Just Creepy: Scary Stories
8 True Scary Stories For Sleep With Rain Sounds | True Horror Stories | Fall Asleep Quick
Wed, 04 Dec 2024
These are 8 True Scary Stories For Sleep With Rain Sounds | True Horror Stories | Fall Asleep Quick Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepyStory Credits: ►Sent in to https://www.justcreepy.net/ Timestamps: 00:00 Intro 00:00:18 Story 1 00:08:08 Story 2 00:15:34 Story 3 00:22:44 Story 4 00:30:42 Story 5 00:38:31 Story 6 00:45:38 Story 7 00:54:41 Story 8 Music by: ► Myuu's channel http://bit.ly/1k1g4ey ►CO.AG Music http://bit.ly/2f9WQpe Thumbnail art: ►Just Creepy Business inquiries: ►[email protected] #scarystories #horrorstories #sleep 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀
Chapter 1: What unsettling experience did Jennifer have in her new house?
I had been curious about it, but not enough to explore further until that night. Jennifer had to leave for a work trip and I was happy to stay with Emma. Taking care of my niece was always a joy and the house, as unsettling as it could be, seemed harmless enough during the day.
Once Emma was tucked into bed, I collapsed onto the couch, wrapped myself in a blanket and let the drone of the TV take the edge off the evening.
i hadn't planned on falling asleep but apparently had no choice in the matter a sudden noise pulled me from sleep my eyes opened the screen of the tv was now just a dull glow casting long shadows across the room i listened thinking this might be part of the movie But there it was again, a calculated shuffle from above. It didn't fit with the normal noises of the old house.
Chapter 2: What happened when the narrator heard noises in the house?
My mind rattled off possibilities. An open window, maybe a bird, or even Jennifer's cat, although she hadn't brought him this time. I sat up, straining my ears as the sound shifted, moving from one end of the ceiling to the other. My attention was diverted when something metal clanged against the basement door.
I turned, squinting into the dark hallway, and could barely see the basement door in the dim light. There, just inches from it, was a key. Grimy, rusted, and certainly not there before. Every instinct was screaming at me to leave it alone, but I couldn't. I picked it up, my fingers trembling slightly. I had to tell someone. Mark.
I grabbed my phone and messaged him, my hands feeling oddly disconnected from the rest of me. Before I could decide what to do, the sound whirled me again, a long, anguished creak that I knew all too well. The bathroom door upstairs. My heart was pounding, bringing Emma to mind. I took the stairs two at a time, my bare feet silent on the wood. Emma lay still, peacefully sleeping.
Her little chest rose and fell. A wave of relief washed over me for an instant, but it didn't last. The bathroom door was open a crack, the space behind it thick with shadows. I took a step towards it, every muscle in my body taut. The shower curtain did move, just that minuscule swaying motion that was enough to make my breath catch. I had to act.
I launched myself forward, slamming the door open. The force rattled the walls. A figure, a man, stumbled backward, his eyes wide with shock. His clothes were tattered, his face grimy, eyes wild. I did not think. I slammed the door closed and threw myself against it, feeling his weight push back. There was a muffled shout from the other side, followed by the sound of glass shattering.
He was escaping. I rushed back to Emma's room, picking her up. The only thing that was grounding me was the feel of her warmth against me. As I reached the kitchen downstairs, I noticed something. The knife block. One was missing. My eyes moved around the room, searching for any sign of movement.
With Emma clutched in one arm, I grabbed another knife and backed into the living room corner, my back against the wall. The sound of my breathing was all I could hear. Each gasp was like a countdown, the second stretching out endlessly until the far-off sound of sirens reached my ears. The police came, casting eerie dancing shadows across the walls with their flashing lights.
I opened the door, and with great effort, I managed to talk and explain what had happened. two of the officers went up each staying with me as i answered their questions questions i didn't quite know the answers to my head was still reeling from those wild eyes and smashed glass holding emma closely to remind me of what was really important
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Chapter 3: What did the narrator find in the basement?
The officers upstairs called down, confirming the broken window. They looked at each other. Something about checking the basement was muttered. The instant they said it, I found myself holding Emma just that little bit tighter. The key now resting on the hallway table seemed to be calling us towards something far worse than we could imagine.
i guided them to the basement door and passed over the grimy key my hands were still shaking one of them turned the key the lock groaned as if resenting our intrusion the door creaked open and very steep dark stairs dropped down into a void The officer clicked on his flashlight, and I followed him down, each step feeling heavier than the last.
