صوت Horror story الاحترافي بالذكاء الاصطناعي لإنشاء المحتوى

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

Before we begin, remember to subscribe to the Ghastly Journal and enable notifications. Tonight's story takes us to the quiet coastal town of Cedar Bay, where in 1992, the mysterious disappearance of three lighthouse keepers would spark decades of terrifying speculation and unexplained phenomena.

The old music box seemed innocent enough when I found it in the attic. But each night at precisely 3 AM, it plays a melody I've never heard before. The tune grows louder, and in its reflection, I see shadows dancing without bodies.

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 basement morgue was always cold, but tonight it felt different. Dr. Chen noticed the temperature display showing impossible readings. The body in drawer 13 had been there three days, yet the staff swore they could hear humming coming from inside, getting louder each night.

Su nombre era Carlos Ramírez. Cada noche se despierta a las 3:33. Siempre el mismo sueño. Siempre la misma explosión. Siempre los mismos rostros gritando en silencio. En su mente, aún está en aquella trinchera. Los muertos le susurran. Le recuerdan que él sobrevivió.

Every night at 302 the scratching starts behind my bedroom wall always the same spot always three scratches then silence then three more I tried moving my bed but now it's coming from the ceiling right above my pillow getting louder closer tonight I swear I saw fingers.

¿Has oído hablar del Faro de Eilean Mor? En 1900, tres fareros desaparecieron sin dejar rastro. La mesa estaba puesta, el reloj detenido, y las sillas volcadas. En su diario, la última entrada mencionaba una terrible tormenta. Pero ese día, el cielo estaba despejado.