Most of us find comfort in the familiar, believing that curses and spirits are tales best left as folklore in our freaky stories. But as daylight fades into night, shadows deepen, and dark whispers grow louder, we must ask ourselves if those old tales have clawed their way back into our world becoming reality. A realm where hexes linger, restless souls stir, and a brush with the supernatural might be waiting for anyone who dares to look. First, beauty that traps more than the eyes Followed by vengeance waits in silence Finally in our last story, old houses don't forgive, or forget 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
What themes are explored in 'The Hexed and Haunted'?
My dad loved that old house, calling it a piece of family history. I wasn't so sure about that. The air inside was stale, heavy, and somehow it never felt like it truly belonged to us. The house itself had an unusual design, its long wooden hallways creaking even under light footsteps.
The furniture was dark, the wallpaper peeling, and there was a faint scent of something burnt, no matter how many times my dad and I cleaned. Außerhalb hatte mein Vater einen kleinen Schauer neben dem Küppchen. Nach dem Füßen der Küche hätte er es manchmal zum Waschen benutzt. Es war der Art von Ort, wo du Augen auf dich fühlst, auch wenn du allein warst. Untertitelung des ZDF, 2020
As I sat outside the house that day, lost in thought, a loud thud broke the silence from somewhere upstairs. I froze, listening, but then relaxed, thinking it must have been a stray cat. But a second thud came, then a third, then a fourth, each one slow and deliberate, like the sound of someone walking. But somehow it sounded like only one leg was making the noise.
My heart raced as I told my dad what I'd heard when he came out of the shower. He brushed it off with a smile, saying it was probably a tuko, a large house lizard, known to make strange sounds in the old wooden houses around here. Trying to shrug off my fear, I waited outside while my dad went upstairs to change. I glanced around, my gaze falling on the mahogany tree just beyond the chicken coop.
A figure stood there, dark and shadowy, hidden beneath its thick branches. I couldn't make out a face, but I could feel it staring at me. I thought I heard a faint whisper, like the wind hissing through the trees. When I looked again, the figure was gone. I didn't mention it to my dad, not wanting to sound childish.
But as we rode back home on his motorcycle, the unease settled in, sinking deeper as we passed familiar spots, the chapel, the gas station. Something felt wrong. I noticed people on the street watching us, shouting, »Don't drive! You might get into an accident!« I clung tighter to my dad, my nerves on edge, but he stayed calm, as if he couldn't hear them.
When we were almost home, my dad suddenly braked his knuckles white as he gripped the handlebars. People rushed over, shouting and trying to pull him off the bike. He was frozen, eyes wide, his fingers locked around the handlebars so tightly they'd gone pale. He wouldn't let go, and I began crying, begging him to snap out of it.
Eventually, they managed to pry his hands free and rushed him to the hospital. At the hospital, I sat with my mom as we both anxiously waited for the news. She hugged me tight when the doctor told us he'd had a mild heart attack, but was stable. He'd need rest, but he'd be okay. That night back home, we cried, and I could barely sleep, still haunted by what I'd seen and heard at the house.
Weeks passed before my dad returned home. One night, I woke up to find someone standing beside my bed. For a moment, my heart leapt in my throat, but then I recognized him. It was my dad. I hugged him tightly, and soon my mom joined us, laughing and crying at once. He seemed different, though quieter, and when we asked him about the accident, his expression darkened.
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