he sat on the edge of the bed. His eyes were just as dark as the picture. You could see and feel him and hear how his breath got caught in his throat. 

"Eddie?" You were startled. It wasn't from fear, no. You were startled by how comfortable you felt. You were safe and secure.

You could feel the rush of power, of energy from his hand to yours. And as those dark eyes shifted to yours, he knew. 

Eddie wasn't connected to the guitar anymore. He was connected to you.

Hellfire Haunts Masterlist

#hellfire haunts #writing challenge #ghost!eddie munson #ghost!eddie #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #ghost x reader #spooky stories

[spooky-fm]

DP x DC fic: Delivery Ghost

This has been consuming my brain for weeks. Based on this post by @gummybearstastelikesadness:

Danny wakes up in the new world and, not feeling responsible for its villains (unlike the ghost attacks where he is the one who turned on the portal) decides to take a break and have a vacation. As a pizza delivery person, he brings orders to the recipients within the specified timeframe, no matter what. Certain citizens of this world are suspicious when the app lets them order to a town 2 hours away from the location ... and the delivery boy is there in under 10 minutes.

If only Danny cared about their feelings.

Part 1.

Waking up sore and confused in the middle of a random field with only vague memories of last night's events wasn't that weird for Danny Fenton. He had been Amity Park's resident hero for several years and had lived through much stranger awakenings. His list started with Vlad Plasmius's spooky basement inside a cloning tube and his parents' lab strapped to the vivisection table, and ended with places like the middle of nowhere in the Ghost Zone after an ecto-storm or a hundered-year-old abandoned maze of secret tunnels under the Masons' house after a particularly exciting date with Sam. Next to those, an ordinary-looking meadow was a welcome change. Despite that, something felt not quite right, but Danny couldn't quite focus on the feeling in his drowsy state.

Careful inspection of his body revealed that he had all of his limbs attached where they should be attached and functioning as normal. Aside from mild discomfort after lying on the cold ground for a significant amount of time he was perfectly healthy, despite splotches of dried ectoplasm and blood indicating recent injuries.

Deciding that he did not care enough to remember what those splotches were from just yet, Danny shrugged and continued his inspection. He looked around the field, trying to find any clues, tracks, or signs of civilization, and, failing to locate any, he transformed into his ghost form.

The transformation was enough of a jolt to wake him up from his morning sleepiness, forcing Danny to remember the fight with an unfamilliar ghost that appeared just as he finished fixing reindeer antlers to the top of the head of his freshly-made one-foot-tall snowman made from the first snow in the season. He had been so concerned with taking the fight away from his new porch guardian that he hadn't taken it seriously enough. Between exchanging blows and trying to find out the name of the intruder into his neighbourhood, he ended up too distracted to notice that they were not alone and got blasted with a dark-purple beam from behind.

As much as he would have liked to know more, the memory tastefully faded to black and refused to provide any further details.

'Never mind the why's and how's then,' - Danny thought, unconcerned. 'Time to consider the where's and the when's.'

Having thought that, he suddenly realised what had been bothering him from the moment he woke up. He was so busy taking stock of his physical state that he forgot to question the gentle warmth of the ground he had slept on and the decidedly non-December greenery around him.

Wide-eyed, Danny quickly flew up, searching for anything that could point him towards Amity or any other nearby town.

The vegetation did not seem too different from what he was used to, so he concluded that he probably wasn't anywhere Southern enough to be this warm in December. That suggested Clockwork shenanigans, which did not fill Danny with too much confidence.

He turned invisible, picked a random direction, and flew at a leisurely speed fully intending to enjoy the idyllic weather.

A couple of hours later, he finally came across a large enough town where he decided he would not be instantly noticed in the morning crowd. He easily found the local library and got permission to use a computer from the librarian that barely glanced at him in the dimly lit lobby. He made his way towards the two ancient computers ready to learn the local date and hopefully figure out how he ended up in this situation.

