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There's something in your closet tonight, listening to your breathing. Don't pretend you can't hear it shuffling closer. Hit subscribe if you're scared - it feeds on your fear. Double tap that notification bell, because it knows when you're alone.

Rule number three: If you see a passenger wearing a red scarf in the rearview mirror, but not through your windshield, continue driving normally. Don't acknowledge them, don't speak to them, and most importantly, don't stop until you cross Canal Street.

They told us not to talk about the night shifts. Not even whispers. The cameras watched everything, recorded everything. But sometimes... sometimes I'd hear things in the lower levels. Things that shouldn't... well, you know how it goes.

Let me tell you about the Midnight Game. In 1987, three teenagers followed an ancient ritual at exactly 12 AM. They found bloody handprints on their mirrors, heard children laughing in empty rooms. Two survived. The third was found smiling, eyes blank, still whispering "it's here."

Every night at 302 the scratching starts behind my bedroom wall always the same spot always three scratches then silence then three more I tried moving my bed but now it's coming from the ceiling right above my pillow getting louder closer tonight I swear I saw fingers.

Through the shadows whispering, whispering, calling my name in the dark. The voices keep dancing, dancing around my mind. I'm breathing with the spirits now, now, making patterns in the air while they're speaking, speaking their ancient words.

Sleep paralysis, day one, you can't move, shadows creep closer, watching, waiting. Day three, they start touching you, cold fingers on your skin. Day seven, they whisper your name, getting closer, closer, damage starts now.

Wait, something's wrong. The walls are breathing again, fucking breathing! I can see his shadow stretching across the floor, reaching for me. My thoughts are getting fuzzy, like static in my head. Is this real? Please, someone tell me this isn't real.