Some call it the Witching Hour, that deathly creep time, after midnight, between 3 and 4 a.m. when the world holds its breath. Some say it’s when spiritual energy peaks, a mockery of the holy trinity at 3:33 a.m., making it ripe for unholy rituals and ghostly visitations. So if you wake up suddenly around then... you're not alone. Something might have stirred you. Or someone… First, The Dead Eat Last Followed by its in the walls Finally in our last story, too late to turn back Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices
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Millie, mother whispered as I brandished the freshly cleaned butcher knife. If your father catches you playing with that, he'll skin you alive. Funny, she didn't seem the least bit relieved when I showed her what was left of father. Written by Greg in Nashville. And if you have a two-sentence horror story you'd like me to read on the podcast, comment here on Spotify or YouTube.
Hello, I'm Blair Bathory, and this is the Something Scary Podcast. Thank you so much for being here. Whether this is your first time or you're one of the brave souls who join us every week. Some call it the witching hour, that deathly time that creeps up after midnight, between 3 and 4 a.m., when the world holds its breath.
Some say it's when spiritual energy peaks, a mockery of the Holy Trinity at 3.33 a.m., making it ripe for unholy rituals and ghostly visitations. So if you wake up suddenly around them, you're not alone. something might have stirred you or someone. First, the dead eat, followed by it's in the walls. Finally, in our last story, too late to turn back.
And thanks again for following my journey in Cannes. I really appreciate everybody that watched on the live and kept engaged. I really appreciate it. It was a big opportunity for me and I'm really excited to see what happens next. So, wanna hear something scary? Dead Awake The dead don't need to eat, but sometimes they do anyway.
Like this story inspired by Lego Boy, based on a Hong Kong urban legend in honor of Asian American and Pacific Islander Heritage Month. It happened in December of 1989. Late one night, a restaurant in Kowloon received a call for delivery. The customer ordered four portions of beef chow fun. That amount wasn't unusual. Maybe a late-night group of mahjong players or shift workers needing dinner.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The kitchen rushed the order, and soon, the delivery man set out with the bags of steaming food. The address led them to an aging apartment complex tucked behind a wet market. When he reached the unit, he knocked once. Then again, no answer. He called out, louder this time, and pounded harder. After a long minute, the door creaked open, just an inch.
A hand, pale and slow, slid cash through the narrow gap. The customer's voice came through next, quiet and raspy. No face, no eye contact. Leave it by the door. Just the instructions and a lingering silence. The delivery man hesitated. Something felt strange. But the money was there, and the food was hot. He set the bag down and left without another word.
Back at the restaurant, the night wrapped up as usual. The boss counted the earnings before closing, verifying that everything matched the night's orders. But as he sorted through the bills, something stopped him cold. Mixed among the crisp Hong Kong banknotes was a piece of ghost money. Josh paper traditionally burned for the dead to spend in the afterlife.
It had the texture of cheap tissue and bore the face of the Jade Emperor. The boss frowned. Maybe one of the kitchen boys was playing a stupid prank. He gathered his staff and asked who'd slipped the funeral offering into the till, but none of them confessed. They looked just as confused as he felt, unwilling to make a scene. He tossed the ghost money aside and let it go.
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