Danny wasn't truly surprised when the calendar showed a date a couple months in the past according to his personal timeline. He had spent enough time (ha!) with Clockwork to not be put off by a bit of minor time-travel. What surprised him, however, was his inability to find even a single mention of Amity Park on the internet.

Familiar forums, social media account of his friends, Amity news sources, even his personal blog that he posted blurry pictures of blob ghosts to were missing. Maps, both regular and satellite, showed a familiar but slightly different landscape where his home town should have been with a completely different name written over it.

Danny stared at the monitor with unfocused eyes. If he really had travelled in time, he would have been able to find some trace of Amity, or his friends. Searching for their names gave unhelpful results, and trying to look up ghosts and ghost attacks only led him down the rabbit hole of superheroes and something called 'The Justice League' that just gave him a headache. This led to the natural conclusion that instead of a minor instance of short time-travel he got tangled in a major instance of timeline-hopping.

He shuddered a little, remembering Dan. At least it seemed that Danny didn't exist at all in this timeline, in any shape. That turned out to be a slightly disturbing thought and Danny decided to ignore it with the practiced ease of someone who was used to rolling with the punches for the sake of his mental stability.

He wondered briefly when this world and his started to differ, but his limited knowledge of human history was not enough to give him much of a hint. He figured it was at least a couple hundred years in the past, but that was the extent of his detective abilities.

------------------------

It was a relief to finally exit the stuffy library building and let the rays of sunshine fall on his face after several hours of researching the new world he found himself in. Despite failing to get any closer to the mystery of his appearance there, he didn't feel that upset at the change of scenery.

While walking leisurely along the tidy street, Danny contemplated the heroes and villains of this timeline. It seemed that the Justice League was the top dog when it came to the forces of good. He wasn't sure how to approach them without raising suspicion that a person suddenly coming into existence would certainly cause.

Suddenly, he was struck by a thought so alien to him that he stopped in his tracks and stared blankly ahead.

He didn't have to do anything!

There were no ghost attacks in the news, and thus probably no portal to the Ghost Zone. He hadn't opened a doorway between the Infinite Realms and Earth, and there was nobody who needed help that couldn't be given by any of the local heroes.

Danny realised that didn't feel any pressing need to protect this world. That little part of his core that was always anxious about Amity, about Sam and Tucker, and about the rest of the world was now blissfully quiet. Danny smiled at that, shaking his head and continuing his walk towards what seemed to be a small river.

He also began to notice the stares people around were directing at him and tried to get lost in the crowd - with little luck. It almost seemed that having drawn the attention of the locals, he was standing out as an obvious outsider.

He was starting to get annoyed at the constant attention, when he noticed his ragged sleeve and recalled that he was in fact still covered in suspiciously blood-looking greenish blots. He considered the fact that it was actually blood from his already-healed small scratches was irrelevant. 

Cursing quietly, Danny quickly turned into a shady-looking alleyway and made his escape from the public eye by going invisible.

He decided to continue on his course towards the riverside in this way, while mulling over the earlier revelation. The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that it was a great idea to take a break and get some rest from ghostly affairs. And if he really wanted to go back, he could always find a way to open a portal into the Ghost Zone and find Clockwork. His sort-of mentor, sort-of father figure wouldn't mind helping him with a little nudge towards the right timeline, would he? Besides, the guy probably knew all about Danny's little jaunt across realities. Since there was no sign of him or his cryptic advice, it was entirely reasonable that he approved of the whole thing.

So it was decided: Danny Fenton was going on vacation.

He flipped in the air in excitement and started flying away from the town. Giggling a little at the fact that he still didn't know the name of the first town he visited in this timeline, he froze in place as something occured to him: He had no money, no possessions and didn't know where to go.

Despite not technically needing food or shelter as a ghost, he didn't want to spend his vacation hiding away under his invisibility. And what sort of vacation would it be if he had no money to spend on fun things like videogames and hot dogs?