The air grew colder, and the smell, damp, musty with something else mixed in, became overpowering. The beam from the flashlight cut through the darkness, illuminating the small, cramped room at the far end. What I saw brought me up short. Blankets, dirty and rumpled, were piled in the corner.
Empty cans of food were scattered over the floor, while the scratched and scrawled walls, almost looking as though it had been deliberately marked, closed in on us. My stomach churned as the flashlight illuminated something else. Photographs. Old Polaroid pictures were scattered all over the floor. I dropped to my knees and searched through them. There we were. Jennifer, Emma, and I.
The photos had been taken from strange angles, capturing moments that I had never seen. Me standing in the kitchen, Jennifer walking through the front door, Emma sleeping in her crib. The officer's voice cut through the fog, calling his partner. The two of them exchanged a grim look, and one of them spoke into his radio, calling for backup.
i could barely make out the words still staring at the photos he had been here under us watching that realization settled heavy on my chest he knew our routines our movements he had been so close just beneath our feet watching us as we went about our lives never suspecting One of the officers reached out and put a hand on my shoulder, partially turning me back up the stairs.
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Chapter 4: How did the narrator confront the intruder?
He was talking, trying to reassure me, but his voice was very distant and muffled. I carried Emma upstairs, my mind in tangles of fear and incredulity.
they promised they would search the area that they would find him but i couldn't bring myself to believe it the house once unsettling now felt utterly sinister every creak every shadow seemed to hide something malicious i stayed on the couch in the living room with emma holding her close as the officers moved in and out of the house
More police came, shoes heavy on the ground as they worked their way around the property. Radios crackled. The basement door was open, a dark maw into the nightmare that had been lurking right under our noses. I knew, even as they worked, that I could never stay here again. Those images, the man's eyes, the scratches on the walls, the photographs, those things would never leave me.
They were imprinted on my mind as a reminder that safety was no more than an illusion shattered in an instant by what lay in the dark. I stumbled back into the apartment late that night, exhausted but still buzzing from the horror movie marathon I'd been to with my friends.
It was one of those bitterly cold nights when the wind did seem to whisper secrets through the gaps in the old Victorian house I lived in. My apartment was sited at the back, separated from the others, and I liked that. Ordinarily, it was quiet, but not that night. I sat down at my desk, trying to get some work done. It must have been just a little past one in the morning when I heard it.
Someone's voice. It was muffled, like it was coming from far away, but it didn't stop. It was a low, even sound, like someone talking in some sort of strange chant. I stopped and listened, trying to tell myself it was probably just my upstairs neighbor. Maybe he was on the phone, but the sound was odd, almost as if it were rhythmic, not like a conversation.
It gave me a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. I shook it off, telling myself I was just spooked from the movies, but the voice wouldn't stop. It kept going, and I couldn't ignore the chill creeping up my spine. I finally went to bed, hoping that I would be able to drown out the noise and sleep. But lying there, staring at the ceiling, it continued, relentless.
I tried to block it out, but then I heard something else, the creak of the porch door. My heart started pounding. The porch door had a very distinct creak, one that I knew all too well. Slowly, I got out of bed and tiptoed across my room, pressing my ear against the bookshelf blocking the door to the porch. The voice was louder now, definitely coming from the porch.
My pulse quickened as fear crawled up my skin. Who was out there? How did they get onto my porch? I knew I had to go see what was going on. So I tiptoed as quietly as possible through the dark house, my bare feet silent on the wooden floor. I reached the kitchen and from there I could look out the window, which looked into the porch. What I saw made my blood run cold.
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Chapter 5: What chilling messages did the narrator receive from Mr. Harris?
I had to feel safe again, and maybe they could help. When they arrived, I told them everything. They listened to me, nodding. However, their faces showed little emotion. They checked the porch, the locks, and even walked around the house, but there was nothing to find. No signs of forced entry, no clues as to who Adam was, or why he had been there. One of the officers, a tall man with tired eyes,
told me it was probably just some homeless guy looking for a place to stay he did his best to reassure me but it didn't help they went away and i was none the less terrified than before nervous all day long i jumped at every little noise the creak of the old house as it settled the rustle of the wind outside it was all like some sort of warning i moved the bookshelf and checked the lock on the door to the porch over and over
I even put a chair in front of it, just in case. But no matter what I did, I couldn't shake the feeling that he might come back. Later my friends called. They wanted to know how I was doing after the movie marathon. I almost told them about Adam, told them how scared I was, but bit my tongue. It was all too real, too terrifying to say the words out loud.
so i lied and told them everything was fine just that i was tired i tried to speak normally but could not help my glance from going to the darkened windows my ears perked up searching for any sound that might be out of place with the setting of the sun my nervousness really started taking hold I walked through the house once more, making sure every window was locked, every door secure.
