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I bought a new house in the small town of Winthrop. The house was cheap, but the most important part was that I needed to get away from the city. A few months ago, I had a run-in with a stalker. While I had managed to get him arrested, I couldn't shake the feeling of eyes just constantly watching me. I felt like there were eyes everywhere, at home and on the street, so I decided to move out into the country to somewhere with less people, just for peace of mind.The house itself was big and somewhat old, but otherwise very welcoming. The agent who introduced me to the house had been required to mention that a serial killer had lived here in the past, which was why the house was so cheap. However, he, and later, my next door neighbor Sarah, both told me to pay the thought no mind. Four other owners had lived in the house since then, and all of them were very happy with it.I loved the house. Its interior furnishings were beautiful and very comfortable. The people of Winthrop were friendly, often bringing over freshly baked pastries or inviting me over for dinner. "Get-togethers," they said, "were the key to making sure everyone who lived in Winthrop loved it there."Yet after a week, I stopped "loving it." The feeling of someone watching returned, worse than before. I tried to ignore it, but soon I started losing sleep. Giant bags grew under my eyes and I began yawning almost as much as I breathed. Sarah was kind enough to let me stay in her house for a few nights.It was during this time that I heard the legend of Forrest Carter, the serial killer who had lived in my house. While no one knows his exact kill count, Carter, also known as the Winthrop Peacock, was a man with extremely severe case of narcissism. Legends say that he couldn't fall asleep if he didn't feel like he was being watched. He was finally arrested for putting up a scarecrow to watch him during the night. Only it wasn't a scarecrow. Carter had murdered a 17 year old girl, just so her corpse could stare at him.The story gave me shivers, and after I went home, I felt like there were hundreds of pairs of eyes just watching me no matter how I turned.Today, however, was the first day that I acted out. I was cooking breakfast, when I felt the eyes. Instinctively, out of fear, I threw my kitchen knife, which lodged itself into the wall. As I pulled it out, I found myself staring at a pair of eyes, pickling in formaldehyde.I've been watching the police peel away the drywall of my house for hours now. So far, they've found 142 pairs of eyes in little glass jars. The scariest thing is, each and every one was staring at me.

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A young bachelor at the beginning of his career became very successful very quickly, so he bought himself a house. One morning, he awoke to the sound of running water. He rushed to the bathroom and saw that the bathtub faucet was running on full blast. He was perturbed by this, as he lived alone. A week later, it happened again, only this time it wasn’t just one faucet—it was all of the faucets in the house. The young man called a repairman to fix the pipes and the water damage…but, as it turned out, the pipes weren’t broken. The repairman, a local, seemed visibly shaken. “What’s wrong?” the bachelor asked. “The woman who lived here before you,” said the repairman, “she drowned in that bathtub.”

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Once upon a time, there was a man named Edward who designed and built his own beautiful home. He lived there for many years until he died. A new family moved in soon after, but whenever they went down the basement—where Edward's personal study had been—they had the unpleasant feeling that they were being watched. One day, the father of the new family decided to fix an old jacket that every tailor in town had told him was beyond repair. So he went down to the old study, sat in a chair, and went through the old desk to see if there was anything that may assist him fix it. All of the drawers, however, were locked, and he couldn't find a key anywhere. The next morning, he came back down to find the key on the desk, all of the drawers open, and his jacket entirely repaired.

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Everyone loves the first day of school, right? New year, new classes, new friends. It's a day full of potential and hope, before all the dreary depressions of reality show up to ruin all the fun.I like the first day of school for a different reason, though. You see, I have a sort of power. When I look at people, I can...sense a sort of aura around them. A colored outline based on how long that person has to live. Most everyone I meet around my age is surrounded by a solid green hue, which means they have plenty of time left.A fair amount of them have a yellow-orangish tinge to their auras, which tends to mean a car crash or some other tragedy. Anything that takes people "before their time" as they say.The real fun is when the auras venture into the red end of the spectrum, though. Every now and again I'll see someone who's basically a walking stoplight. Those are the ones who get murdered or kill themselves. It's such a rush to see them and know their time is numbered.With that in mind, I always get to class very early so I can scout out my classmates' fates. The first kid who walked in was basically radiating red. I chuckled to myself. Too damn bad, bro. But as people kept walking in, they all had the same intense glow. I finally caught a glimpse of my rose-tinted reflection in the window, but I was too stunned to move. Our professor stepped in and locked the door, his aura a sickening shade of green.

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Was It People or Was It Aliens?