He figured the solution was simple: He'll just have to find a job.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #delivery ghost #spooky stories #i know little of the dc canon and care even less about danny phantom's #danny's powers work like that because i said so #danny needs a vacation #delivery ghost au part 1

[moral-terpitude]

The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie

Word Count: 611

Summary: Tommy Shelby is the Devil, but has he always been?

Warnings: None

A/N: I couldn't get over that Colter Wall song, so, here's a spooky fic as we come up on Spooky Season because this is basically what I pictured each time I've listened to it. Lyrics from the song are in italics.

The silhouette of the child off in the distance, shadow dancing between tall, dead, and withering trees caught the man's attention.

His long strides easily allowed him to keep pace with the running boy, the jog not one of fearing pursuit, but of childhood play. One that when accompanied by other children would have been filled with laughter.

He himself had been so full of laughter. Before. Then.

Neither of them were sure that the other was real, the only things that could ever be told the truth about the situation would be the black car idling by the road for some time, and the glowing ember of the man's cigarette burning brightly in the dark as it hung from his lips.

Tripping over some of the growth in the underbrush the boy faltered, coming to a halt amongst the dead leaves, barefoot and splayed out in mended clothes on the dirty ground.

Identical blue eyes grew wide in the light of the full moon, the boy looking up in horror as the man approached him, bending down before offering him a hand.

“I know you.” The words were a gentle  “I know you, young man.”

“I’d know you by the state of your hands,” the little calloused fingers fell into the middle of a worse worn palm, hefted to his feet, the young boy took in the man’s features, the two of them eye to eye in the darkness.

Hands that would later have knuckles swatted with wooden rulers for misbehaving.

The boy felt that it was someone he knew. Someone he should know. Someone he always would remember.

Maybe they were one in the same.

No words were exchanged, but the boy knew that there were things this man could tell him that would change him, change his life, too young to realize the cost, that it was a trade with a debt that would never be repaid.

My sweet soul everlasting.

This man must be the Devil, the boy thought. Dark hair and dark suit, the shine of his shoes able reflect the full moon in the dark.

My very own eternal light.

Just as soon as he appeared, the man was gone, leaving the boy to haul himself back to his family's encampment, a group of them all traveling together, low lit caravans in the middle of the woods, out of the way and a bother to no one.

The embers still were alight from the fire, new wood needing to be added. Their father presumably too drunk to wake and help fend off the cold.

His mother was sat on the steps, knitwork held between her hands, as he approached.

His pallor was white as cotton as her son approached, the look of him, had her reaching out to him before he was close enough.

“What have you seen, Tommy?” She whispered, setting down the knitwork as he tucked himself against her chest.

She repeated the words a few more times before the sound of his mother’s voice pulled him from his dazed state to recount the tale.

In a worried rush she left him by the dying embers, staring into the flames that felt as if they were licking his insides. 

“Take Thomas,” she shook her husband, still groggy with sleep and drink, “take him to town to your sister. She’ll take him to the church. To talk to–”

“Woman, hush.” He swung in an attempt to stop her jostling him, but it only heightened the worry in her voice.

“Tommy claims he’s seen the devil.” Her voice broke, trying to whisper in the dark and not wake the other children, “Claims that’s him when he’s grown.”

#tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby #thomas shelby fanfic #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinder fanfic #tommy shelby fanfiction #the devil wears a suit and tie #i just want to write folk stories #fanfic #fanfiction #spooky stories

[oksanaallen]

Piccolo tryna tell a joke and a spooky story all in one to 3 year olds😭

#dragon ball super #piccolo #krillin #vegeta #bulla #trunks #goten #pan #fan art #artist #dbz #trunks briefs #bulla briefs #pan dbz #kid krillin #prince vegeta #dragon ball z #bunny #costumes #spooky stories #spookyseason #dragon ball #dragon ball fan art #son goten #Halloween #spooky season #artists on tumblr