When I got to the porch door, I checked it three times. I inched the chair tighter against it, testing if it would move at all. I did know I was being paranoid, but I just couldn't help myself.
i could still see adam sitting on my porch lips moving as he whispered to himself i could still feel the chill in the air from the night before i turned out the light and tried to fall asleep but each time i closed my eyes there it was again under the porch I sat up straight in bed in the dark, straining my ears. My heart pounded again. Real, or was it my mind?
I didn't know anything anymore, except it to mean one thing. Now I couldn't allow myself to let my guard down again like that. The fear was too real, the memory of Adam's voice too fresh. The house was silent, but I knew I couldn't relax. Not yet, maybe not ever. I remember my first year at college as if it was yesterday. That was the year I first saw Jessica.
She was a senior back then, and she had everything I ever wanted to be. Confident, beautiful, and cool, with an effortlessness that was spooky. She would walk into a room, and it felt like people automatically turned their heads toward her. I admired her from afar, always too timid to say anything. I never thought that a few years down the line, I would find myself in this exact same position.
But senior year was different than I expected. It all started with the notes. They appeared in my locker sometime during fifth period. The first time I found one, I thought it must be some kind of mistake. The note read, You have such a beautiful smile. It lights up the whole hallway. The handwriting was neat and flowing with just a little smiley face tacked on at the end.
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Chapter 6: What terrifying encounter did the narrator have at night?
I mean everything that I thought I knew about my life wasn't real anymore. I tried to act normal, but I just couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched all the time. Even when I was at home I felt like there were eyes on me. I started keeping my curtains closed and double checking that the doors were locked, but the fear wouldn't go away.
the worst part was seeing mr harris in the school but he was still there mopping the floors or emptying the trash as if nothing had happened every time i saw him my heart would be racing i would turn the other way and pretend i did not see him but whatever the case i could feel his eyes on me
i showed the notes to my parents and they called the school the principal said they'd look into it but nothing appeared to change mr harris still was there i still was scared and then came the day of our last field hockey game I remember running out onto the field, seeing the stands full of parents and friends, and looking over to see him, Mr. Harris in the back.
He was not in his janitor uniform. He just sat there watching. My stomach twisted into knots, and I felt like I was going to be sick. I tried to concentrate on the game, but I kept glancing over at him. He didn't move, didn't cheer, didn't do anything but stare at me. I told my coach after the game. She must have seen the fear in my eyes because she immediately called security.
They went over to where Mr. Harris had been sitting, but by the time they got there, he was gone. I tried to tell myself that it was over, that he had left, but I couldn't stop shaking. All I wanted to do was go home and forget everything, but I knew that wasn't possible. That night, I received a message on Facebook from a person with no profile picture that said, You looked so beautiful today.
I was cheering for you. You make everything worth it. I was shaking when I read this message. I showed it to my parents, and they called the police. The officers came over and took a report, but they said there wasn't much they could do without a direct threat. It felt like no one could help me. I began to change everything in my life. I stopped walking to school alone.
I stopped going out unless absolutely necessary. My friends did their best to be there for me, but I could sense that they were frightened also. I felt like I'd been trapped inside my own life, always waiting for something, anything, to happen. One night I jolted awake with a start at the sound of tapping on my window. It was gentle, almost playful, and it made my heart leap into my throat.
I crept over to the window, trembling all over, but when I looked out there wasn't anything, just the wind moving the branches. The next morning under my windshield wiper was a note that said, I miss seeing you smile. Please don't shut me out. My knees went weak and I had to sit down right there in the driveway. He wasn't going to stop. He wasn't going away. The fear I felt wasn't in my head.
It was real. And it was there with me wherever I went. And I realized then that I would never be able to feel truly safe again. Not as long as Mr. Harris was out there somewhere. It all started on a rainy Thursday. I remember because I was exhausted from work that day. My boss had been on my case, and all I wanted to do was get home, eat something simple, and crawl into bed.