Storyteller: Doug Averill, retired owner and manager of the Flathead Lake Lodge

Doug Averill grew up as one of eight boys on his parents’ sprawling dude ranch, the Flathead Lake Lodge, in rural Montana. As a teen, the Averill boys ran wild. “We rode around as a little gang of cowboys,” he remembers. They’d saddle up and head off to check cattle on the three giant tracts of land the family managed, which formed a triangle around some of the state’s most remote rangelands.

One summer in the 1960s, the brothers came across a ghastly sight. There, on the ground, were three dead cows neatly arranged in a circle. No obvious wounds were visible, but their reproductive organs had been removed. “But there was never any blood. It was almost surgical removal,” Averill remembers.

During this decade, America was obsessed with aliens, and write-ups in the local newspapers posited that perhaps this was the work of extraterrestrials. People mused that aliens had taken the reproductive organs for testing. But one day, Averill and his friends came across a lance in their path. Attached to it was a cryptic note with a threatening message. “That’s when we thought, It’s gotta be people doing this,” he says.

Then things got really strange. Over the next few days, a series of odd events unfolded. First, the brothers stopped in at a local bar to grab a hamburger, leaving their horses in the back of a stock truck. The horses were packed in tightly, and the Averills were only gone for a few minutes. When they came back, the horse packed into the middle of the truck was mysteriously out—with no signs of a struggle. “We had no idea how they possibly could have gotten that horse unloaded without unloading all the others,” he says.

The next day, a new wrangler on the ranch fell off his horse and was badly injured. They’d all been riding together, but not a single other member of the crew saw the accident. “It was the weirdest thing,” Averill says. The man’s injuries were so severe that he was left permanently disabled.

Finally, the last terrible thing happened. An old camp cook drove out to meet the brothers and ride for a day. But when he arrived, the tailgate on his stock truck had somehow gone missing, even though it had been there when he’d loaded up. His horse, Betsy, had fallen out of the truck and been dragged behind the vehicle for who knows how long. They had to put her down on the spot. “To be honest, it just killed him to see what had happened to Betsy. We probably should have put him down, too,” remembers Averill. “Those three events were just boom, boom, boom—three things in a row that were so weird all tied together, because they were right after we saw that spear,” he remembers. Three things: like the three dead cows left in a circle.

Averill used to tell the stories from that summer around the campfire quite a lot. But over the years, he’s gotten new stories, and so they’ve been shifted out of rotation. Besides, they’re awfully grim. But he recently got a call about a downed bull, a buffalo. It was out in one of the most remote parts of his ranch. “A neighbor had seen a pack of 16 wolves, and normally, wolves don’t bother buffalo, but 16 of them? I thought, Well, maybe.”

He went to investigate. There, lying in a snow-covered field, was the bull. But there were no bullet holes or teeth marks or gashes on its corpse. Even stranger, scavenging animals and birds hadn’t touched it. “Not even the buzzards, which is really unusual,” he says. One other thing was amiss: its reproductive organs were gone. And there wasn’t a single footprint in the snow around it—or anywhere along the mile-long walk into the ranch from the nearest road.

Ask Averill whether he thinks he’s dealing with aliens or humans, and he’ll tell you he’s pretty sure it’s humans. “But I’d rather it was aliens,” he adds. After that summer back in the sixties, seeing what humans were capable of, he’d pick aliens any day.

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The Harmon family moves from Boston to Los Angeles to recover from mother Vivien's miscarriage and father Ben's infidelity with one of his students. Their daughter Violet starts at a new school, only to be terrorized by a group of girls. The family deals with intrusive neighbors Constance and her daughter, Addie, who has Down syndrome, along with Larry, a previous homeowner who set fire to his entire family. Larry's face is severely scarred. Ben, a psychiatrist, sees patients out of his home; one of them, a possibly psychotic boy named Tate, who becomes friends with Violet. Vivien rehires the house's former housekeeper, an elderly Moira, who appears to Ben as a young, seductive maid. Ben and Vivien eventually have sex, once after a fight, and later while she thinks he has dressed up in a bondage suit. She later tells Ben she's pregnant.
After meeting with a new patient, Bianca, Ben receives a call from his ex-mistress, Hayden, who tells him she's pregnant and needs his support for an abortion. Ben lies to Vivien to resolve his past. A trio of serial killer enthusiasts led by Bianca break into the house to re-enact the brutal murders of two nursing students that occurred in the house in 1968. Vivien and Violet are the intended victims, but they escape their captors, who become lost in the house. Tate and the ghosts of the house dispatch the intruders. Upon hearing of what happened, Ben leaves Hayden at the clinic and rushes home. Vivien tells him that they are selling the house.
The Harmons' finances take a blow, making moving impractical. Hayden surprises Ben by appearing at his doorstep; she is keeping the baby, moving close to him, and determined to continue their affair. Vivien learns about the house's original owners: a crazed surgeon, Charles Montgomery, and his wife, Nora, who provided illegal abortions in their basement until their bitter marriage ended in murder. After spotting blood, Vivien is told by her doctor that the baby is fine. Ben passes out, and the doctor informs him that he found traces of an opiate that causes memory loss. Ben confronts Moira, who has been trying to seduce him, about poisoning his coffee with the opiate. Hayden shows up again, frantic that Ben has ignored her. As he takes her outside to calm her down, Larry kills her with a shovel to help Ben, who becomes distraught. Larry convinces him that getting rid of the body is the best option. Larry digs a hole, discovering Moira's remains, but buries Hayden over them. Constance tells Moira that she's now stuck in the house forever.

