Бесплатный AI генератор голосов Wake Up, Sister, & Die от Fish Audio

Behold, the darkness creeps closer with every breath you take. The shadows whisper your name, and the creatures of the night await their feast. Step into our realm of eternal torment, where your screams become our symphony.

Welcome to your shift at Darkwood Hospital's morgue. Rule one: never turn off the lights. Rule two: if you hear humming from drawer 13, don't open it. Rule three: at 2 AM, ignore the children's laughter. If the elevator opens empty, don't step inside. Good luck.

You ain't never seen the haunted trees. You ain't never walked the haunted path. You ain't never felt the haunted breeze. You ain't never heard the haunted laugh. You ain't never known the haunted ways. You ain't never seen what haunts these days.

The basement stairs creaked beneath my feet as I descended, each step echoing in the musty darkness. The motion-sensor lights flickered reluctantly to life, revealing walls of exposed brick that seemed to pulse with the house's ancient heartbeat. Something about this space felt wrong, fundamentally wrong.

Listen carefully if you hear the static getting louder. First, the walls start breathing, then your reflection stops matching your movements. Don't look behind you - it mimics familiar faces. The whispers aren't your friends calling. By the time the lights flicker, it's already too late.

Can you feel the warmth leaving your skin? There are no pearly gates waiting for you, only the heavy weight of the soil above. Your voice is gone, swallowed by the eternal dark. Stay still, little one. You aren't going anywhere. This emptiness is all there is now.

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.

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.