While so many of us are focused on celebrating the holidays with family and friends, we might not see the darkness creeping in. Hitting when you least expect it, whispering from shadows, lingering in the cold, or brushing against you just as you turn your head. It's in the stillness of a quiet house that holds secrets we can’t shake. Beware what waits in the silence, some things are meant to be left undiscovered. First, snowbound vengeance Followed by the watcher hides in the light Finally in our last story, elves don’t play fair Subscribe: https://bit.ly/subSNARLED Watch the latest: https://youtube.com/watch?playlist&list=PLlt49G0M7dfhhFe79kdPucjYzWv4CK8H1&index=1 Follow us EVERYWHERE: https://facebook.com/watchsomethingscary/ https://facebook.com/getsnarled/ https://instagram.com/wearesnarled/ https://twitter.com/wearesnarled Follow Blair: TikTok: https://tiktok.com/@blairbathory Instagram: https://instagram.com/blairbathory/ Facebook: https://facebook.com/blairbathory1 Twitter: https://twitter.com/blairbathory Pinterest: https://pinterest.com/BlairBathory About SNARLED: Your home for scary stories, from urban legends to true tales of murder, mystery and the unknown. If you have Something Scary to tell us, send it to [email protected]. More about the show! • Go to SomethingScary.com to check out the awesome Something Scary Merch. We’ve got something for everyone, from hoodies to hats to writer’s notebooks. • Do you want to connect with other people who love horror and all things Something Scary? Join our Patreon and you get members only access to our Discord. And you can chat with all the other horror lovers. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices
Chapter 1: What themes are explored in 'Silent Frights'?
Hi, witches, 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. I wanted to say that we had a great time at our first Spooky Film Club livestream. For those of you who were with us, thanks so much.
We were talking about the substance and we dissected it and we discussed my love for this movie. Seriously, if you haven't seen it, go watch it. For those of you who want to join on our next month's Film Club stream, sign up now for the Storyteller Experience on Patreon. Go to patreon.com slash somethingscary.
While so many of us are focused on celebrating the holidays with family and friends, we might not see the darkness creeping in, hitting when you least expect it, whispering from shadows, lingering in the cold, or brushing against you just as you turn your head. It's in the stillness of a quiet house that holds secrets we can't shake. Beware what waits in the silence.
Chapter 2: What is the first story about?
Some things are meant to be left undiscovered. First, snowbound vengeance, followed by the watcher hides in the light. Finally, in our last story, elves don't play fair. So, wanna hear something scary? Silent Frights. Sometimes even a thick blanket of snow can't cover blood and vengeance. Like in this story inspired by Robert of Tula. It was the winter of 2015 when I arrived in St. Petersburg.
A journalist fresh out of college, I was eager to prove myself. My first major assignment seemed destined to thrust me into the thick of intrigue. A series of unexplained disappearances had gripped the nation. Prominent figures, not political dissidents, but oligarchs, celebrities and cultural elites vanished without a trace. I stepped out of the airport into the teeth of a Russian winner.
Snow fell in thick sheets, muffling sound and making the sprawling city eerily quiet. A biting wind cut through layers of clothing, and the streets felt devoid of warmth and humanity. I checked into a modest hotel, where the receptionist's clipped tone and indifferent glance heightened the gnawing sense of unease. That night, I lay in bed listening to the room settle.
A faint draft whispered through the cracks of the window. In the dim light, I noticed a spider weaving a web in the corner of the room. My grandmother used to say spiders brought luck, but its deliberate movements felt ominous, as though it spun a trap, not a home. Sleep did not come easily. At some point in the night, I awoke to whispers.
They were faint, like a conversation drifting through walls too thick to allow sound. I sat up, heart pounding, but the room was empty save for the shadows stretching unnaturally long under the weak moonlight. I chalked it up to jet lag and an overactive imagination.
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Chapter 3: Who is Anya Yickelbuff and what is her significance?
The next day, I followed a tip to an unexpected lead, Anya Yickelbuff, daughter of Alexander Yickelbuff, one of the missing oligarchs. Anya was infamous for her extravagant lifestyle and penchant for drama on social media. Rumors suggested she might know more than she let on. Ani agreed to meet me at her family's luxurious apartment that evening. The walk to her address was surreal. St.
Petersburg, a city I had always imagined bustling with life, seemed frozen in time. The streets were almost silent, the snow absorbing even the faintest sound of footsteps. Frost-encrusted windows glowed dimly, but no faces peered out. When I arrived, the penthouse was a monument to decadence, its marble floors and gold accents an almost obscene contrast to the icy desolation outside.
Mania greeted me with an air of bored detachment, her icy blue eyes scrutinizing me like a specimen. She was beautiful in a way that felt sculpted, almost artificial. We sat in a room dominated by a crystal chandelier, its light refracting onto the walls in sharp, angular patterns. My father, she said, twirling a strand of platinum hair. He's gone. People vanish all the time here.
It's nothing new. Her tone was flippant, almost mocking. She seemed to relish my discomfort, her smirk widening when she noticed me shivering. I tried steering the conversation back to her father, but her answers became increasingly evasive. Finally, she stood abruptly. "'Come,' she said, slipping on a fur-lined coat."
The thought of navigating the silent, snow-covered labyrinth alone was unappealing, so I followed. The streets were darker now, the faint light of street lamps distorted by falling snow. Shadows moved with the wind, stretching and contorting. I glanced back several times, convinced we were being followed. But each time I turned, the street was empty. "'You're nervous,' Anya said."
her voice carrying a trace of amusement. I shrugged. My unease deepened when she stopped abruptly, her eyes fixed on my necklace, a simple silver cross that had belonged to my grandmother. That's beautiful, she said, her tone shifting to something sharper. Give it to me. I hesitated, taken back by her sudden demand and said it wasn't for sale.