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We bought an old house, my boyfriend and I. He's in charge of the "new" construction – converting the kitchen in to the master bedroom for instance, while I'm on wallpaper removal duty. The previous owner papered EVERY wall and CEILING! Removing it is brutal, but oddly satisfying. The best feeling is getting a long peel, similar to your skin when you're peeling from a sunburn. I don't know about you but I kinda make a game of peeling, on the hunt for the longest piece before it rips.Under a corner section of paper in every room is a person’s name and a date. Curiosity got the best of me one night when I Googled one of the names and discovered the person was actually a missing person, the missing date matching the date under the wallpaper! The next day, I made a list of all the names and dates. Sure enough each name was for a missing person with dates to match. We notified the police who naturally sent out the crime scene team. I overhead one tech say "yup, it's human." Human? What's human? "Ma'am, where is the material you removed from the walls already? This isn't wallpaper you were removing."

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Jane and Susannah share a room in a small apartment. One night while Susannah’s trying to sleep, Jane starts humming to the tune of “Oh, Susannah.” The girl tells Jane to cut it out because she was trying to sleep, and the humming stops. Later in the night, the humming starts again, and when Susannah tells Jane to stop, she doesn’t. After she gets angry, Susannah tears the blankets away from Jane to tell her to be quiet only to find her friend without a head. Hoping that it’s just a nightmare, the shocked woman goes back to sleep, and we never find out if it really was a dream or not.

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Did you know that objects have emotions just like people? If an item is loved and valued, they will never leave the human side...

Forever never leaving…even if you throw them away.

Mary is a very loved doll. But one day, its owner's family moved to a new place. During the packing process, Mary got mixed up with the trash and was left behind.

The owner did not come back to find Mary, they bought a new doll and did not care about the fate of the poor abandoned doll.

One night, while both parents were away, the little girl received a phone call.

- Hello…

- *No one answered*

– Hello… Who is that?

- I'm here, Mary is here. I'm in the dump now...

- What…

Unexpectedly, the girl interrupted the call.

She reassured herself that someone was trying to make a malicious joke. However, once again the phone rang.

- Hello, mom?

- Here is Mary, I'm at the station right now...

Panicked, she hung up. Her new home is near the station.

The story is getting worse and worse. Suddenly the phone rang again. "This time it's definitely mom, definitely," she reassured herself.

"Mom, come home with me..."

- It's Mary, I'm in...

It was a place very close to her house now. This is no joke, Mary must have found her way here.

The girl immediately dialed her mother's mobile number, but then the phone rang again.

- Yes

- Mary here, I'm standing in front of your house.

Too scared, the girl disconnected the phone line, ran to check the key to the main door. But soon, the line was restored to normal and the phone rang again. Enraged, the girl shouted:

- Who are you? Can you stop going?

- Me, it's Mary. I'm standing right behind you.

After that… ah not after that…

Guys, treat your doll well. And if you want to give it up, don't leave suddenly, but say kind words to each other.

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Every year, my dad puts out scarecrows in our fields because he thinks they're effective in not only keeping the crows out, but evil spirits as well. I guess he's a little superstitious. The scarecrows he sets out are the same ones, year after year. After so much wear and tear, they were showing their age.

This October started out just like any other October. The weather was turning cool and the leaves were beginning to change into brilliant orange and yellow colors. One Saturday, us kids got together and decided to make a new scarecrow. Being creative, we gathered our supplies and got to work. This scarecrow was to be different. This was my special design. I wanted a creepy scarecrow, much scarier than the others. Hours later, we finished up. Indeed, he was the ugliest, most frightening scarecrow I've ever seen. I was so proud.

Mom called us for supper so we planted the scarecrow out in the cornfield, where I could see it from my bedroom window. Not giving it any more thought, we went in and ate. Soon, the wind picked up and it began lightening. No storm was forecasted but it looked like we were in for a rough night.

