Générateur Vocal IA narração terror Gratuit par Fish Audio

The Harrison House stood abandoned since 1943, after the family fled one stormy night. Witnesses reported seeing strange lights in the upper windows, and children's laughter echoing through empty halls. Local residents whispered about objects moving on their own and unexplained footsteps in the attic.

During the winter of 1985, residents of a small Maine town reported seeing shadowy figures standing motionless in their yards at night. The entities would vanish when approached, leaving only deep footprints in the snow. Despite multiple witnesses, no explanation was ever found.

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?

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.

Rule number three: if you hear humming from the vintage section, do not investigate. Turn off all lights immediately and remain silent. The masks from the 1963 collection are sensitive to movement. They remember their last owners, and they're always hungry.

In 2003, a school counselor started giving students colored stickers based on their emotional states. Green for stable, yellow for troubled, red for concerning. By semester's end, all red-labeled students had vanished. The counselor's office walls, freshly painted, smelled strangely metallic.

Let me tell you about the mirror in my grandmother's house. It's been there for decades, perfectly normal during the day. But sometimes, at exactly 3:17 AM, the reflection shows a room that doesn't exist. Small pause. I've checked. Every wall. Every corner. That room isn't there.

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.