horror narrator KI-Stimmengenerator von Fish Audio

I never meant to find that box in my grandmother's attic. It was just sitting there, covered in dust, with my name scratched into the lid. Inside were dozens of photos of me sleeping - all taken through my bedroom window. That's when I realized why she always insisted I keep my curtains open.

They found an old camera in a drained lake last Tuesday, its lens caked in black silt. When the film was developed, the images weren't of scenery, but of a human stomach. Each photo showed a different, undigested wedding ring, and the photographer’s own reflection in a bloody scalpel.

You're alone in your bathroom, washing your face. As you look up, your reflection doesn't. It stays staring down at the sink, while something moves in the mirror behind you. You can't turn around. You can't look away.

Have you heard about the abandoned hospital on Route 16? They say at exactly 3 AM, you can hear children laughing in empty corridors. Security guards quit after seeing a nurse pushing a bloody wheelchair. No cameras work there - they just show static and screaming faces.

Late at night, the phone rang and a voice whispered my full name. I hung up, shaking, only to hear the same voice coming from the baby monitor in the next room. I live alone, and I realized someone had been watching me through the window for weeks.

They found an old record player in the basement nobody remembers buying it sits there collecting dust but sometimes at night it plays by itself whispers between the static voices calling your name if you listen close enough you'll hear them promising things but whatever you do don't answer back

Following the initial discovery, a secondary search of the basement unearthed a collection of jars containing preserved human tissue. These specimens were meticulously labeled with dates predating the first victim's disappearance. It became increasingly clear that the perpetrator had been observing the victims for months before finally striking.

I found this small coffee shop down the street from my building. It's tucked away in a basement, with mismatched chairs and dim lighting. The owner, an elderly woman named Ms. Chen, always seems to know what you'll order before you say it.