[thebest-medicine]

randomly found this book on my library app and read it today…….. creepy story involving a “real” (but really imagined kinda) tickle monster

ahehfjgjfkgkgkglgkhlj

#just read this it’s pretty short and creepy but #you know me I do be readin #tickling #the tickle monster #tickle monster #books #not really anything exceptional but #spooky stories #tickle media #also why does this remind me of things I used to imagine as a child lol #there was this octopus creature tickle monster I was like scared / excited about that I imagined #also had nightmares as a kid about a tickle monster giraffe that I called the yellow thing when I was like 3 #had nightmares repeatedly as a kid that it would sneak into my room and tickle me with its mouth / horns #also had a few dreams about tentacles being at the bottom of a pool and pulling me under and tickling me #ALSO had a few dreams about being trapped mid-section down in ice that is just a few inches thick and then my lower body is trapped in water #and there’s underwater creatures / octopuses that came and tickled me and #I am realizing I had a LOT of weird dreams thoughts fantasies even from a very young age lol #HOW DID BRAIN BECOME LIKE THIS AHHH WTFFFFFF #the psychology of knismos is so interesting #personal #ramblings

[soapdispensersalesman]

me n who

#ASAP Yams #goth #goth girl #me and who #spooky stories #bedtime stories #twitter #mood #rip yams

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

Okay we know you love Ghost but can you see ghosts? 👀

WELL. I can't see ghosts, but I can feel and hear them, if that makes sense. But I'm not afraid nor scared of them, like they just be doing their stuff it's their business, I just don't bother them LMAO.

Here's a list of ghost stories that I've encountered in my life (LET'S GO SPOOKY STORY TIME) :

(disclaimer I swear I'm not lying on any of this. Me and my fam are quite religious yes, and Indonesia is also known for the ghosts and myths, so buckle up)

I can feel a lot of ghosts in different churches. One time I saw one is at night I saw a white figure on top of the church roof. Everything else was dark, but that figure was shining bright. Super bright. Usually ghosts are pitch black figure/shadow figure, but this one is shining bright. Probably an angel idk.

I know there's a spirit that resides in my house (my house is in front of a cemetery). My dog likes to bark at a tree and that's like the telltale. One of the housekeeper that used to work for my mum (that can see ghost) said that the ghost is a kid and not harmful.

I sleep in the second floor, but the first floor is open to see from me and my sister's room. One night around 2-3 AM, me and my sis got woken up by the sound of a crowd. Yeah. A crowd, like in a party from the first floor. Sounds of people conversing and stuff but fr there's literally no one. My mum said the spirits are gathering and just having a party downstairs lol.

In me and my sis' room (the lights were turned off), I saw a 'grey' woman dressed in a mukena (Muslim women's praying garment. Usually white in color) doing her prayer literally ON our bed. I couldn't see the face, but she had glowing eyes. We still sleep on that exact bed to this day HAH (Girl that's MY bed. Go get a sajjada or smth).

We have hollow metal fences, so if you hit it, it would sound like a baseball bat, if you get what I'm saying. Some nights at 2 AM I would hear someone hitting our metal fence super hard that I can't sleep. Me and my dad are very sensitive to sounds. Any sound at all and we BOTH would wake up. But my dad apparently CANNOT hear this person hitting the fence and didn't wake up. So I assume I might be the only one to hear it. Probably the kid ghost that I mentioned above.

This is quite scary, and I sincerely am afraid of and HATE this trait of mine. Whenever I can't sleep until 3 AM, (I easily fall asleep. I'm very tired during the day, and I always sleep easy. I don't have insomnia), whenever that happens, someone I know/in my family dies. The most recent ones are on January 4th 2022 (My uncle) and on November 22nd 2022 (my grandmother). I fucking hate this trait cuz I fear it could be my parents or siblings. But yea, gotta live with that.

There're many more ghost stories in museums, churches, and stuff. Fortunately in my hostel there's no activity at all so I can relax and shit.

#oh in case you haven't realized it yet : yes I do believe in ghosts #they are fucken real for real #ghost stories #spooky stories #so yea I do feel and hear ghosts #just can't see them #My friend CAN see them and she wishes she doesn't have it cuz it's pretty miserable #sleepy answers