The Ghastly Journal KI-Stimmengenerator von Fish Audio

Every morning, Sarah checks her family photos on the wall. Today, something's different. The pictures show five people, but she only has three children. The extra child appears in every photo, always standing slightly behind the others, smiling too wide. She can't remember taking these.

I noticed it first in photographs. Every time I took a selfie, something was off. The shadows behind me didn't match. They moved when they shouldn't. Yesterday, I checked my camera roll. In every picture, the shadows were closer. Tonight, they're at my door.

They found an old mirror in the basement of that abandoned hospital whispers say if you stand before it at 3 AM and light three candles your reflection blinks first then smiles then reaches something's trying to trade places with you but once you switch there's no coming back

Here's three haunted dolls that vanished without trace. N one, the crying doll, appears in photos it wasn't in. Two, the walking bride, moves between rooms at night. Three, the whispering puppet, previous owners found dead clutching their ears. Which one would you keep?

Sarah noticed her reflection in the bathroom mirror wasn't quite right. When she blinked, it stayed still. When she moved, it waited a heartbeat too long. Then one morning, her reflection smiled at her before she did. That's when she knew it wasn't her reflection anymore.

They say there's an old violin in New Orleans that plays itself at midnight notes dripping like blood through empty streets anyone who tries to take it home vanishes leaving only black fingerprints on strings and whispers that echo for days some say you can still hear their screams in the music.

Welcome to the darkest corners of ancient temples, where shadows whisper centuries-old secrets. Tonight's tale speaks of a mysterious mirror, found deep within abandoned shrine corridors. They say those who gaze into it at midnight never see their reflection again.

The footsteps upstairs always stop at the third floorboard, right above my bed. I've counted seventeen times now. Mom says it's just the house settling, but houses don't wear shoes that scratch against wood at exactly 3:27 AM.