Light rain began falling as I went up to bed. I was worried about my new scarecrow so I peeked out my window. What I saw shocked me. He was there alright, but not where we had placed him. It appeared to me that he was several feet to the right. Puzzled, I stood at the window and watched intently. The lightening was bright and every time it flashed, I could see my scarecrow. The problem was, it looked as if he was moving when the sky was dark, only to turn up in another spot when the sky lit up.

Thinking that I must be imagining things, I put my pajamas on and went to bed. Later on, a loud CRACK of thunder woke me up. By now, the rain was pounding down, making it difficult to see out my window. I slipped on my shoes and snuck outside to check on my scarecrow. Not sure where he was, I walked around in the thunderstorm, half blinded by the cold, stinging rain. Clumsily, I stumbled over a fallen branch and fell face down in a patch of mud. When I looked up, there was my scarecrow glaring down at me. His eyes were huge and glowing red. I couldn't pick myself up fast enough. I ran screaming to the house and never looked back.

After tossing and turning the rest of the night, I woke up to bright sunshine and the smell of bacon. Not wanting to tell my parents what had happened, I sat quietly and ate breakfast. Anxious and apprehensive, I then went outside to look around. My dad was already looking for damage to the buildings but I was looking for my scarecrow. I could see the other scarecrows, all in their usual places but my scarecrow was nowhere to be found.

Full of confusion, I began crying. Not because of losing the scarecrow, but because of pure, unadulterated fear. My father told me that he probably blew away and would be discovered in a field during harvest. I knew better. Some how, some way, that scarecrow came alive. How, I don't know.

Ten years later:

Years have passed and to this day, I have never seen my scarecrow again. What happened that stormy night? Do scarecrows really keep out evil spirits or can they be possessed by one? I don't live on that farm anymore, but I've never ventured outside during a thunderstorm again.

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'Timekeeper'
He had been given the watch on his tenth birthday. It was an ordinary grey plastic wristwatch in every respect except for the fact that it was counting down. "That is all of the time you have left in the world, son. Use it wisely." And indeed he did. As the watch ticked away, the boy, now a man, lived life to the fullest. He climbed mountains and swam oceans. He talked and laughed and lived and loved. The man was never afraid, for he knew exactly how much time he had left.Eventually, the watch began its final countdown. The old man stood looking over everything he had done, everything he had built. 5. He shook hands with his old business partner, the man who had long been his friend and confidant. 4. His dog came and licked his hand, earning a pat on the head for its companionship. 3. He hugged his son, knowing that he had been a good father. 2. He kissed his wife on the forehead one last time. 1. The old man smiled and closed his eyes.

Then, nothing happened. The watch beeped once and turned off. The man stood standing there, very much alive. You would think that in that moment he would have been overjoyed. Instead, for the first time in his life, the man was scared.

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When my sister Betsy and I were kids, our family lived for awhile in a charming old farmhouse. We loved exploring its dusty corners and climbing the apple tree in the backyard. But our favorite thing was the ghost.We called her Mother, because she seemed so kind and nurturing. Some mornings Betsy and I would wake up, and on each of our nightstands, we'd find a cup that hadn't been there the night before. Mother had left them there, worried that we'd get thirsty during the night. She just wanted to take care of us.Among the house's original furnishings was an antique wooden chair, which we kept against the back wall of the living room. Whenever we were preoccupied, watching TV or playing a game, Mother would inch that chair forward, across the room, toward us. Sometimes she'd manage to move it all the way to the center of the room. We always felt sad putting it back against the wall. Mother just wanted to be near us.Years later, long after we'd moved out, I found an old newspaper article about the farmhouse's original occupant, a widow. She'd murdered her two children by giving them each a cup of poisoned milk before bed. Then she'd hanged herself.The article included a photo of the farmhouse's living room, with a woman's body hanging from a beam. Beneath her, knocked over, was that old wooden chair, placed exactly in the center of the room.

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Annabelle's origin story :

According to the Warrens, a student nurse was given the doll in 1970. They said that the doll behaved strangely and that a psychic medium told the student that the doll was inhabited by the spirit of a deceased girl named "Annabelle".

The student and her roommate tried to accept and nurture the spirit-possessed doll, but the doll reportedly exhibited malicious and frightening behavior. It was at this point that the Warrens say they were first contacted, moving the doll to their museum after pronouncing it demonically possessed.[1]

The doll remains in a glass box at The Warrens' Occult Museum in Monroe, Connecticut. The museum is currently closed.[7]