Her smile faded, replaced by an expression that chilled me more than the wind ever could. She said I didn't understand and tried to take it from me. Before I could react, a gust of wind swept through the street, carrying with it a whisper that seemed to come from all directions. Anya's face went pale, her eyes wide with terror as she turned.
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Chapter 4: What mysterious events occur during the journalist's investigation?
A figure emerged from the shadows, impossibly tall and draped in tattered robes that billowed against the wind. His face was gaunt, his skin deathly pale, and his glowing blue eyes fixed on Anya.
Anya.
He said, his voice deep and resonant.
You have taken what does not belong to you. The debt must be paid.
Whispering a distressed no, she backed away. The figure raised a hand, and frost began to creep around the ground, reaching for her like a living thing. When it touched her boots, she screamed. The frost climbed her legs, turning her veins an unnatural shade of blue that pulsed like frozen rivers beneath her skin.
She writhed in agony as the ice consumed her, her skin cracking audibly, her body contorted. her cries fading into the howling wind. When she crumbled, it was as though her very essence shattered, glittering shards carried away like dust in the air. I stood frozen in place, too terrified to move as the figure turned his gaze to me.
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Chapter 5: What happens to Anya in the story?
His eyes were not angry, but sorrowful, as though he pitied me for witnessing what I could never unsee. "'Go,' he said, his voice reverberating in my chest."
Speak not of what you have seen.
And then he was gone, leaving only silence and the oppressive cold. I stumbled back to my hotel, my breath fogging in the frigid air. The room felt no safer than the streets. Shadows seemed to flicker just beyond my vision, and the spider's web in the corner now glistened as if coated in frost. I tried to sleep, but the whispers returned, louder this time, and I could swear they spoke my name.
At some point... I thought I saw Anya's reflection in the window, her cracked, frozen face staring back at me. Her lips moved silently, forming words I couldn't understand, but knew I didn't want to. When dawn came, it brought no relief. The spider's web now bore my silver cross, its delicate strands woven around it like a shrine. Beneath it, etched in frost, was a single word.
Repent.
Would you trust a stranger in an empty, snow-covered city? Would you leave behind everything to escape a haunting you can't explain? Who was the stranger that emerged to save the journalist? Sometimes the weight of history lingers in the quietest places, waiting for the light to reveal its shadows. Like in this story written by Sarah. Snow fell steadily in Kazimierz Dolny, an old town in Poland.
The air was quiet and cold. Bits of the cobblestone street peeked out from under the snow and glistened in the streetlights. The town had an air of timelessness, which was the very reason Hannah Kagan chose to move her family there, but she didn't expect it to feel so detached from everything.
The house was charming in its way, though its age showed in the creaking floorboards and the way the windows rattled in their frames when the wind passed against them. It had been vacant for years, long enough for its history to settle into the bones of the building. The Cagans, eager for a fresh start, had paid no attention to the stories their neighbors were reluctant to share.
Inside, the family busied themselves preparing for Hanukkah. The menorah, a polished brass heirloom handed down through Hannah Kagan's family, was placed in the front window. Its presence, a beacon of tradition and faith. The first candle was lit, its warm glow cutting through the cold and darkness. As the flames flickered, Hannah's thoughts lingered on the town's silence.
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Chapter 6: What haunting feelings does Hannah experience during Hanukkah?
Chapter 7: How does the atmosphere contribute to the storytelling?
She writhed in agony as the ice consumed her, her skin cracking audibly, her body contorted. her cries fading into the howling wind. When she crumbled, it was as though her very essence shattered, glittering shards carried away like dust in the air. I stood frozen in place, too terrified to move as the figure turned his gaze to me.
His eyes were not angry, but sorrowful, as though he pitied me for witnessing what I could never unsee. "'Go,' he said, his voice reverberating in my chest."
Speak not of what you have seen.
And then he was gone, leaving only silence and the oppressive cold. I stumbled back to my hotel, my breath fogging in the frigid air. The room felt no safer than the streets. Shadows seemed to flicker just beyond my vision, and the spider's web in the corner now glistened as if coated in frost. I tried to sleep, but the whispers returned, louder this time, and I could swear they spoke my name.
At some point... I thought I saw Anya's reflection in the window, her cracked, frozen face staring back at me. Her lips moved silently, forming words I couldn't understand, but knew I didn't want to. When dawn came, it brought no relief. The spider's web now bore my silver cross, its delicate strands woven around it like a shrine. Beneath it, etched in frost, was a single word.
Repent.
Would you trust a stranger in an empty, snow-covered city? Would you leave behind everything to escape a haunting you can't explain? Who was the stranger that emerged to save the journalist? Sometimes the weight of history lingers in the quietest places, waiting for the light to reveal its shadows. Like in this story written by Sarah. Snow fell steadily in Kazimierz Dolny, an old town in Poland.
The air was quiet and cold. Bits of the cobblestone street peeked out from under the snow and glistened in the streetlights. The town had an air of timelessness, which was the very reason Hannah Kagan chose to move her family there, but she didn't expect it to feel so detached from everything.
The house was charming in its way, though its age showed in the creaking floorboards and the way the windows rattled in their frames when the wind passed against them. It had been vacant for years, long enough for its history to settle into the bones of the building. The Cagans, eager for a fresh start, had paid no attention to the stories their neighbors were reluctant to share.
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