bgyftgtbtvybtvtvt AIボイスジェネレーター by Fish Audio

Welcome to your position at the Old Valley Museum. Rule number one: the Victorian doll collection must be covered with red cloth at midnight. Rule number two: if you hear music from the music box display, don't approach it. The dancers don't like company. Rule number three: when the grandfather clock strikes...

Unexplainable things found in abandoned houses. This is a diary from 1943 that predicted today's weather. A room filled with identical photographs of an empty chair. This is a clock that runs backwards only on Sundays. Someone found their childhood toy buried in a wall 50 years later.

The basement door always creaked twice at midnight. Not once, not three times - exactly twice. I noticed this pattern last summer, but never told anyone. Mom would dismiss it, like she dismissed the shadows that moved against the kitchen walls when we were alone.

The Millbrook Sanitarium stood pristine against the autumn sky, its reputation for revolutionary psychiatric treatment drawing patients from across three states. None suspected that the nightly screams weren't from treatment, but from something far more sinister lurking in the basement ward.

The moonlight cast strange shadows through the bare branches. My flashlight died an hour ago, but I wasn't worried until I heard that sound. A low, unnatural whistle that didn't belong in these woods. Even the crickets went silent. My dog's ears perked up, alert.

Welcome to your position as overnight security at Blackwood Mental Asylum. Rule number one: Never respond to voices calling your name after 2 AM. Rule number two: The patients in Ward C were counted at lockdown. If you count more, do not open the door.

Back in 1947, on the Miller farm in Western Ohio, they had this old wooden rocking chair on their front porch. Every night at exactly 3:15 AM, the family would hear it creaking, but whenever they checked, no one was there. The chair would still be warm.

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.