Sometimes, when the campfire dies and the cabins fall quiet, you hear footsteps where no one should be. The creak of a bridge swaying in the dark, whispers drifting through the trees, these are the things that don’t show up on any map. At camp, some nights carry more than silence. They carry secrets you can’t outrun.

First, a face in the window

Followed by they don’t leave footprints

Finally in our last story, Three Bells, no escape

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Sometimes, on those hot summer days, it’s isn’t the heat that gets you, it’s the water. Quiet. Patient. Watching. It remembers the ones who step too close, who linger too long, who forget that ripples are warnings. Sometimes the voice beneath the surface sounds like your own. Sometimes a scar blooms after the river touches you. And sometimes, when it drags you under… it doesn’t let go.

First, a scar you can’t escape

Followed by summer summons monsters

Finally in our last story, echoes from the drowned

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Happy Haunted 4th of July!! // Something Scary | Snarled

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Sometimes things we think are harmless are hiding the darkest traps. Like dolls, meant to be cute, cuddly companions but are more like haunted houses stitched tight with thread, holding restless souls trapped beneath their painted smiles. What looks like innocence can be a wolf hiding in sheep's clothes, and those glassy eyes? They might be watching you, waiting for the day the thread unravels.

First, silent eyes are watching

Followed by doll makers last stitch 

Finally in our last story, rock-a-bye regret

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The summer solstice is supposed to be a time to celebrate the light, but sometimes, the longest day drags on too long. When the sun won’t set, and the shadows stretch in fantastical ways, that’s when the real darkness creeps in. This isn’t just about light fading, it’s about the horrors that come when the world holds its breath, waiting for the night that never feels quite right.

First, sunlight hides the secrets.

Followed by Hair. Fire. And Footsteps. 

Finally in our last story, trapped beneath.

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Sometimes the things we fear most don’t come from shadows or monsters, but from the quiet moments when consciousness slips away and we’re asleep. When a familiar face hides something cruel, or a restless night brings more than sleep. Beware what you invite in, and remember: some doors are better left closed, some memories never meant to be remembered.

First, Possession. Betrayal. No escape.

Followed by a smile waits in the dark. 

Finally in our last story, she brought it back.

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It’s wedding season. The time for white dresses, vows, and dreams of a long happy marriage. But beware: fairy tale weddings can hide deadly secrets. Behind the veil, not every story ends in ‘happy ever after’. Some promises come with curses. Some “I do’s” lead to murder. In this collection, love isn’t always a blessing, it can be a curse waiting to strike.

First, the ring chooses love

Followed by legacy of terror

Finally in our last story, vows, blood and betrayal

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Sometimes, it’s not the stories we’re told that haunt us, but the ones we inherit without question. The prayers whispered in the dark. The trinkets worn without asking why. Belief can be a comfort… until it isn’t. Because when something is passed down for too long, you stop knowing where faith ends and fear begins.

First, mirror marks won’t fade

Followed by inherited horror

Finally in our last story, you’re getting blurry

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Some call it the Witching Hour, that deathly creep time, after midnight, between 3 and 4 a.m. when the world holds its breath. Some say it’s when spiritual energy peaks, a mockery of the holy trinity at 3:33 a.m., making it ripe for unholy rituals and ghostly visitations. So if you wake up suddenly around then... you're not alone. Something might have stirred you. Or someone…

First, The Dead Eat Last

Followed by its in the walls

Finally in our last story, too late to turn back

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This Mother’s Day, we honor the incredible strength and love of the mothers who shape our lives for the better. Those of us lucky enough to have them, or other nurturing parental figures, are truly blessed. But remember, not all maternal bonds are pure. What you think is love may be something darker, something that lingers long after the last breath. Proceed with caution, for not all mothers are what they appear, some don’t live up to the title, if they’re even living at all.

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