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Chapter 7: What did the police discover in the crawlspace?
They went into my house, and it wasn't long before they found him. The man had crawled back into the crawlspace. He had been living there, beneath my house, with a filthy sleeping bag and piles of empty food cans. They even found some of my things down there, items I hadn't even noticed were missing. But the worst part was the notebook. The police showed it to me later.
It was filled with notes about me, my schedule, when I left for work, when I came home, even what I wore each day. There were sketches too, drawings of my house, my bedroom, the layout of my things. And there were lists, plans he had made, though the police wouldn't tell me what those plans were. I moved out of that house as fast as I could. I couldn't sleep there. Not another night.
Even now, I still feel the fear, the feeling of someone standing over me, watching. I hope I never see that man again. I hope he never finds me. I remember the first morning they left. It was quiet, the kind of quiet that feels full, like a heavy fog. My parents were gone on their anniversary trip, and I'd convinced myself that a week alone would be a nice change.
A chance to clear my mind, binge on bad TV, and eat microwave dinners in my pajamas. But things went wrong almost immediately. It was late morning when I saw the rusty sedan pull up outside. The car looked out of place, the kind of car that belonged in a junkyard, not on the quiet suburban streets. Through the peephole now, I watched the driver get out.
This fellow was a stranger with an unruly mop of wild hair and what could possibly be his rumpled nightwear. He bore in his hands a package. Actually, there was a tinge about him that simply shook me.
delivery drivers don't typically appear as if they've slept in a ditch i stayed put hoping he would leave it at the door but he didn't he just lingered there shifting from foot to foot and looking about checking if anyone was looking i guess I held my breath as silence waited on the other side of the door for me to continue.
The seconds ticked on, and I counted them, each beat of the clock making my pulse louder. Five minutes passed, maybe more, before I heard him walk away. I peeked through the curtains just in time to see him getting into his car. I relaxed a bit, thinking that was the end of it. But then he stopped. His door hung open, and he looked straight at me. My heart dropped into my stomach.
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Chapter 8: How did the narrator feel after moving out of the house?
He got out again, leaving the car running in the middle of the road. I backed up as he came up to the door again. The gravel crunched under his boots. My heart was pounding in my ears. He knocked, louder this time, and I could see the shadow of his shape passing in front of the dimpled glass. He did not speak, did not hail or attempt to announce himself.
All he did was stand there, package in hand, knocking in that empty, insistent way that made my skin crawl. I don't know why I opened the door. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe fear. Some part of me felt that if I just took the package, he would leave. I cracked the door open just a little, enough to look at his face.
His eyes were empty, dark, and there was a certain way he looked through me that twisted my inside. He didn't smile, didn't explain why he was there. He just shoved the package at me. his hand lingering a little too long when I took it. No signature, he said in a low voice, almost a whisper.
Then he turned and walked away, leaving the door open, leaving me there with the package clutched to my chest. I closed the door behind me, locking it. My hands were shaking.
i watched from the window as he got into his car and drove away the motor was sputtering as he disappeared down the street i tried to tell myself it was nothing some strange delivery after all but it felt off the look of him the way he had lingered how he was followed by this silent shadow It was only the beginning, but I didn't know that yet.
I tried to brush it off, to convince myself I was overreacting. But the rest of the day, I couldn't shake the feeling that I wasn't alone, that something dark had slipped into the house when I'd opened that door. And as night fell, the silence of the empty house turned from comforting to oppressive.
i double-checked the locks set up the security cameras and tried to disregard the gnawing sense of unease that had taken residence in my bones the shadows outside seemed to shift to creep a little closer and the creaks and groans of the old house sounded like whispers I told myself I was just imagining things, that everything was okay. But down deep, I knew something was coming.
That night was different. The air was heavy, as if something was weighing down on the house, sealing me inside. I was in the living room, trying to lose myself in a show, watching how its light danced upon the walls. But my mind just wouldn't stay put, and my eyes would wander off, searching toward the windows to the front door.
Something felt off, as if the shadows out there were watching, waiting. It was about 11.30 when I heard it. Footsteps on the porch. I froze, my breath catching in my throat. The sound was slow, deliberate, each step heavier than the last. I turned off the TV, and the sudden silence was deafening as I strained to listen.
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